It’s not something that you see every day. I mean you, not me. Unless you live
with two beautiful, compliant, subservient young women who’ll do anything you say anytime
you want. In fact, most times, here on Klitzman’s Isle, I get to see it several times a
day, not that I ever get tired of it.
The spotlight was shining directly on the two young, naked, writhing, impassioned
women on the small stage in the middle of the otherwise dimly lit room. They had been at
it for about ten minutes. The one on top, I think her name was Donna or Dolores or
something like that, I can’t really remember, was a long legged brunette. She had long,
chestnut colored hair that ran down to her waist as straight as a waterfall. Her legs
were spread wide and she had her face buried in the fevered quim of the smaller, blond
haired girl who was, in turn, frantically slurping at the exposed, dripping, hairless slit
of the energized woman above her. The blond girl’s arms were circled tightly around the
backs of the brunette’s thighs holding her pussy poised firmly in place for her
ministrations. Her hair was short cropped and formed little, golden ringlets on her head.
I could see her long tongue darting energetically along the length of the brunette’s slit
and then down to her hardened pleasure bud. Each time she got there she gave the little
nubbin a long, languorous suck that made the brown haired girl squirm and moan. The
blond, a thin, dainty breasted girl named Vicki, who I knew well, was herself emitting
little, staccato moans and I could see her raised knees and her bright red, high heeled
shoes as they stomped and dragged on the padded surface of the stage in apparent
frustration. The brunette’s thin, straight hair was splayed across her sweat covered
back, and from my vantage point I could see her twitching rear cheeks and the inviting,
pale brown star of her nether entrance. On her right buttock, high up, just below her
hip, she wore a bright red, cursive ‘k” burned into her flesh.
The girls were engaged in a sort of contest. Not that it was their idea, of
course. Little that happened to slave girls on Klitzman’s Isle was their idea. From what
I could tell, it was the idea of Mr. Cho Jung Min, President and chief operating executive
of the Dungbu International Trading Co., Ltd. He and the other members of the Board of
Directors were celebrating an unusually profitable quarter for the South Korean
conglomerate. There were six of them, not counting the obsequious little squinty eyed guy
who had spent the evening relaying the curt, excited demands of the other men in English
to the women who were serving them.
The party had been going on since about 8 o’clock in one of the party rooms of the
guest quarters, me, dressed in my reddish brown robe denoting my role as a supervisor,
them in their pale blue robes marking their status as guests. There had been a lavish
banquet served by the six beautiful and naked slave girls assigned to them for the night.
Scotch whiskey had flowed like water and the grizzled, elderly men had begun the evening
as sedate but excited gentlemen of wealth and power but had degenerated into wild and
crazy frat boys after about an hour and a continuous series of toasts to the chairman, Mr.
Cho.
Rukimo, the huge, mountainous black man who ran the day to day operations of the
island, had assigned me to the group to make sure that they enjoyed themselves but did not
get out of hand. Abuse of the serving wenches was expected, but the last time these boys
were here they had exceeded even the generous bounds of propriety that governed behavior
at this perverse resort. The expense of the woefully damaged slave girls had been added
to their tab of course, but those kinds of things were frowned upon as being bad for the
morale of the girls who, after all, were only human, and could not be expected to be at
their best and brightest if they had to anticipate ending their work shifts being hauled
out on a stretcher.
The game was simple, really. The girls were instructed to gemauch either other on
the stage. The winner was the one who could hold off her orgasm the longest. To her was
awarded the privilege of taking her turn at the chairman’s dick, sucking at his wizened,
Viagra encouraged pole until he came. The loser would be unceremoniously hauled up by her
ankles and tied off to a bar dangling from the ceiling, feet wide apart, and treated to a
fierce and energetic lashing by members of the Board. The loser of the last round, a
buxom redhead with firm, mare-like thighs, was still dangling upside down at the side of
the stage, her pale skin striped with the lattice-like results of her ordeal, her reddish
orange tresses trailing underneath her almost to the floor. One of the men was standing
up against her, taking advantage of her widespread thighs and sucking eagerly at her
bruised, plump, hairless mons while plunging his thick tool into her mouth. He had hold
of her orange tinted hair behind her head and was pumping her mouth back and forth eagerly
on his cock. Her hands had been locked behind her before she was beaten and she was
defenseless to regulate the man’s tempo or the depths of his penetration of her mouth and
throat. Her garbled protestations as she struggled for breath, emitted as a kind of ‘Ga!’
each time the hard wand of flesh penetrated her esophagus, mingled with the moans and
grunts of the struggling girls on the platform in a kind of melodic counterpoint.
