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The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman's Paradise (Paul Blades)


The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

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Harry is back! Harry, the reluctant slaver and undercover government agent, has to engage in some serious soul searching as he struggles with the enticements of Klitzman’s Paradise. He is sent by his criminal masters on a mission deep in the African rainforest where he faces danger and new challenges to his effort to complete his undercover assignment without adding unduly to the misfortunes of beautiful young candidates for enslavement at Klitzman’s Isle.

Meanwhile, three pretty rock and roll groupies get much more than they bargained for when they are invited to ‘meet’ the band. Will Harry abandon his mission and surrender to the allures of Klitzman’s sadist’s paradise, or will he have the courage to risk excruciating death and help bring justice to the mad Klitzman and his cruel henchmen?

Product type: EBook    Published by: author - self-published    Published: 9 / 2009

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

No. words: 30000

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Strong -    Male Dom - M/F

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Excerpt..

You know the feeling that you get when the roller coaster gets just to the tippity top? You look down into the abyss, the long steel bordered line of descending track, and you get that empty, bone chilling feeling in your stomach that maybe you have made a mistake? Or have you ever peered over the edge of a towering cliff imagining your body twisting and turning in the air as it tumbled to its inevitable doom? Then you know how I feel.
On the one hand, I’ve really got it dicked, if you’ll pardon the expression. I wake up every morning and avail myself of the enthusiastic services of two beautiful, young, and pleasurably compliant women. And then later, after my early morning run, and my subservient ladies have lovingly washed and dried my body, I might wander down to the nearest restaurant where I’ll breakfast al fresco in the not quite yet baking tropical sun, served by enticing naked beauties fully available for a frolic in the sack, or a beating if I have the inclination. Later, after I’ve digested, there’s always a handball match, some golf, or a chance to watch while a seven foot tall, black giant administers vicious strokes to a girl being corrected for some minor transgression or, perhaps, merely for the enjoyment of the guests.
You get the idea. How could anyone complain? Well call me unappreciative, but to really take a walk in my shoes you’d have to add the fact that at a moment’s notice I could find myself strung up in the nearest cell having strips of my flesh slowly and agonizingly pulled from my body, my excised manhood and balls turning feverishly in a blender.
My name’s Harry. Harry Wiggins. And how I got myself into this predicament is a long story. Suffice it to say that I made a few mistakes when I was a street enforcer for an Atlantic City hood named Tony Bianco. I got sent up for a life bid on a Federal rap and was looking at pulling my pud and getting prison haircuts for a long, long time. When I got the chance to hit the streets, I took it.
The only problem was that my release was at the behest of an unnamed U.S. Government security agency in the person of two colorless, taciturn guys named Bederson and Mulitieri who came to see me one day in the Federal max in Atlanta. The deal was that I was to let myself be recruited by a secret international criminal organization known only as ‘k’ and, once I had gained their confidence, turn fink. The recruitment part went all right. I had to do a job on a rat in the joint first and then, once I had made my bones, an escape was arranged. I was flown to the headquarters of the gang, a small island located somewhere off the coast of Western Africa.
Now, I had never heard of ‘k’ before. But, every criminal enterprise has its cottage industries. I kind of expected to be working the streets, like I had been doing, you know, collecting vig, icing the competition, zipping guys who needed it. To my surprise, I was dropped in the middle of a Disneyland for dominants which went, among the cognoscenti, by the name of Klitzman’s Isle.
To call it a resort would be like calling the B-1 bomber a plane. It really just doesn’t say it. The place was staffed with an average of 200 hundred or more luscious whores. And not the kind who take your dough and give you a quick fuck while chewing gum and thinking about what an asshole you are. These lovelies had been torn from their prior lives, undergone a thorough course of sexual subservience, learned the amount of pain that can be applied to the human body without permanently marring it, and taught to keep their delectable bodies ready and available for use at any time by anyone who wanted it, in any way that they could imagine. You can’t get that kind of service at Club Med.
Now, I’m really not complaining. I’ve made my bed, so to speak, and I have to live in it. But it does get nerve-wracking to imagine a doleful end for oneself every time one of the upper managers of this reprehensible resort lets it be known that he wants to see you. Is your cover blown?
This particular morning I had awoken, as I had many times over the last few weeks, to the feeling of soft compliant lips nibbling at the tip of my hardened cock. In my dream I was back in Atlantic City. My boss, Tony, had a funhouse for the use of his boys in the north end of town and in my dream I was lying in a large soft bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. We used to take some of the showgirls there when Tony was getting ready to break them in at one of his local whorehouses. They were always in need of cash, some white powder or maybe an audition. Once Tony had his hooks in, he eventually got what he wanted from them.
Anyway, I was lying on my back and a tall full bosomed show girl was between my legs. She wore one of those big, sparkly, feathered headdresses the showgirls wear, a pair of fake diamond encrusted earrings that shot points of light out whenever she moved her head, small pasties on the tips of her inviting breasts and a small silver thong. Her back arched behind her gracefully and I could see her plump but firm pale white rear globes bisected by a small strip of luminous silver fabric. She had glittering silver high heels on her feet. I groaned each time that her firm lips descended the length of my steel hard rod. Remarkably, the two foot high feathered headpiece stayed on her head as she bent over my cock. As her head bobbed up and down, I could feel it tickling my chest.
Slowly, my consciousness emerged into reality. I looked down to see the brown haired head of my slave girl, Carol, nestled between my thighs. She was short and thin with broad hips and a long thick braid of silky brown hair that descended down her back. Her doe like brown eyes looked up at me with obvious delight that she had finally gotten my attention. I groaned with pleasure as her tight plump lips descended the length of my sensitive pole. Lying next to me, her hand softly caressing my chest, was Mary, a black haired beauty. Her delicious breasts were crushed against my side and she looked at me wistfully as she caressed my pectorals.
Carol had been a gift to me from my demonic employer, Klitzman. He was a 350 pound giant with gluttonous appetites for food, sex and cruelty, not necessarily in that order. He had apparently lost interest in the meek Carol after whipping her back raw and pillaring her with sexual abuse. It was when he ‘promoted’ me from an everyday supervisor at the island to his ‘go to’ man. I was given the use of the finely appointed cottage in which I now lived and the ownership of the badly bruised and damaged girl. I had nursed her back to health and developed a fond affection for her over the last six weeks or so.
Mary, I had acquired at the same time. The difference was that she was not my property but ‘on loan’ from the resort. My promotion entitled me to reserve the use of a slave girl for as long as I wanted and I had chosen the dark haired girl partly because of the delectable submissiveness she had exhibited when she was first delivered to my door for the service of my pleasures and partly because I learned from her that she had been kidnapped at the same time as Carol. I felt that Mary could help Carol regain some of her equanimity regarding her status as sexual chattel, something very necessary if she were to survive for any reasonable period on Klitzman’s Isle.
I had grown fond of the two slave girls. But that only presented me with another intractable problem. While they were in my custody, I treated them fairly and with some kindness. But how could I ever really protect them from the depredations of the other supervisors and guests, especially those who ranked higher than me in the Klitzman hierarchy? There was Klitzman, of course, and I assumed that whatever Klitzman gaveth he could taketh away. And then there was Rukimo. Rukimo was a six foot seven inch mound of black African muscle. He served as Klitzman’s main man when it came to the resort and, I assumed, many other things. It was Rukimo who interrogated me when I first arrived, evidently quelling any suspicions he might have had as to my bone fides. I was still alive, wasn’t I?
And then there were the lesser lights, Thorndike and his sidekick known only as Cholo. They were both cruel, conscienceless killers who also ran some of Klitzman’s slaving operations. I had had a run in with Thorndike. He challenged me to a ‘friendly’ boxing match on my arrival. He kicked the shit out of me. But I got in a couple of good shots, breaking his nose in the process and earning myself some respect on the island as the only guy who ever caused him injury and lived. Both Thorndike and Cholo had well earned reputations for their eagerness to visit extreme depredations on defenseless female flesh, and the slave girls who learned of my lucky blow to Thorndike’s proboscis treated me with especially pleasurable deference ever since.
And there were others. Anthony, for instance, who had served as my Virgil to this hellish sadists’ haven on my arrival. I still didn’t know what his overall position was on the island, but he had one of those cold death looks in his eyes and often made elliptical comments about past deeds that left the impression that he was as capable of sociopathic violence as any of the others.
The point is that I could really offer no protection to my enslaved female wards at all, regardless of how much I treasured their loving and obsequious reverence to me. It was true that I had provided them with a sort of safe harbor from callous use and violence, but as sure as God made little green apples, some day they would have to face the hazards of Klitzman’s Isle once more. Their only hope, and mine, was that somehow before that day came I was able to give Bederson and Mulitieri the ammo they would need to take down Klitzman’s criminal empire.
The trouble was, as if I didn’t have enough, that I had no idea of how I was supposed to get in touch with my erstwhile undercover mentors. I had been told that I would be contacted before Klitzman’s men sprung me from the can, but no dice. I was spirited away to this island paradise without so much as a word from the two Feds. My only hope now of learning how to communicate with them was through a slave girl named Lois. She had been caught snooping around one of Klitzman’s secret jungle transit camps for contraband along with a companion name Delia. They were promptly trussed up and stripped and sent by cargo plane to Klitzman’s little resort. The camp was a layover point for me on my way to Klitzman’s island. Their very presence there at the same time as me raised some hackles but both Lois and Delia had endured painful debriefings without putting me in the soup. Delia had ultimately confessed to being a DEA agent but denied knowing me. Lois passed muster as a nosey reporter. But, one afternoon following her formal enslavement and training, after I had given her a round fucking, she had whispered to me three bone chilling words: “Bederson sent me.”
I had been contemplating forgetting all about my promise to fink on Klitzman and his gang. After all, I was living the life of Riley, had poontang up the wazoo. What more could a guy ask for? Why risk it all and chance miserable, painful death? But once I knew that a slave girl on the island could put me in deep shit with just one word, all that changed.
Ironically, I had saved her life when Thorndike wanted me to throw her to the sharks one afternoon. I had balked at having that crime on my soul when I met my maker. And now her very existence made mine precarious. I needed desperately to learn more from her, or, alternatively, to figure out a way to silence her forever. But my activities on the island were carefully monitored. I wasn’t sure that Rukimo had given up all suspicion of me. If I was seen to get all buddy buddy with her, or was implicated in her untimely demise, suspicions could turn into beliefs. I would need to figure out a way to get her alone again without raising anyone’s hackles.
As Carol delivered exquisite pleasure to my rod, I pulled Mary closer to me and took one of her teats into my mouth. My mind swooned with the delightful sensation of her hardened button on my tongue and she moaned softly as I sucked on it gently. Mary’s moan was muted by the leather gag that she wore, something I had ruled that she should wear at all times when not necessary to eat or when servicing me or her sister slave with her succulent red lips. There was no real reason for my cruel whimsy. When she had first been brought to my cottage, she had talked out of turn and I had whipped her for it. But that was weeks ago and the ‘gag rule’ had long outlasted any practical justification. I guess I just enjoyed her pretty, pleading blue eyes as she stared up at me silently whenever I came home. To her credit, she never complained to me about it, but suffered the indignity of my arbitrary exercise of power over her with meek acceptance.
But now I wanted to taste of her voluptuous lips and I reached behind her head and undid the strap that held her gag in place. The outside of the gag had a leather shield over it and covered her face from the edge of her septum to the bottom of her chin. She smiled with undisguised happiness when the plug was removed from her mouth and her lips eagerly accepted mine as I pulled her head down. She slid her body over mine, her knees planted on the bed on either side of my chest and leaned over, delving her tongue deeply into my mouth. As her hot tongue danced around mine, I stroked her full round breasts, pulling on her stiff nipples each time my hands finished a caress.
With the two energetic mouths servicing me, my lusts began to boil. Carol was in no hurry to precipitate my crisis. I could feel her well trained tongue tease the underside of my cock’s head. Her hand had taken possession of my scrotal sac and manipulated my sensitive stones gently, driving an aching pleasure right through me. Mary’s hips gently gyrated as she pressed her own needy sex against my belly. I slipped my hands down her sides and under her thighs and pulled her forwards, until her knees were astride my head and her soaked pussy was presented to my lips.
The aroma of Mary’s arousal was intoxicating to me. I pulled her steaming nether lips to my mouth and dragged my tongue along the damp length of the denuded slit between them. Mary groaned with pleasure. Her face and hands were against the bed’s ornately carved headboard above me and the sound of her passion echoed off of the hard teakwood surface. My hands were circled under her lean, tender thighs and I forced her pussy hard against my mouth as I drove my tongue deeply inside her. The taste of her arousal, sweet and sour, with its pungent musk, electrified me. I could feel my balls tighten and the immanency of my orgasm as Carol’s mouth continued to delight me. I wanted Mary to come too, and I began to probe her hardened clit with my tongue, rolling it over the little nubbin, circling it and pressing it down.
Carol must have sensed my purpose, for as soon as Mary began a staccato series of almost anguished whimpers, her body shuddering with each hard convulsion of her cunt, she intensified her attentions to my tool. A flash of light went off in my head as my cock exploded. I groaned my pleasure into Mary’s hot, moist crevasse as each throb of my cock sent a powerful jolt of ecstasy through me. I could feel my seed flowing out in spurts as Carol’s tongue and lips encouraged me, her head bobbing up and down, her lips firmly gripping my shaft.
Mary, once her tumult had subsided, quickly climbed off of me. I raised my head slightly from my pillow to see Carol, still kneeling dutifully between my outstretched thighs, grinning almost wickedly at me, her lips clamped together tightly, a gleam in her eye. Mary shuffled over to her and joined her in an embrace. Carol opened her lips and showed me the product of my loins that still lay pooled in her mouth. Mary took Carol’s chin in her hand and turned her face towards her. The lips of the two pretty slave girls met and I watched, enthralled, as Carol passed a share of my spending to her sister slave. I could see Mary’s mouth work greedily, her hands pressing Carols’ body firmly into her own. Her large breasts crushed Carol’s more modest ones.
The scene of the two of them engaged in a passionate embrace made my now limp cock to stir. Although the sight of the delectable lasses sharing my come was titillating, to say the least, it had not been my idea. More than once, as they had simultaneously given oral adoration to my tool, they had struggled over the right to take my discharge. Carol had thought of it first and her solution seemed equitable enough. And so, now, each time that I sent a flood of my spewm into one of their mouths, they shared it with their housemate, taking the opportunity to administer passionate kisses to one another.
The curvaceous and appealing young women eventually broke their embrace. They turned and smiled at me expectantly, Mary licking her lips in satisfaction. It was time for my run and so I jumped out of bed, deposited a night’s worth of liquid wastes in the toilet and dressed. When I emerged from the bathroom, my slave girls were kneeling obediently in the living room, their hands outstretched on their knees, palms up, their backs arched and their comely breasts enticingly presented.
Slave girls, even ones as obedient and accepting of their roles as Mary and Carol, were not to be left to their own devices, and so I chained their ankles to rings in the floor. They slept, when not kept in my bed for the night, in a little alcove in the bedroom. The chains had timers on them which released the clasps at the preset time, allowing the girls to serve as my libidinous alarm clock. Mary had brought her gag out from the bedroom with her and dutifully handed it up to me. With a slight look of sorrow in her eyes, she spread her pretty lips and accepted its insertion. Carol, helpfully, connected the straps behind her head.
I headed out the door of my cottage. Although still early morning, about 6:45, the temperature was well into the eighties and the air heavy with humidity. But it as much better than midday when the temperatures could soar. I stepped carefully down the steps from the front porch of my cottage and, after several minutes of stretching, began my run.
The cottages sat up on a hill overlooking the resort proper. There were twelve of them, all serving employees in the Klitzman hierarchy, and three larger mansions further up. Cholo and Thorndike shared one of those. The other two were reserved for bigwigs.
I took my time wending my way down the hill and then took off along a track that ran around the outer perimeter of the resort buildings. It was a track not normally utilized by guests, but was, rather, used for transporting groups of slave girls back and forth from the various buildings and the slave dorms. As I loped around the pathway, a couple of coffles of naked slave girls passed in the other direction. All of the girls had their arms bound behind their backs and wore the wide leather shields over their faces that denoted the presence of thick wads of leather in their mouths. A chain led from the back of the collar of the leaders to the front of the slave girl behind her, etc. There was no need for an escort. Their destination was printed clearly on the large colored tags dangling from the collars of the leaders. The color denoted their destination. The tag had written on it the identity numbers of the slave girls in the coffle and the time of their departure from their duty stations. Heaven help the slave girls found elsewhere other than on a direct route to their next stop or who reported beyond the short period of time allotted for their arrival. And so, although tired out from an evening’s worth of fucking or abuse, they pranced along quickly in their red, high heeled shoes in carefully synchronized steps. Their breasts bobbed prettily as they hustled along, their worried eyes evidencing their determination to arrive on schedule.
When I reached the half way mark around the resort proper, I cut directly through it on my way to the undulating hills of the well manicured nine hole golf course. I passed one of the gathering stations outside one of the three guests’ buildings. Slave girls released from their night’s responsibilities by the guests were required to report directly here, where their hands would be bound behind them and their gags applied. They would wait until a sufficient number had gathered to make up a coffle and be then sent on their way.
As I passed, I noted a thin brown haired beauty kneeling by the kiosk. She had long, silky, brown hair, long, lithe thighs and a pretty face. She was crying loudly while another slave girl, a short haired blonde with large breasts, held her arms around her comforting her. There was no need to guess the source of the brunette’s dismay, as she bore a plethora of angry red welts around her body. No doubt she had suffered a night of terror at the hands of one of the guests. The supervisor, dressed in the standard brown robe, paid her no mind as he bound her arms behind her and slipped the gag into her pouting mouth. Whether a slave girl suffered physical abuse was largely a matter of the whim of the guests, unless, of course, she displeased anyone. But sometimes a guest, or even a supervisor, would take an unusual interest in a particular girl and she might spend several days and nights of painful abuse at his hands just for fun. Guests rarely stayed more than a couple of weeks but the supervisors were sometimes there for much longer stints before being rotated back to the world to serve Klitzman in one of his many criminal conspiracies. A slave who fell afoul of a supervisor’s desire to inflict pain was unlucky indeed.
I hoped for her sake that she had drawn a one nighter. But it was, really, no business of mine and I sped quickly past the kiosk and on my way. Once I reached the golf course and the small gravel trails that led along the specially designed holes, I was able to let it all out. I increased my pace and let my body fall into the steady rhythm of my feet. I was in terrific shape from the years of incarceration. There was nothing to do there but work, exercise and fantasize about getting out. Of course jogging around the lush green runways bordered by dense tropical trees to the sounds of birds and other denizens of the woods awakening to their day was a lot different from running fifty times around the interior of the exercise yard in Atlanta.
The pounding of my feet on the gravel path and the rush of my blood in my ears was mesmerizing. It was the only part of the day that was wholly without tension or conflict for me. Listen, I wasn’t what you would call a good guy before I came to Klitzman’s little hell here. I had iced a few guys, some who needed it, some who, well, who knew? It was my job. And I had had no compunction about screwing the reluctant showgirls who were unhappily paying their debts to Tony with their cunts and their mouths back in A.C.
But the whole concept of a reducing hundreds of beautiful young women to a harsh slavery was something else. I had yet to develop the thick skin I would need to persevere and prosper in Klitzman’s employ. Every time I saw one of the teary eyed, new slave girls gulping down a stranger’s meat while kneeling between his legs in the middle of one of the club’s open air restaurants or in one of the other public areas I felt a pang inside me. At night, when the elegant beauties who worked as bargirls in the nightclub that I managed lined up for nightly inspection, their luscious bodies amply displayed in their scanty and revealing attire, their faces properly and expertly decorated, the false smiles of their profession displayed on their nervous faces, I experienced a underlying feeling of pity for them. Even after a round of impassioned fucking between myself and my special slave girls, Mary and Carol, their squeals and laughter still echoing through my little cottage, my heart became heavy. What was I doing here? Was my freedom worth the loss of humanity experienced by these women, plucked from their youthful lives from all over the world? But they would all be here anyway, wouldn’t they? I had not enslaved hem. If they didn’t suck my cock, they would be sucking somebody else’s. And at least I had some conscience and rarely abused any of them severely, not without cause.
But here in the verdant playground, surrounded by the lush jungle, my thoughts could wander away from my troubles. All I could think of was the sensations of my body as I placed foot before foot, demanding more and more from my lungs. By the time I reached the ninth green, my mind was relaxed, my soul cleansed for one more day. But even as I stepped back into the circle of buildings that served the resort, I could feel my mood darken, my corruption leaking back.
I approached the entranceway to the vast underground slave dormitory and training facility. Its entrance was a little hut built around the large elevator that took the girls up and down from their real life purgatory. Just as I came near, the elevator must have opened up, for a bevy of freshly painted and obedient girls emerged from the hut. Gagged and bound, they spread out quickly along the many paths, their tags hanging around their necks, their tall bright red heels clicking on the dull red brick walkway. I stopped, running in place while the twenty or so girls emptied out of the hut, their hair springing up and down behind them as they rushed urgently to their posts. Most of them were headed to the restaurants where the guests would soon be arriving to have their breakfast. Others would be going to the lounges where guests and supervisors could mix and play cards or pool, or other places. One of the buildings was devoted to sports and horse betting and those places often got rowdy with one group of guests rooting for one side and another group for the other. Slave girls who served there were often used as whipping posts for unsuccessful wagerers.
About twenty yards down the pathway from where I was running in place, a guest had stopped one of the girls. He had apparently been out running as well and was dressed in light blue shorts befitting his status. I wore brown running shorts as befitted mine. He looked about forty, was well trimmed and had a dark thatch of curly, black hair on his head. His body was tanned and lean. He dripped money, authority, class. But if he had such class, why would he be here, I asked myself as I watched him inspect the unhappy slave girl.
The girl had shoulder length auburn hair and breasts that stood up firm and proud on her chest. Her eyes conveyed her unhappiness at the man’s delay of her as she would have no opportunity to excuse her tardiness for her arrival at her work station. But the man was oblivious to her dismay. He slowly and carefully took stock of her firm breasts, stroking and pinching them to satisfy his almost cold curiosity. He ran his hands over her hips and, forcing her to turn around, bent her over to appreciate the charms of her tight but plump derriere. As I resumed my trot, I saw him pull from her collar a red ribbon. The serving girls all wore red ribbons on their collars with their slave numbers printed on it. Later, after her shift of work was done, she would be set aside so that the man who had taken her ribbon could claim her for the evening, or for an hour or so. The man was getting an early start on the day and had stationed himself at the entrance to the slave dormitory so that he could get the pick of the crop. Satisfied, the well toned man gave the girl a sharp slap on her ass and sent her on her way. She dashed off immediately, balancing herself carefully on her high heels as she broke into a trot in an attempt to make up for lost time. I silently wished her luck as I made my way back to my cottage.
Carol and Mary were waiting for me expectantly where I had left them. Carol smiled when she saw me. Mary’s eyes brightened. It was time for my shower and they would get to wash me and, if I permitted it, pay oral obeisance to my rigid member. Today, I had an appointment with Anthony at 8 o’clock and so I wanted to shower quickly and be on my way. I announced this to the dismay of my pets but brightened their outlook by decreeing that since Carol had not had a chance to cum that morning that Mary could do her that favor while I took my shower. I went to the cabinet in the living room and withdrew a large shiny black dildo attached to a leather harness. I presented it to Mary and she eagerly strapped it around her waist. Carol, grinning lustfully in anticipation of her upcoming delight, leaned back onto the floor, spreading her legs widely, stroking the narrow strip between her hairless nether lips, commencing the lubrication of her gash. As I entered the bathroom, Mary knelt between Carol’s outstretched legs, gently caressing her tender thighs, the thick black faux penis jutting out proudly from her loins.
When I emerged from my shower, I could hear Carol’s frantic moans coming from the other room. Drying myself off, I stepped into the living room. Mary’s delectable ass was pumping furiously between Carol’s thighs. The brunette’s arms were around Mary’s shoulders, pinning their breasts together, her fingers digging deeply into Mary’s flesh. He face was turned to the side and I could see her misty eyes and her lusty lips as she continued to moan loudly and deeply. Her legs were wrapped around Mary’s, pulling the thick, black ebonite shaft that she wielded deep into her pussy.
“Ohhhhhh, yeah! Oh yeah! Ohhhhhhhh!” Carol exclaimed as her orgasm over came her. My one eyed soldier began to stand at attention as I viewed the lascivious scene. Mary’s buttocks were tauntingly enticing as they rose and fell with her thrusts. I rubbed my stiffening cock almost unconsciously as I watched the two girls fuck. Mary began to groan too as the pressure of the dildo against her clit sent her into her own convulsions.
I was tempted to join the two enticing slave girls; Mary’s small puckered rear aperture presented an almost irresistible target. My cock wanted to get wet and warm. But you learned on the island to exercise discipline over the expenditure of your male essence. There would be plenty of alluring slave girls to fuck today and I might regret expending myself too early in the morning. I had gotten into the habit of coming at least five or six times a day, sometimes more, but I wasn’t Hercules, or Johnny Wad for that matter. And so I tore myself away from the engaged and engaging couple and went into the bedroom to put on a fresh brown robe and some sandals. When I came back, the girls were resting in each others arms. Carol was kissing Mary’s face, that part left unexposed by the shield gag that she still wore, and Mary was hugging her tightly.
“All right, ladies,” I announced. “Break it up. I’ve got to get going.”
The slave girls rolled apart, their eyes beaming with gratitude. Carol looked at me sheepishly. “May I kiss Mary, master?” she asked, timidly. Slave girls, even ones as liberally handled as mine, needed permission for everything. In another context, with another master, Carol could have been whipped for her effrontery at speaking without permission. I consented to the request and Carol quickly removed Mary’s gag. The two girls kissed lovingly for about twenty seconds. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t get started all over again. I have a meeting I need to get to.” The girls broke apart, their eyes soft and satisfied. “Thank you, master,” Carol said, smiling. Mary turned and smiled at me too. She hesitated and, seeing the permissive look on my face, spoke as well.
“Thank you master,” she said. Her voice, while halting, was soft and sultry. I bet that I hadn’t heard her speak more than a hundred words since I had kept her to live with me. I wondered idly whether I should relax my rule of silence as far as she was concerned. If I had known what would happen later, well, I don’t know what I would have done differently. But, her timid, loving voice, her tender smile and grateful eyes as she thanked me, haunted me for a long, long time.