I was seated in one of the padded swivel chairs that surrounded the two foot high
rounded stage. My rust colored robe was drawn open and I was enjoying the patient and
skilled lips of a diminutive, brown haired, ponytailed girl. I had instructed her not to
let me come, but rather, to keep me on the edge of completion while I took in the
spectacle. My hand was resting softly on her head as she gave me languorous strokes of my
cock with her well practiced lips while her large, round, doe like eyes peered up at me,
carefully measuring my excitement. It was getting harder and harder not to succumb to the
warm, wet delectations of her mouth. I was woozy from all of the booze, more than I would
normally take in, and my resolve to reserve my sexual energies for later was swiftly
dissipating.
But if it was difficult for me to reign in my urge to orgasm, it was torture for
the girls on the stage. Slave girls on Klitzman’s Isle were trained to a pinnacle of
sexual responsiveness. Several weeks in Rukimo’s underground training cells was usually
sufficient to turn the most reticent and demure young ladies into fevered and fervent
sluts. Rukimo’s uniformly huge, black African guards were expert at drawing out sexual
passion from the unfortunate young women who found their way there and nobody graduated
until she could will herself into lustful response at the drop of a hat or, if not, at the
unfurling of a long, vicious bull whip.
And so Vicki and Donna or Denise, or whatever her name was, were fighting off what
had become their basic nature as they tried to resist the expert application of their
opponent’s tongue and lips. It was hard to tell who was winning. I could see the
brunette’s thighs struggling in the blond girl’s grip as she instinctively tried to close
them to deny her assailant access to her center of pleasure. Vicki’s squeals and moans
were getting louder and more desperate. I wondered idly whether being on top or on bottom
was more advantageous in delaying the effects of the well trained and energetic mouths
that was scouring each other’s loins. The redhead who was having her mouth used like a
cunt had been on bottom, but the blond girl who had lost the first round and who was still
dangling from her ankles in the corner of the room recovering from the effects of the four
foot long leather quirts that the members of the Board of Directors had wielded with such
gusto as they administered the penalty for her loss of self control, had been on top.
The contest between Vicki and the long haired brunette was coming to a crisis. I
could see that Vicki’s grip on the brunette’s legs had become tighter as if she was
holding on to them for dear life. Her slender fingers, tipped by long, bright red,
painted nails were making little dimples in the soft flesh of the brunette’s pale, soft
thighs. The brunette’s moans had become deep and prolonged and I could see her head
bobbing frantically up and down. The cheeks of her ass had accelerated their twitches in
her excitement and her rear entrance was clenched tight. The Koreans had apparently
sensed that the race was about over and were screaming and yelling for their favorites.
All of a sudden, Vicki gave out a piteous, frustrated scream. Her head rolled back
and her ruby colored lips parted in a wide ‘O’. Her face was strained and flushed bright
red. Her knees, which had been spread wide, closed tightly against the head that was
tormenting her and her legs began to flail. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Ohhhhhhhhh!” she yelled as
her orgasm overtook her. “Oh God! Oh! Oh! Oh!” she yelled in pleasure and frustration.
Three of the Koreans erupted into raucous cheers while the other three gave out moans and
shouts of disappointment.
Vicki was shaking and shuddering underneath the brunette, but the other girl was
showing her no mercy. She continued her attentions to the throbbing pussy beneath her.
Vicki had abandoned her efforts at the luscious quim of her adversary and her face was
contorted with the evidence of her launch into sexual oblivion.
Chairman Cho, who has sitting to my right with a black haired slave girl bent over
his knees, his hand worrying the distended gap between her outstretched thighs, barked a
staccato, series of harsh sounding words to the other men. They had discarded their pale
blue robes and were dancing and jumping around the stage, scotch filled glasses in hands,
like school boys waiting for ice cream. Joo-Chan, the reserved and taciturn factotum,
still dressed primly in his knee length, pale blue robe, yelled out his master’s command
to the two women to break apart. The brunette, who, like most successful slave girls on
the island, had remained keyed to the voice of male authority even while engaged in the
fevered contest with the blond girl, immediately lifted her torso up from the girl’s still
writhing body and rolled off of her. Her face was smeared with the proof of Vicki’s
orgasm and was etched with the evidence of her own arousal, her lips engorged and parted,
her eyes wide and moist. Her chest above her bounteous breasts was reddened and her
nipples stood up like soldiers at attention. Her breath was heavy and labored and as she
took a seated position on the stage next to her unfortunate sister, her legs spread wide
and her knees bent, I could sense her roused lust and bittersweet disappointment that she
had not been allowed its fruition. Her hands stroked her long, well toned thighs in
frustration as if begging for permission to address her flowered, lust laden crevasse.
But it was not to be, not yet anyway, as Joo-Chan ordered her to pay obeisance to the
Chairman’s prick.