Excerpt..

You know the feeling that you get when the roller coaster gets just to the tippity top? You look down into the abyss, the long steel
bordered line of descending track, and you get that empty, bone chilling feeling in your stomach that maybe you have made a mistake? Or have
you ever peered over the edge of a towering cliff imagining your body twisting and turning in the air as it tumbled to its inevitable doom?
Then you know how I feel.

On the one hand, I’ve really got it dicked, if you’ll pardon the expression. I wake up every morning and avail myself of the
enthusiastic services of two beautiful, young, and pleasurably compliant women. And then later, after my early morning run, and my
subservient ladies have lovingly washed and dried my body, I might wander down to the nearest restaurant where I’ll breakfast al fresco in
the not quite yet baking tropical sun, served by enticing naked beauties fully available for a frolic in the sack, or a beating if I have
the inclination. Later, after I’ve digested, there’s always a handball match, some golf, or a chance to watch while a seven foot tall, black
giant administers vicious strokes to a girl being corrected for some minor transgression or, perhaps, merely for the enjoyment of the
guests.

You get the idea. How could anyone complain? Well call me unappreciative, but to really take a walk in my shoes you’d have to add the
fact that at a moment’s notice I could find myself strung up in the nearest cell having strips of my flesh slowly and agonizingly pulled
from my body, my excised manhood and balls turning feverishly in a blender.

My name’s Harry. Harry Wiggins. And how I got myself into this predicament is a long story. Suffice it to say that I made a few
mistakes when I was a street enforcer for an Atlantic City hood named Tony Bianco. I got sent up for a life bid on a Federal rap and was
looking at pulling my pud and getting prison haircuts for a long, long time. When I got the chance to hit the streets, I took it.

The only problem was that my release was at the behest of an unnamed U.S. Government security agency in the person of two colorless,
taciturn guys named Bederson and Mulitieri who came to see me one day in the Federal max in Atlanta. The deal was that I was to let myself
be recruited by a secret international criminal organization known only as ‘k’ and, once I had gained their confidence, turn fink. The
recruitment part went all right. I had to do a job on a rat in the joint first and then, once I had made my bones, an escape was arranged. I
was flown to the headquarters of the gang, a small island located somewhere off the coast of Western Africa.

Now, I had never heard of ‘k’ before. But, every criminal enterprise has its cottage industries. I kind of expected to be working the
streets, like I had been doing, you know, collecting vig, icing the competition, zipping guys who needed it. To my surprise, I was dropped
in the middle of a Disneyland for dominants which went, among the cognoscenti, by the name of Klitzman’s Isle.

To call it a resort would be like calling the B-1 bomber a plane. It really just doesn’t say it. The place was staffed with an average
of 200 hundred or more luscious whores. And not the kind who take your dough and give you a quick fuck while chewing gum and thinking about
what an asshole you are. These lovelies had been torn from their prior lives, undergone a thorough course of sexual subservience, learned
the amount of pain that can be applied to the human body without permanently marring it, and taught to keep their delectable bodies ready
and available for use at any time by anyone who wanted it, in any way that they could imagine. You can’t get that kind of service at Club
Med.

Now, I’m really not complaining. I’ve made my bed, so to speak, and I have to live in it. But it does get nerve-wracking to imagine a
doleful end for oneself every time one of the upper managers of this reprehensible resort lets it be known that he wants to see you. Is your
cover blown?

This particular morning I had awoken, as I had many times over the last few weeks, to the feeling of soft compliant lips nibbling at
the tip of my hardened cock. In my dream I was back in Atlantic City. My boss, Tony, had a funhouse for the use of his boys in the north end
of town and in my dream I was lying in a large soft bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. We used to take some of the showgirls there when
Tony was getting ready to break them in at one of his local whorehouses. They were always in need of cash, some white powder or maybe an
audition. Once Tony had his hooks in, he eventually got what he wanted from them.

Anyway, I was lying on my back and a tall full bosomed show girl was between my legs. She wore one of those big, sparkly, feathered
headdresses the showgirls wear, a pair of fake diamond encrusted earrings that shot points of light out whenever she moved her head, small
pasties on the tips of her inviting breasts and a small silver thong. Her back arched behind her gracefully and I could see her plump but
firm pale white rear globes bisected by a small strip of luminous silver fabric. She had glittering silver high heels on her feet. I groaned
each time that her firm lips descended the length of my steel hard rod. Remarkably, the two foot high feathered headpiece stayed on her head
as she bent over my cock. As her head bobbed up and down, I could feel it tickling my chest.

Slowly, my consciousness emerged into reality. I looked down to see the brown haired head of my slave girl, Carol, nestled between my
thighs. She was short and thin with broad hips and a long thick braid of silky brown hair that descended down her back. Her doe like brown
eyes looked up at me with obvious delight that she had finally gotten my attention. I groaned with pleasure as her tight plump lips
descended the length of my sensitive pole. Lying next to me, her hand softly caressing my chest, was Mary, a black haired beauty. Her
delicious breasts were crushed against my side and she looked at me wistfully as she caressed my pectorals.

Carol had been a gift to me from my demonic employer, Klitzman. He was a 350 pound giant with gluttonous appetites for food, sex and
cruelty, not necessarily in that order. He had apparently lost interest in the meek Carol after whipping her back raw and pillaring her with
sexual abuse. It was when he ‘promoted’ me from an everyday supervisor at the island to his ‘go to’ man. I was given the use of the finely
appointed cottage in which I now lived and the ownership of the badly bruised and damaged girl. I had nursed her back to health and
developed a fond affection for her over the last six weeks or so.

Mary, I had acquired at the same time. The difference was that she was not my property but ‘on loan’ from the resort. My promotion
entitled me to reserve the use of a slave girl for as long as I wanted and I had chosen the dark haired girl partly because of the
delectable submissiveness she had exhibited when she was first delivered to my door for the service of my pleasures and partly because I
learned from her that she had been kidnapped at the same time as Carol. I felt that Mary could help Carol regain some of her equanimity
regarding her status as sexual chattel, something very necessary if she were to survive for any reasonable period on Klitzman’s Isle. />
I had grown fond of the two slave girls. But that only presented me with another intractable problem. While they were in my custody, I
treated them fairly and with some kindness. But how could I ever really protect them from the depredations of the other supervisors and
guests, especially those who ranked higher than me in the Klitzman hierarchy? There was Klitzman, of course, and I assumed that whatever
Klitzman gaveth he could taketh away. And then there was Rukimo. Rukimo was a six foot seven inch mound of black African muscle. He served
as Klitzman’s main man when it came to the resort and, I assumed, many other things. It was Rukimo who interrogated me when I first arrived,
evidently quelling any suspicions he might have had as to my bone fides. I was still alive, wasn’t I?

And then there were the lesser lights, Thorndike and his sidekick known only as Cholo. They were both cruel, conscienceless killers
who also ran some of Klitzman’s slaving operations. I had had a run in with Thorndike. He challenged me to a ‘friendly’ boxing match on my
arrival. He kicked the shit out of me. But I got in a couple of good shots, breaking his nose in the process and earning myself some respect
on the island as the only guy who ever caused him injury and lived. Both Thorndike and Cholo had well earned reputations for their eagerness
to visit extreme depredations on defenseless female flesh, and the slave girls who learned of my lucky blow to Thorndike’s proboscis treated
me with especially pleasurable deference ever since.

And there were others. Anthony, for instance, who had served as my Virgil to this hellish sadists’ haven on my arrival. I still didn’t
know what his overall position was on the island, but he had one of those cold death looks in his eyes and often made elliptical comments
about past deeds that left the impression that he was as capable of sociopathic violence as any of the others.

The point is that I could really offer no protection to my enslaved female wards at all, regardless of how much I treasured their
loving and obsequious reverence to me. It was true that I had provided them with a sort of safe harbor from callous use and violence, but as
sure as God made little green apples, some day they would have to face the hazards of Klitzman’s Isle once more. Their only hope, and mine,
was that somehow before that day came I was able to give Bederson and Mulitieri the ammo they would need to take down Klitzman’s criminal
empire.

The trouble was, as if I didn’t have enough, that I had no idea of how I was supposed to get in touch with my erstwhile undercover
mentors. I had been told that I would be contacted before Klitzman’s men sprung me from the can, but no dice. I was spirited away to this
island paradise without so much as a word from the two Feds. My only hope now of learning how to communicate with them was through a slave
girl named Lois. She had been caught snooping around one of Klitzman’s secret jungle transit camps for contraband along with a companion
name Delia. They were promptly trussed up and stripped and sent by cargo plane to Klitzman’s little resort. The camp was a layover point for
me on my way to Klitzman’s island. Their very presence there at the same time as me raised some hackles but both Lois and Delia had endured
painful debriefings without putting me in the soup. Delia had ultimately confessed to being a DEA agent but denied knowing me. Lois passed
muster as a nosey reporter. But, one afternoon following her formal enslavement and training, after I had given her a round fucking, she had
whispered to me three bone chilling words: “Bederson sent me.”

I had been contemplating forgetting all about my promise to fink on Klitzman and his gang. After all, I was living the life of Riley,
had poontang up the wazoo. What more could a guy ask for? Why risk it all and chance miserable, painful death? But once I knew that a slave
girl on the island could put me in deep shit with just one word, all that changed.

Ironically, I had saved her life when Thorndike wanted me to throw her to the sharks one afternoon. I had balked at having that crime
on my soul when I met my maker. And now her very existence made mine precarious. I needed desperately to learn more from her, or,
alternatively, to figure out a way to silence her forever. But my activities on the island were carefully monitored. I wasn’t sure that
Rukimo had given up all suspicion of me. If I was seen to get all buddy buddy with her, or was implicated in her untimely demise, suspicions
could turn into beliefs. I would need to figure out a way to get her alone again without raising anyone’s hackles.

As Carol delivered exquisite pleasure to my rod, I pulled Mary closer to me and took one of her teats into my mouth. My mind swooned
with the delightful sensation of her hardened button on my tongue and she moaned softly as I sucked on it gently. Mary’s moan was muted by
the leather gag that she wore, something I had ruled that she should wear at all times when not necessary to eat or when servicing me or her
sister slave with her succulent red lips. There was no real reason for my cruel whimsy. When she had first been brought to my cottage, she
had talked out of turn and I had whipped her for it. But that was weeks ago and the ‘gag rule’ had long outlasted any practical
justification. I guess I just enjoyed her pretty, pleading blue eyes as she stared up at me silently whenever I came home. To her credit,
she never complained to me about it, but suffered the indignity of my arbitrary exercise of power over her with meek acceptance.

But now I wanted to taste of her voluptuous lips and I reached behind her head and undid the strap that held her gag in place. The
outside of the gag had a leather shield over it and covered her face from the edge of her septum to the bottom of her chin. She smiled with
undisguised happiness when the plug was removed from her mouth and her lips eagerly accepted mine as I pulled her head down. She slid her
body over mine, her knees planted on the bed on either side of my chest and leaned over, delving her tongue deeply into my mouth. As her hot
tongue danced around mine, I stroked her full round breasts, pulling on her stiff nipples each time my hands finished a caress.

With the two energetic mouths servicing me, my lusts began to boil. Carol was in no hurry to precipitate my crisis. I could feel her
well trained tongue tease the underside of my cock’s head. Her hand had taken possession of my scrotal sac and manipulated my sensitive
stones gently, driving an aching pleasure right through me. Mary’s hips gently gyrated as she pressed her own needy sex against my belly. I
slipped my hands down her sides and under her thighs and pulled her forwards, until her knees were astride my head and her soaked pussy was
presented to my lips.

The aroma of Mary’s arousal was intoxicating to me. I pulled her steaming nether lips to my mouth and dragged my tongue along the damp
length of the denuded slit between them. Mary groaned with pleasure. Her face and hands were against the bed’s ornately carved headboard
above me and the sound of her passion echoed off of the hard teakwood surface. My hands were circled under her lean, tender thighs and I
forced her pussy hard against my mouth as I drove my tongue deeply inside her. The taste of her arousal, sweet and sour, with its pungent
musk, electrified me. I could feel my balls tighten and the immanency of my orgasm as Carol’s mouth continued to delight me. I wanted Mary
to come too, and I began to probe her hardened clit with my tongue, rolling it over the little nubbin, circling it and pressing it down. />
Carol must have sensed my purpose, for as soon as Mary began a staccato series of almost anguished whimpers, her body shuddering with
each hard convulsion of her cunt, she intensified her attentions to my tool. A flash of light went off in my head as my cock exploded. I
groaned my pleasure into Mary’s hot, moist crevasse as each throb of my cock sent a powerful jolt of ecstasy through me. I could feel my
seed flowing out in spurts as Carol’s tongue and lips encouraged me, her head bobbing up and down, her lips firmly gripping my shaft. />
Mary, once her tumult had subsided, quickly climbed off of me. I raised my head slightly from my pillow to see Carol, still kneeling
dutifully between my outstretched thighs, grinning almost wickedly at me, her lips clamped together tightly, a gleam in her eye. Mary
shuffled over to her and joined her in an embrace. Carol opened her lips and showed me the product of my loins that still lay pooled in her
mouth. Mary took Carol’s chin in her hand and turned her face towards her. The lips of the two pretty slave girls met and I watched,
enthralled, as Carol passed a share of my spending to her sister slave. I could see Mary’s mouth work greedily, her hands pressing Carols’
body firmly into her own. Her large breasts crushed Carol’s more modest ones.