Two of the Koreans, their delight in having selected the winner in the contest
obvious, and eager to reap their reward of the right to administer a beating to the loser,
had grabbed the blond girl’s ankles and were lifting her bodily up into the air. The
Korean men were all well over sixty, but they had retained the well muscled bodies of
their youths and were able to raise Vicki’s body without noticeable effort. They were
laughing and smiling as they affixed the leather bracelets around the girl’s ankles to the
bar that had been dangling over the stage like the sword of Damocles, spreading the
unfortunate girl’s legs widely. A third man pulled on the chain that held the bar aloft
and raised it higher until the girl’s head was lifted off of the soft surface of the stage
and she was suspended in air.
Vicki’s long, thin body was shiny with the sweat of her recent exertions. Her arms
dangled below her and her hands were desperately seeking purchase on the smooth stage
surface to deny the efforts of her captors. Once they had her in the air, however, they
quickly grabbed her arms and confined her wrists behind her by clasping her two leather
bracelets together.
The girls on Klitzman’s Isle were no strangers to the whip. But it was one thing
to be fastened across a stanchion ready to receive the steady, well timed strokes of a
deserved beating. It was another to be the victim of a lash wielded by a patron in the
throes of passion. Vicki’s face recorded her dismay and fear as she swung helplessly from
the elevated bar. Her lips were tightly pressed together and tears had already begun to
well up in her eyes. She looked at me beseechingly. Like I said, I knew Vicki well. She
had served as a waitress for a time in the jazz lounge that I ran on the resort for the
benefit of the guests. I had developed, quite unintentionally, a reputation among the
slave girls for a muted sympathy for their plight. I rarely beat any of them for pleasure
beyond the few strokes that were sufficient to get my fires going. And I tried to treat
them with a deference for their unhappy, involuntary fates. Vicki loved to fuck and,
after the bar had closed for the night, I had a few times brought her back to my cottage
for an evening’s entertainment. The girl had saucy features and a lithe frame. Although
not of sufficient beauty to serve as one of the lounge girls, girls who, dressed in
fashionable but revealing attire and gave pretense to my establishment as a ordinary
watering hole, waiting to be picked up by the ‘handsome’ strangers who happened in, she
was good natured and her sexual skills had received favorable mention more than once. She
had lost her job in one of the many shuffles of slave girl duties that occurred on the
island. No girl should think that any of her assignments were permanent and it was only
fair that she be thrown back into the pool, so to speak, after a few weeks as a plaything
at my bar.
I knew that Vicki’s forlorn gaze was not an appeal for my intervention. She knew
better than that. But it was a plea for sympathy and, perhaps, a nostalgic entreaty for
the safer, more sedate atmosphere of my jazz lounge. As I fought off the mesmerizing
effects of the soft, hot tongue that was circumnavigating my cock, I promised myself that
I would try and give the poor girl a few days of respite from her duties in the resort
proper if I could.
Having positioned the long, languorous body of the girl where they wanted her, the
Koreans retrieved their quirts from the floor where they had dropped them after the last
round of beatings and prepared for their assault on Vicki’s tender flesh. I could see the
inside of the girl’s thighs quivering in dreadful anticipation of their ordeal. She was
giving out a mournful moan and her upside down breasts swayed and jiggled enticingly as
they were shifted about by her heaving chest.
The first blow was struck by a heavyset, muscular Korean with short cut salt and
pepper hair. He had drawn the offensive instrument back and brought it down directly on
the parted and still oozing sex of the girl. Vicki gave out a great howl as her delicate
pussy received the thin, stiff, leather strap. A line of bright red emerged instantly.
Her body quaked and writhed and her motions made her torso swing unsteadily. The first
blow was followed quickly by a second from another lust filled Korean and then a third and
a fourth. The room was filled with the anguished screams of the poor girl as her body
twisted and turned in a fruitless effort to avoid her torment. Long red lines were
appearing all over her as the three Korean men assailed her relentlessly. Chairman Cho
was sitting blithely in his chair, a cruel smile spread over his face as he, in turn,
received the oral attentions of the brunette. Joo-Chan was crouched behind her, giving
her already steaming cunt the attentions of his hand as he drove her lusts higher and
higher. I could hear her moans and energetic slurps at Cho’s dick as Vicki received a
rain of excruciating blows from the other men’s whips. The poor girl’s voice was getting
hoarse as she begged and pleaded for the men to stop. Pleas for mercy from slave girls
were usually strictly verboten as they were expected to accept meekly what their masters
doled out, but I decided not to report the poor, golden haired girl, as her circumstances
were extreme, even as judged by normal island standards.
My own lusts were rising higher and higher. I had wanted to save all of my sexual
energies for my two favorite slave girls, Carol and Mary, who were awaiting my pleasure in
my cottage. I had been somewhat inattentive to their needs lately and I had promised an
evening of delight to them when I had left my cottage that morning and dropped them off,
as usual, at the Slave Center. They usually spent their days there exercising, helping
the new girls become acclimatized to their fates and honing their own sexual skills. I
knew that from time to time they would be required to service the big African guards who
served there or the pleasures of one of the slave supervisors who happened down to the
underground facility. But it was better than having them chained up in my cottage all
day.