The scene of the two of them engaged in a passionate embrace made my now limp cock to stir. Although the sight of the delectable
lasses sharing my come was titillating, to say the least, it had not been my idea. More than once, as they had simultaneously given oral
adoration to my tool, they had struggled over the right to take my discharge. Carol had thought of it first and her solution seemed
equitable enough. And so, now, each time that I sent a flood of my spewm into one of their mouths, they shared it with their housemate,
taking the opportunity to administer passionate kisses to one another.

The curvaceous and appealing young women eventually broke their embrace. They turned and smiled at me expectantly, Mary licking her
lips in satisfaction. It was time for my run and so I jumped out of bed, deposited a night’s worth of liquid wastes in the toilet and
dressed. When I emerged from the bathroom, my slave girls were kneeling obediently in the living room, their hands outstretched on their
knees, palms up, their backs arched and their comely breasts enticingly presented.

Slave girls, even ones as obedient and accepting of their roles as Mary and Carol, were not to be left to their own devices, and so I
chained their ankles to rings in the floor. They slept, when not kept in my bed for the night, in a little alcove in the bedroom. The chains
had timers on them which released the clasps at the preset time, allowing the girls to serve as my libidinous alarm clock. Mary had brought
her gag out from the bedroom with her and dutifully handed it up to me. With a slight look of sorrow in her eyes, she spread her pretty lips
and accepted its insertion. Carol, helpfully, connected the straps behind her head.

I headed out the door of my cottage. Although still early morning, about 6:45, the temperature was well into the eighties and the air
heavy with humidity. But it as much better than midday when the temperatures could soar. I stepped carefully down the steps from the front
porch of my cottage and, after several minutes of stretching, began my run.

The cottages sat up on a hill overlooking the resort proper. There were twelve of them, all serving employees in the Klitzman
hierarchy, and three larger mansions further up. Cholo and Thorndike shared one of those. The other two were reserved for bigwigs.

I took my time wending my way down the hill and then took off along a track that ran around the outer perimeter of the resort
buildings. It was a track not normally utilized by guests, but was, rather, used for transporting groups of slave girls back and forth from
the various buildings and the slave dorms. As I loped around the pathway, a couple of coffles of naked slave girls passed in the other
direction. All of the girls had their arms bound behind their backs and wore the wide leather shields over their faces that denoted the
presence of thick wads of leather in their mouths. A chain led from the back of the collar of the leaders to the front of the slave girl
behind her, etc. There was no need for an escort. Their destination was printed clearly on the large colored tags dangling from the collars
of the leaders. The color denoted their destination. The tag had written on it the identity numbers of the slave girls in the coffle and the
time of their departure from their duty stations. Heaven help the slave girls found elsewhere other than on a direct route to their next
stop or who reported beyond the short period of time allotted for their arrival. And so, although tired out from an evening’s worth of
fucking or abuse, they pranced along quickly in their red, high heeled shoes in carefully synchronized steps. Their breasts bobbed prettily
as they hustled along, their worried eyes evidencing their determination to arrive on schedule.

When I reached the half way mark around the resort proper, I cut directly through it on my way to the undulating hills of the well
manicured nine hole golf course. I passed one of the gathering stations outside one of the three guests’ buildings. Slave girls released
from their night’s responsibilities by the guests were required to report directly here, where their hands would be bound behind them and
their gags applied. They would wait until a sufficient number had gathered to make up a coffle and be then sent on their way.

As I passed, I noted a thin brown haired beauty kneeling by the kiosk. She had long, silky, brown hair, long, lithe thighs and a
pretty face. She was crying loudly while another slave girl, a short haired blonde with large breasts, held her arms around her comforting
her. There was no need to guess the source of the brunette’s dismay, as she bore a plethora of angry red welts around her body. No doubt she
had suffered a night of terror at the hands of one of the guests. The supervisor, dressed in the standard brown robe, paid her no mind as he
bound her arms behind her and slipped the gag into her pouting mouth. Whether a slave girl suffered physical abuse was largely a matter of
the whim of the guests, unless, of course, she displeased anyone. But sometimes a guest, or even a supervisor, would take an unusual
interest in a particular girl and she might spend several days and nights of painful abuse at his hands just for fun. Guests rarely stayed
more than a couple of weeks but the supervisors were sometimes there for much longer stints before being rotated back to the world to serve
Klitzman in one of his many criminal conspiracies. A slave who fell afoul of a supervisor’s desire to inflict pain was unlucky indeed. />
I hoped for her sake that she had drawn a one nighter. But it was, really, no business of mine and I sped quickly past the kiosk and
on my way. Once I reached the golf course and the small gravel trails that led along the specially designed holes, I was able to let it all
out. I increased my pace and let my body fall into the steady rhythm of my feet. I was in terrific shape from the years of incarceration.
There was nothing to do there but work, exercise and fantasize about getting out. Of course jogging around the lush green runways bordered
by dense tropical trees to the sounds of birds and other denizens of the woods awakening to their day was a lot different from running fifty
times around the interior of the exercise yard in Atlanta.

The pounding of my feet on the gravel path and the rush of my blood in my ears was mesmerizing. It was the only part of the day that
was wholly without tension or conflict for me. Listen, I wasn’t what you would call a good guy before I came to Klitzman’s little hell here.
I had iced a few guys, some who needed it, some who, well, who knew? It was my job. And I had had no compunction about screwing the
reluctant showgirls who were unhappily paying their debts to Tony with their cunts and their mouths back in A.C.

But the whole concept of a reducing hundreds of beautiful young women to a harsh slavery was something else. I had yet to develop the
thick skin I would need to persevere and prosper in Klitzman’s employ. Every time I saw one of the teary eyed, new slave girls gulping down
a stranger’s meat while kneeling between his legs in the middle of one of the club’s open air restaurants or in one of the other public
areas I felt a pang inside me. At night, when the elegant beauties who worked as bargirls in the nightclub that I managed lined up for
nightly inspection, their luscious bodies amply displayed in their scanty and revealing attire, their faces properly and expertly decorated,
the false smiles of their profession displayed on their nervous faces, I experienced a underlying feeling of pity for them. Even after a
round of impassioned fucking between myself and my special slave girls, Mary and Carol, their squeals and laughter still echoing through my
little cottage, my heart became heavy. What was I doing here? Was my freedom worth the loss of humanity experienced by these women, plucked
from their youthful lives from all over the world? But they would all be here anyway, wouldn’t they? I had not enslaved hem. If they didn’t
suck my cock, they would be sucking somebody else’s. And at least I had some conscience and rarely abused any of them severely, not without
cause.

But here in the verdant playground, surrounded by the lush jungle, my thoughts could wander away from my troubles. All I could think
of was the sensations of my body as I placed foot before foot, demanding more and more from my lungs. By the time I reached the ninth green,
my mind was relaxed, my soul cleansed for one more day. But even as I stepped back into the circle of buildings that served the resort, I
could feel my mood darken, my corruption leaking back.

I approached the entranceway to the vast underground slave dormitory and training facility. Its entrance was a little hut built around
the large elevator that took the girls up and down from their real life purgatory. Just as I came near, the elevator must have opened up,
for a bevy of freshly painted and obedient girls emerged from the hut. Gagged and bound, they spread out quickly along the many paths, their
tags hanging around their necks, their tall bright red heels clicking on the dull red brick walkway. I stopped, running in place while the
twenty or so girls emptied out of the hut, their hair springing up and down behind them as they rushed urgently to their posts. Most of them
were headed to the restaurants where the guests would soon be arriving to have their breakfast. Others would be going to the lounges where
guests and supervisors could mix and play cards or pool, or other places. One of the buildings was devoted to sports and horse betting and
those places often got rowdy with one group of guests rooting for one side and another group for the other. Slave girls who served there
were often used as whipping posts for unsuccessful wagerers.

About twenty yards down the pathway from where I was running in place, a guest had stopped one of the girls. He had apparently been
out running as well and was dressed in light blue shorts befitting his status. I wore brown running shorts as befitted mine. He looked about
forty, was well trimmed and had a dark thatch of curly, black hair on his head. His body was tanned and lean. He dripped money, authority,
class. But if he had such class, why would he be here, I asked myself as I watched him inspect the unhappy slave girl.

The girl had shoulder length auburn hair and breasts that stood up firm and proud on her chest. Her eyes conveyed her unhappiness at
the man’s delay of her as she would have no opportunity to excuse her tardiness for her arrival at her work station. But the man was
oblivious to her dismay. He slowly and carefully took stock of her firm breasts, stroking and pinching them to satisfy his almost cold
curiosity. He ran his hands over her hips and, forcing her to turn around, bent her over to appreciate the charms of her tight but plump
derriere. As I resumed my trot, I saw him pull from her collar a red ribbon. The serving girls all wore red ribbons on their collars with
their slave numbers printed on it. Later, after her shift of work was done, she would be set aside so that the man who had taken her ribbon
could claim her for the evening, or for an hour or so. The man was getting an early start on the day and had stationed himself at the
entrance to the slave dormitory so that he could get the pick of the crop. Satisfied, the well toned man gave the girl a sharp slap on her
ass and sent her on her way. She dashed off immediately, balancing herself carefully on her high heels as she broke into a trot in an
attempt to make up for lost time. I silently wished her luck as I made my way back to my cottage.

Carol and Mary were waiting for me expectantly where I had left them. Carol smiled when she saw me. Mary’s eyes brightened. It was
time for my shower and they would get to wash me and, if I permitted it, pay oral obeisance to my rigid member. Today, I had an appointment
with Anthony at 8 o’clock and so I wanted to shower quickly and be on my way. I announced this to the dismay of my pets but brightened their
outlook by decreeing that since Carol had not had a chance to cum that morning that Mary could do her that favor while I took my shower. I
went to the cabinet in the living room and withdrew a large shiny black dildo attached to a leather harness. I presented it to Mary and she
eagerly strapped it around her waist. Carol, grinning lustfully in anticipation of her upcoming delight, leaned back onto the floor,
spreading her legs widely, stroking the narrow strip between her hairless nether lips, commencing the lubrication of her gash. As I entered
the bathroom, Mary knelt between Carol’s outstretched legs, gently caressing her tender thighs, the thick black faux penis jutting out
proudly from her loins.

When I emerged from my shower, I could hear Carol’s frantic moans coming from the other room. Drying myself off, I stepped into the
living room. Mary’s delectable ass was pumping furiously between Carol’s thighs. The brunette’s arms were around Mary’s shoulders, pinning
their breasts together, her fingers digging deeply into Mary’s flesh. He face was turned to the side and I could see her misty eyes and her
lusty lips as she continued to moan loudly and deeply. Her legs were wrapped around Mary’s, pulling the thick, black ebonite shaft that she
wielded deep into her pussy.

“Ohhhhhh, yeah! Oh yeah! Ohhhhhhhh!” Carol exclaimed as her orgasm over came her. My one eyed soldier began to stand at attention as I
viewed the lascivious scene. Mary’s buttocks were tauntingly enticing as they rose and fell with her thrusts. I rubbed my stiffening cock
almost unconsciously as I watched the two girls fuck. Mary began to groan too as the pressure of the dildo against her clit sent her into
her own convulsions.

I was tempted to join the two enticing slave girls; Mary’s small puckered rear aperture presented an almost irresistible target. My
cock wanted to get wet and warm. But you learned on the island to exercise discipline over the expenditure of your male essence. There would
be plenty of alluring slave girls to fuck today and I might regret expending myself too early in the morning. I had gotten into the habit of
coming at least five or six times a day, sometimes more, but I wasn’t Hercules, or Johnny Wad for that matter. And so I tore myself away
from the engaged and engaging couple and went into the bedroom to put on a fresh brown robe and some sandals. When I came back, the girls
were resting in each others arms. Carol was kissing Mary’s face, that part left unexposed by the shield gag that she still wore, and Mary
was hugging her tightly.

“All right, ladies,” I announced. “Break it up. I’ve got to get going.”

The slave girls rolled apart, their eyes beaming with gratitude. Carol looked at me sheepishly. “May I kiss Mary, master?” she asked,
timidly. Slave girls, even ones as liberally handled as mine, needed permission for everything. In another context, with another master,
Carol could have been whipped for her effrontery at speaking without permission. I consented to the request and Carol quickly removed Mary’s
gag. The two girls kissed lovingly for about twenty seconds. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t get started all over again. I have a meeting I
need to get to.” The girls broke apart, their eyes soft and satisfied. “Thank you, master,” Carol said, smiling. Mary turned and smiled at
me too. She hesitated and, seeing the permissive look on my face, spoke as well.

“Thank you master,” she said. Her voice, while halting, was soft and sultry. I bet that I hadn’t heard her speak more than a hundred
words since I had kept her to live with me. I wondered idly whether I should relax my rule of silence as far as she was concerned. If I had
known what would happen later, well, I don’t know what I would have done differently. But, her timid, loving voice, her tender smile and
grateful eyes as she thanked me, haunted me for a long, long time.


Excerpt..

You know the feeling that you get when the roller coaster gets just to the tippity top? You look down into the abyss, the long steel

bordered line of descending track, and you get that empty, bone chilling feeling in your stomach that maybe you have made a mistake? Or have

you ever peered over the edge of a towering cliff imagining your body twisting and turning in the air as it tumbled to its inevitable doom?

Then you know how I feel.


On the one hand, I’ve really got it dicked, if you’ll pardon the expression. I wake up every morning and avail myself of the

enthusiastic services of two beautiful, young, and pleasurably compliant women. And then later, after my early morning run, and my

subservient ladies have lovingly washed and dried my body, I might wander down to the nearest restaurant where I’ll breakfast al fresco in

the not quite yet baking tropical sun, served by enticing naked beauties fully available for a frolic in the sack, or a beating if I have

the inclination. Later, after I’ve digested, there’s always a handball match, some golf, or a chance to watch while a seven foot tall, black

giant administers vicious strokes to a girl being corrected for some minor transgression or, perhaps, merely for the enjoyment of the

guests.


You get the idea. How could anyone complain? Well call me unappreciative, but to really take a walk in my shoes you’d have to add the

fact that at a moment’s notice I could find myself strung up in the nearest cell having strips of my flesh slowly and agonizingly pulled

from my body, my excised manhood and balls turning feverishly in a blender.


My name’s Harry. Harry Wiggins. And how I got myself into this predicament is a long story. Suffice it to say that I made a few

mistakes when I was a street enforcer for an Atlantic City hood named Tony Bianco. I got sent up for a life bid on a Federal rap and was

looking at pulling my pud and getting prison haircuts for a long, long time. When I got the chance to hit the streets, I took it.


The only problem was that my release was at the behest of an unnamed U.S. Government security agency in the person of two colorless,

taciturn guys named Bederson and Mulitieri who came to see me one day in the Federal max in Atlanta. The deal was that I was to let myself

be recruited by a secret international criminal organization known only as ‘k’ and, once I had gained their confidence, turn fink. The

recruitment part went all right. I had to do a job on a rat in the joint first and then, once I had made my bones, an escape was arranged. I

was flown to the headquarters of the gang, a small island located somewhere off the coast of Western Africa.


Now, I had never heard of ‘k’ before. But, every criminal enterprise has its cottage industries. I kind of expected to be working the

streets, like I had been doing, you know, collecting vig, icing the competition, zipping guys who needed it. To my surprise, I was dropped

in the middle of a Disneyland for dominants which went, among the cognoscenti, by the name of Klitzman’s Isle.


To call it a resort would be like calling the B-1 bomber a plane. It really just doesn’t say it. The place was staffed with an average

of 200 hundred or more luscious whores. And not the kind who take your dough and give you a quick fuck while chewing gum and thinking about

what an asshole you are. These lovelies had been torn from their prior lives, undergone a thorough course of sexual subservience, learned

the amount of pain that can be applied to the human body without permanently marring it, and taught to keep their delectable bodies ready

and available for use at any time by anyone who wanted it, in any way that they could imagine. You can’t get that kind of service at Club

Med.


Now, I’m really not complaining. I’ve made my bed, so to speak, and I have to live in it. But it does get nerve-wracking to imagine a

doleful end for oneself every time one of the upper managers of this reprehensible resort lets it be known that he wants to see you. Is your

cover blown?


This particular morning I had awoken, as I had many times over the last few weeks, to the feeling of soft compliant lips nibbling at

the tip of my hardened cock. In my dream I was back in Atlantic City. My boss, Tony, had a funhouse for the use of his boys in the north end

of town and in my dream I was lying in a large soft bed in one of the upstairs bedrooms. We used to take some of the showgirls there when

Tony was getting ready to break them in at one of his local whorehouses. They were always in need of cash, some white powder or maybe an

audition. Once Tony had his hooks in, he eventually got what he wanted from them.


Anyway, I was lying on my back and a tall full bosomed show girl was between my legs. She wore one of those big, sparkly, feathered

headdresses the showgirls wear, a pair of fake diamond encrusted earrings that shot points of light out whenever she moved her head, small

pasties on the tips of her inviting breasts and a small silver thong. Her back arched behind her gracefully and I could see her plump but

firm pale white rear globes bisected by a small strip of luminous silver fabric. She had glittering silver high heels on her feet. I groaned

each time that her firm lips descended the length of my steel hard rod. Remarkably, the two foot high feathered headpiece stayed on her head

as she bent over my cock. As her head bobbed up and down, I could feel it tickling my chest.


Slowly, my consciousness emerged into reality. I looked down to see the brown haired head of my slave girl, Carol, nestled between my

thighs. She was short and thin with broad hips and a long thick braid of silky brown hair that descended down her back. Her doe like brown

eyes looked up at me with obvious delight that she had finally gotten my attention. I groaned with pleasure as her tight plump lips

descended the length of my sensitive pole. Lying next to me, her hand softly caressing my chest, was Mary, a black haired beauty. Her

delicious breasts were crushed against my side and she looked at me wistfully as she caressed my pectorals.


Carol had been a gift to me from my demonic employer, Klitzman. He was a 350 pound giant with gluttonous appetites for food, sex and

cruelty, not necessarily in that order. He had apparently lost interest in the meek Carol after whipping her back raw and pillaring her with

sexual abuse. It was when he ‘promoted’ me from an everyday supervisor at the island to his ‘go to’ man. I was given the use of the finely

appointed cottage in which I now lived and the ownership of the badly bruised and damaged girl. I had nursed her back to health and

developed a fond affection for her over the last six weeks or so.


Mary, I had acquired at the same time. The difference was that she was not my property but ‘on loan’ from the resort. My promotion

entitled me to reserve the use of a slave girl for as long as I wanted and I had chosen the dark haired girl partly because of the

delectable submissiveness she had exhibited when she was first delivered to my door for the service of my pleasures and partly because I

learned from her that she had been kidnapped at the same time as Carol. I felt that Mary could help Carol regain some of her equanimity

regarding her status as sexual chattel, something very necessary if she were to survive for any reasonable period on Klitzman’s Isle.
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I had grown fond of the two slave girls. But that only presented me with another intractable problem. While they were in my custody, I

treated them fairly and with some kindness. But how could I ever really protect them from the depredations of the other supervisors and

guests, especially those who ranked higher than me in the Klitzman hierarchy? There was Klitzman, of course, and I assumed that whatever

Klitzman gaveth he could taketh away. And then there was Rukimo. Rukimo was a six foot seven inch mound of black African muscle. He served

as Klitzman’s main man when it came to the resort and, I assumed, many other things. It was Rukimo who interrogated me when I first arrived,

evidently quelling any suspicions he might have had as to my bone fides. I was still alive, wasn’t I?


And then there were the lesser lights, Thorndike and his sidekick known only as Cholo. They were both cruel, conscienceless killers

who also ran some of Klitzman’s slaving operations. I had had a run in with Thorndike. He challenged me to a ‘friendly’ boxing match on my

arrival. He kicked the shit out of me. But I got in a couple of good shots, breaking his nose in the process and earning myself some respect

on the island as the only guy who ever caused him injury and lived. Both Thorndike and Cholo had well earned reputations for their eagerness

to visit extreme depredations on defenseless female flesh, and the slave girls who learned of my lucky blow to Thorndike’s proboscis treated

me with especially pleasurable deference ever since.


And there were others. Anthony, for instance, who had served as my Virgil to this hellish sadists’ haven on my arrival. I still didn’t

know what his overall position was on the island, but he had one of those cold death looks in his eyes and often made elliptical comments

about past deeds that left the impression that he was as capable of sociopathic violence as any of the others.


The point is that I could really offer no protection to my enslaved female wards at all, regardless of how much I treasured their

loving and obsequious reverence to me. It was true that I had provided them with a sort of safe harbor from callous use and violence, but as

sure as God made little green apples, some day they would have to face the hazards of Klitzman’s Isle once more. Their only hope, and mine,

was that somehow before that day came I was able to give Bederson and Mulitieri the ammo they would need to take down Klitzman’s criminal

empire.


The trouble was, as if I didn’t have enough, that I had no idea of how I was supposed to get in touch with my erstwhile undercover

mentors. I had been told that I would be contacted before Klitzman’s men sprung me from the can, but no dice. I was spirited away to this

island paradise without so much as a word from the two Feds. My only hope now of learning how to communicate with them was through a slave

girl named Lois. She had been caught snooping around one of Klitzman’s secret jungle transit camps for contraband along with a companion

name Delia. They were promptly trussed up and stripped and sent by cargo plane to Klitzman’s little resort. The camp was a layover point for

me on my way to Klitzman’s island. Their very presence there at the same time as me raised some hackles but both Lois and Delia had endured

painful debriefings without putting me in the soup. Delia had ultimately confessed to being a DEA agent but denied knowing me. Lois passed

muster as a nosey reporter. But, one afternoon following her formal enslavement and training, after I had given her a round fucking, she had

whispered to me three bone chilling words: “Bederson sent me.”


I had been contemplating forgetting all about my promise to fink on Klitzman and his gang. After all, I was living the life of Riley,

had poontang up the wazoo. What more could a guy ask for? Why risk it all and chance miserable, painful death? But once I knew that a slave

girl on the island could put me in deep shit with just one word, all that changed.


Ironically, I had saved her life when Thorndike wanted me to throw her to the sharks one afternoon. I had balked at having that crime

on my soul when I met my maker. And now her very existence made mine precarious. I needed desperately to learn more from her, or,

alternatively, to figure out a way to silence her forever. But my activities on the island were carefully monitored. I wasn’t sure that

Rukimo had given up all suspicion of me. If I was seen to get all buddy buddy with her, or was implicated in her untimely demise, suspicions

could turn into beliefs. I would need to figure out a way to get her alone again without raising anyone’s hackles.


As Carol delivered exquisite pleasure to my rod, I pulled Mary closer to me and took one of her teats into my mouth. My mind swooned

with the delightful sensation of her hardened button on my tongue and she moaned softly as I sucked on it gently. Mary’s moan was muted by

the leather gag that she wore, something I had ruled that she should wear at all times when not necessary to eat or when servicing me or her

sister slave with her succulent red lips. There was no real reason for my cruel whimsy. When she had first been brought to my cottage, she

had talked out of turn and I had whipped her for it. But that was weeks ago and the ‘gag rule’ had long outlasted any practical

justification. I guess I just enjoyed her pretty, pleading blue eyes as she stared up at me silently whenever I came home. To her credit,

she never complained to me about it, but suffered the indignity of my arbitrary exercise of power over her with meek acceptance.


But now I wanted to taste of her voluptuous lips and I reached behind her head and undid the strap that held her gag in place. The

outside of the gag had a leather shield over it and covered her face from the edge of her septum to the bottom of her chin. She smiled with

undisguised happiness when the plug was removed from her mouth and her lips eagerly accepted mine as I pulled her head down. She slid her

body over mine, her knees planted on the bed on either side of my chest and leaned over, delving her tongue deeply into my mouth. As her hot

tongue danced around mine, I stroked her full round breasts, pulling on her stiff nipples each time my hands finished a caress.


With the two energetic mouths servicing me, my lusts began to boil. Carol was in no hurry to precipitate my crisis. I could feel her

well trained tongue tease the underside of my cock’s head. Her hand had taken possession of my scrotal sac and manipulated my sensitive

stones gently, driving an aching pleasure right through me. Mary’s hips gently gyrated as she pressed her own needy sex against my belly. I

slipped my hands down her sides and under her thighs and pulled her forwards, until her knees were astride my head and her soaked pussy was

presented to my lips.


The aroma of Mary’s arousal was intoxicating to me. I pulled her steaming nether lips to my mouth and dragged my tongue along the damp

length of the denuded slit between them. Mary groaned with pleasure. Her face and hands were against the bed’s ornately carved headboard

above me and the sound of her passion echoed off of the hard teakwood surface. My hands were circled under her lean, tender thighs and I

forced her pussy hard against my mouth as I drove my tongue deeply inside her. The taste of her arousal, sweet and sour, with its pungent

musk, electrified me. I could feel my balls tighten and the immanency of my orgasm as Carol’s mouth continued to delight me. I wanted Mary

to come too, and I began to probe her hardened clit with my tongue, rolling it over the little nubbin, circling it and pressing it down.
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Carol must have sensed my purpose, for as soon as Mary began a staccato series of almost anguished whimpers, her body shuddering with

each hard convulsion of her cunt, she intensified her attentions to my tool. A flash of light went off in my head as my cock exploded. I

groaned my pleasure into Mary’s hot, moist crevasse as each throb of my cock sent a powerful jolt of ecstasy through me. I could feel my

seed flowing out in spurts as Carol’s tongue and lips encouraged me, her head bobbing up and down, her lips firmly gripping my shaft.
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Mary, once her tumult had subsided, quickly climbed off of me. I raised my head slightly from my pillow to see Carol, still kneeling

dutifully between my outstretched thighs, grinning almost wickedly at me, her lips clamped together tightly, a gleam in her eye. Mary

shuffled over to her and joined her in an embrace. Carol opened her lips and showed me the product of my loins that still lay pooled in her

mouth. Mary took Carol’s chin in her hand and turned her face towards her. The lips of the two pretty slave girls met and I watched,

enthralled, as Carol passed a share of my spending to her sister slave. I could see Mary’s mouth work greedily, her hands pressing Carols’

body firmly into her own. Her large breasts crushed Carol’s more modest ones.


The scene of the two of them engaged in a passionate embrace made my now limp cock to stir. Although the sight of the delectable

lasses sharing my come was titillating, to say the least, it had not been my idea. More than once, as they had simultaneously given oral

adoration to my tool, they had struggled over the right to take my discharge. Carol had thought of it first and her solution seemed

equitable enough. And so, now, each time that I sent a flood of my spewm into one of their mouths, they shared it with their housemate,

taking the opportunity to administer passionate kisses to one another.


The curvaceous and appealing young women eventually broke their embrace. They turned and smiled at me expectantly, Mary licking her

lips in satisfaction. It was time for my run and so I jumped out of bed, deposited a night’s worth of liquid wastes in the toilet and

dressed. When I emerged from the bathroom, my slave girls were kneeling obediently in the living room, their hands outstretched on their

knees, palms up, their backs arched and their comely breasts enticingly presented.


Slave girls, even ones as obedient and accepting of their roles as Mary and Carol, were not to be left to their own devices, and so I

chained their ankles to rings in the floor. They slept, when not kept in my bed for the night, in a little alcove in the bedroom. The chains

had timers on them which released the clasps at the preset time, allowing the girls to serve as my libidinous alarm clock. Mary had brought

her gag out from the bedroom with her and dutifully handed it up to me. With a slight look of sorrow in her eyes, she spread her pretty lips

and accepted its insertion. Carol, helpfully, connected the straps behind her head.


I headed out the door of my cottage. Although still early morning, about 6:45, the temperature was well into the eighties and the air

heavy with humidity. But it as much better than midday when the temperatures could soar. I stepped carefully down the steps from the front

porch of my cottage and, after several minutes of stretching, began my run.


The cottages sat up on a hill overlooking the resort proper. There were twelve of them, all serving employees in the Klitzman

hierarchy, and three larger mansions further up. Cholo and Thorndike shared one of those. The other two were reserved for bigwigs.


I took my time wending my way down the hill and then took off along a track that ran around the outer perimeter of the resort

buildings. It was a track not normally utilized by guests, but was, rather, used for transporting groups of slave girls back and forth from

the various buildings and the slave dorms. As I loped around the pathway, a couple of coffles of naked slave girls passed in the other

direction. All of the girls had their arms bound behind their backs and wore the wide leather shields over their faces that denoted the

presence of thick wads of leather in their mouths. A chain led from the back of the collar of the leaders to the front of the slave girl

behind her, etc. There was no need for an escort. Their destination was printed clearly on the large colored tags dangling from the collars

of the leaders. The color denoted their destination. The tag had written on it the identity numbers of the slave girls in the coffle and the

time of their departure from their duty stations. Heaven help the slave girls found elsewhere other than on a direct route to their next

stop or who reported beyond the short period of time allotted for their arrival. And so, although tired out from an evening’s worth of

fucking or abuse, they pranced along quickly in their red, high heeled shoes in carefully synchronized steps. Their breasts bobbed prettily

as they hustled along, their worried eyes evidencing their determination to arrive on schedule.


When I reached the half way mark around the resort proper, I cut directly through it on my way to the undulating hills of the well

manicured nine hole golf course. I passed one of the gathering stations outside one of the three guests’ buildings. Slave girls released

from their night’s responsibilities by the guests were required to report directly here, where their hands would be bound behind them and

their gags applied. They would wait until a sufficient number had gathered to make up a coffle and be then sent on their way.


As I passed, I noted a thin brown haired beauty kneeling by the kiosk. She had long, silky, brown hair, long, lithe thighs and a

pretty face. She was crying loudly while another slave girl, a short haired blonde with large breasts, held her arms around her comforting

her. There was no need to guess the source of the brunette’s dismay, as she bore a plethora of angry red welts around her body. No doubt she

had suffered a night of terror at the hands of one of the guests. The supervisor, dressed in the standard brown robe, paid her no mind as he

bound her arms behind her and slipped the gag into her pouting mouth. Whether a slave girl suffered physical abuse was largely a matter of

the whim of the guests, unless, of course, she displeased anyone. But sometimes a guest, or even a supervisor, would take an unusual

interest in a particular girl and she might spend several days and nights of painful abuse at his hands just for fun. Guests rarely stayed

more than a couple of weeks but the supervisors were sometimes there for much longer stints before being rotated back to the world to serve

Klitzman in one of his many criminal conspiracies. A slave who fell afoul of a supervisor’s desire to inflict pain was unlucky indeed.
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I hoped for her sake that she had drawn a one nighter. But it was, really, no business of mine and I sped quickly past the kiosk and

on my way. Once I reached the golf course and the small gravel trails that led along the specially designed holes, I was able to let it all

out. I increased my pace and let my body fall into the steady rhythm of my feet. I was in terrific shape from the years of incarceration.

There was nothing to do there but work, exercise and fantasize about getting out. Of course jogging around the lush green runways bordered

by dense tropical trees to the sounds of birds and other denizens of the woods awakening to their day was a lot different from running fifty

times around the interior of the exercise yard in Atlanta.


The pounding of my feet on the gravel path and the rush of my blood in my ears was mesmerizing. It was the only part of the day that

was wholly without tension or conflict for me. Listen, I wasn’t what you would call a good guy before I came to Klitzman’s little hell here.

I had iced a few guys, some who needed it, some who, well, who knew? It was my job. And I had had no compunction about screwing the

reluctant showgirls who were unhappily paying their debts to Tony with their cunts and their mouths back in A.C.


But the whole concept of a reducing hundreds of beautiful young women to a harsh slavery was something else. I had yet to develop the

thick skin I would need to persevere and prosper in Klitzman’s employ. Every time I saw one of the teary eyed, new slave girls gulping down

a stranger’s meat while kneeling between his legs in the middle of one of the club’s open air restaurants or in one of the other public

areas I felt a pang inside me. At night, when the elegant beauties who worked as bargirls in the nightclub that I managed lined up for

nightly inspection, their luscious bodies amply displayed in their scanty and revealing attire, their faces properly and expertly decorated,

the false smiles of their profession displayed on their nervous faces, I experienced a underlying feeling of pity for them. Even after a

round of impassioned fucking between myself and my special slave girls, Mary and Carol, their squeals and laughter still echoing through my

little cottage, my heart became heavy. What was I doing here? Was my freedom worth the loss of humanity experienced by these women, plucked

from their youthful lives from all over the world? But they would all be here anyway, wouldn’t they? I had not enslaved hem. If they didn’t

suck my cock, they would be sucking somebody else’s. And at least I had some conscience and rarely abused any of them severely, not without

cause.


But here in the verdant playground, surrounded by the lush jungle, my thoughts could wander away from my troubles. All I could think

of was the sensations of my body as I placed foot before foot, demanding more and more from my lungs. By the time I reached the ninth green,

my mind was relaxed, my soul cleansed for one more day. But even as I stepped back into the circle of buildings that served the resort, I

could feel my mood darken, my corruption leaking back.


I approached the entranceway to the vast underground slave dormitory and training facility. Its entrance was a little hut built around

the large elevator that took the girls up and down from their real life purgatory. Just as I came near, the elevator must have opened up,

for a bevy of freshly painted and obedient girls emerged from the hut. Gagged and bound, they spread out quickly along the many paths, their

tags hanging around their necks, their tall bright red heels clicking on the dull red brick walkway. I stopped, running in place while the

twenty or so girls emptied out of the hut, their hair springing up and down behind them as they rushed urgently to their posts. Most of them

were headed to the restaurants where the guests would soon be arriving to have their breakfast. Others would be going to the lounges where

guests and supervisors could mix and play cards or pool, or other places. One of the buildings was devoted to sports and horse betting and

those places often got rowdy with one group of guests rooting for one side and another group for the other. Slave girls who served there

were often used as whipping posts for unsuccessful wagerers.


About twenty yards down the pathway from where I was running in place, a guest had stopped one of the girls. He had apparently been

out running as well and was dressed in light blue shorts befitting his status. I wore brown running shorts as befitted mine. He looked about

forty, was well trimmed and had a dark thatch of curly, black hair on his head. His body was tanned and lean. He dripped money, authority,

class. But if he had such class, why would he be here, I asked myself as I watched him inspect the unhappy slave girl.


The girl had shoulder length auburn hair and breasts that stood up firm and proud on her chest. Her eyes conveyed her unhappiness at

the man’s delay of her as she would have no opportunity to excuse her tardiness for her arrival at her work station. But the man was

oblivious to her dismay. He slowly and carefully took stock of her firm breasts, stroking and pinching them to satisfy his almost cold

curiosity. He ran his hands over her hips and, forcing her to turn around, bent her over to appreciate the charms of her tight but plump

derriere. As I resumed my trot, I saw him pull from her collar a red ribbon. The serving girls all wore red ribbons on their collars with

their slave numbers printed on it. Later, after her shift of work was done, she would be set aside so that the man who had taken her ribbon

could claim her for the evening, or for an hour or so. The man was getting an early start on the day and had stationed himself at the

entrance to the slave dormitory so that he could get the pick of the crop. Satisfied, the well toned man gave the girl a sharp slap on her

ass and sent her on her way. She dashed off immediately, balancing herself carefully on her high heels as she broke into a trot in an

attempt to make up for lost time. I silently wished her luck as I made my way back to my cottage.


Carol and Mary were waiting for me expectantly where I had left them. Carol smiled when she saw me. Mary’s eyes brightened. It was

time for my shower and they would get to wash me and, if I permitted it, pay oral obeisance to my rigid member. Today, I had an appointment

with Anthony at 8 o’clock and so I wanted to shower quickly and be on my way. I announced this to the dismay of my pets but brightened their

outlook by decreeing that since Carol had not had a chance to cum that morning that Mary could do her that favor while I took my shower. I

went to the cabinet in the living room and withdrew a large shiny black dildo attached to a leather harness. I presented it to Mary and she

eagerly strapped it around her waist. Carol, grinning lustfully in anticipation of her upcoming delight, leaned back onto the floor,

spreading her legs widely, stroking the narrow strip between her hairless nether lips, commencing the lubrication of her gash. As I entered

the bathroom, Mary knelt between Carol’s outstretched legs, gently caressing her tender thighs, the thick black faux penis jutting out

proudly from her loins.


When I emerged from my shower, I could hear Carol’s frantic moans coming from the other room. Drying myself off, I stepped into the

living room. Mary’s delectable ass was pumping furiously between Carol’s thighs. The brunette’s arms were around Mary’s shoulders, pinning

their breasts together, her fingers digging deeply into Mary’s flesh. He face was turned to the side and I could see her misty eyes and her

lusty lips as she continued to moan loudly and deeply. Her legs were wrapped around Mary’s, pulling the thick, black ebonite shaft that she

wielded deep into her pussy.


“Ohhhhhh, yeah! Oh yeah! Ohhhhhhhh!” Carol exclaimed as her orgasm over came her. My one eyed soldier began to stand at attention as I

viewed the lascivious scene. Mary’s buttocks were tauntingly enticing as they rose and fell with her thrusts. I rubbed my stiffening cock

almost unconsciously as I watched the two girls fuck. Mary began to groan too as the pressure of the dildo against her clit sent her into

her own convulsions.


I was tempted to join the two enticing slave girls; Mary’s small puckered rear aperture presented an almost irresistible target. My

cock wanted to get wet and warm. But you learned on the island to exercise discipline over the expenditure of your male essence. There would

be plenty of alluring slave girls to fuck today and I might regret expending myself too early in the morning. I had gotten into the habit of

coming at least five or six times a day, sometimes more, but I wasn’t Hercules, or Johnny Wad for that matter. And so I tore myself away

from the engaged and engaging couple and went into the bedroom to put on a fresh brown robe and some sandals. When I came back, the girls

were resting in each others arms. Carol was kissing Mary’s face, that part left unexposed by the shield gag that she still wore, and Mary

was hugging her tightly.


“All right, ladies,” I announced. “Break it up. I’ve got to get going.”


The slave girls rolled apart, their eyes beaming with gratitude. Carol looked at me sheepishly. “May I kiss Mary, master?” she asked,

timidly. Slave girls, even ones as liberally handled as mine, needed permission for everything. In another context, with another master,

Carol could have been whipped for her effrontery at speaking without permission. I consented to the request and Carol quickly removed Mary’s

gag. The two girls kissed lovingly for about twenty seconds. “Okay, okay,” I said. “Don’t get started all over again. I have a meeting I

need to get to.” The girls broke apart, their eyes soft and satisfied. “Thank you, master,” Carol said, smiling. Mary turned and smiled at

me too. She hesitated and, seeing the permissive look on my face, spoke as well.


“Thank you master,” she said. Her voice, while halting, was soft and sultry. I bet that I hadn’t heard her speak more than a hundred

words since I had kept her to live with me. I wondered idly whether I should relax my rule of silence as far as she was concerned. If I had

known what would happen later, well, I don’t know what I would have done differently. But, her timid, loving voice, her tender smile and

grateful eyes as she thanked me, haunted me for a long, long time.



Best Selling Books This Year By Paul Blades

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

Best Selling Books This Year By Paul Blades

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman

The Klitzman Stories - Part 4 - Klitzman


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Affiliate Program

Contact Us

Terms and Conditions

Protection Policy

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This Site Owned By Fiction4Adults - Copyright Ó 2015