The Slave Center was to be distinguished from Rukimo’s domain. It was where the
slave girls lived and trained after they had been broken in at Rukimo’s. There were on
the island between a hundred and a hundred and fifty beautiful slave girls at any given
time and they, naturally, needed some place to sleep, exercise and make themselves pretty
for their service above ground. Newly trained girls went there for indoctrination and
were sometimes sold to off island buyers from there directly. It was run by the cruel and
beautiful Madam Dupre, who took great pleasure in administering the whip to her charges
and satisfying her own never ending Sapphic desires.
But all thoughts of my promises to Mary and Carol were going swiftly by the boards.
My juices were rising and the sight of Vicky’s torment, even though I rued her obligation
to endure it, was sending waves of lust through my body. The hand that I had left resting
comfortably on the pretty head of the girl at my cock took a grip on her finely combed,
convenient ponytail and I began to urge her to completion of her efforts. I could feel
the tell tale sensations of my lust coming over boil and I closed my eyes to better savor
the last few moments of almost tortuous bliss before my explosion. Vicki’s desperate,
woeful pleas for surcease and the distinctive sound of leather hitting flesh flooded my
ears as my cock began to throb and spurt in ecstasy. My mind clouded over as the
convulsions of my cock sent wave after wave of pleasure to my brain. I could feel my
fluids flowing down my rigid pole at each pulse. I gave out a loud, deep groan as the
sensations overwhelmed me.
As my ejaculations slowed, my awareness of the others in the room began to return.
One of the Koreans had pulled the black haired girl from Mr. Cho’s lap and was fucking her
energetically on the stage. Another had seized the only other ‘free’ girl in the room, a
dark skinned Latina rather new to her collar, and was doing her doggy style on the floor.
The third Korean from the losing team had lowered the blond hair girl who had gone first
onto the floor and was deeply engaged in her nether hole, pounding his hips at her
fiercely and making the girl cry out with pain.
The three winners had finally done with Vicki. Her body was crisscrossed with the
evidence of her travail and she was crying and moaning as her body swung gently to and
fro. The men lowered the bar from which she hung and released her. She fell onto the
stage with a dull thud, unable to break her fall due to her confined wrists behind her
back. She was quickly pulled to her knees and one of the Koreans, the one who had
commenced her vicious beating, grabbed her short, curly golden blond hair, bent her over
so that her marred, tortured breasts were crushed by her wounded thighs and forced himself
between her lips. Another mounted her from behind and the two men began to pump their
cocks into her in a frenzy.
The third Korean who had been whipping Vicki politely bowed to me and made a curt
but pleasantly toned inquiry in Korean. Joo-Chin quickly translated the man’s request.
It seems that he saw that I was finished with the ponytailed girl’s mouth and was seeking
my indulgence at letting him have her next ‘dance’. I nodded to him deferentially and he
grabbed the two foot long skein of soft, thin hair behind her head and dragged her over to
the stage. He laid her back down on it, raised her thighs and plunged himself immediately
into her cleft. Luckily for her that she had kept it moist and ready and the grey haired,
powerful man had no trouble in sinking himself within her to the hilt.
I could see that the Koreans were well occupied and I took the opportunity to rise
from my chair and return to the table where we had feted. My glass was still half full of
diluted scotch and soda, a sin that I would not ordinarily have committed, but the Koreans
had insisted on a commercial blend rather than one of the single malt scotches that I
preferred. I took a long sip, enjoying the sensation of the alcohol melding with my
relaxed, satisfied physical state. The room was a cacophony of moans and grunts as the
Korean men plied their passions among the obediently lustful slave girls. I looked over
at Joo-Chin and wondered what it was going to take to get the Chairman’s major domo to
succumb to the wave of degenerate passion that was flowing through the room. He was
looking down calmly at the shuddering, moaning brunette who was servicing his master and
lord, rubbing and probing her enflamed loins dispassionately. Besides me, he was the only
one who was still clothed. He looked up at me impassively for an instant and I sensed his
steely nerves and ambition. He might be the servant of the Chairman for now, but I sensed
a cold, calculating confidence in his eyes, unashamed at his subservient role, for now at
least. Soon, I felt, when he had figured out how to unseat Mr. Cho, the other men in the
room would be bowing and scraping to him.
Suddenly Mr. Cho gave a loud, shrill grunt signaling his successful conclusion of
his orgasm. The brunette allowed herself release and she issued muffled cries and moans
as she received the Chairman’s creamy spunk in her mouth. The other men were engaged in
concluding their business too and one by one they gave out their exclamations of passion
and then slumped over the bodies of their victims. The women were resolving their lusts
as well and I could hear their shrill, feminine voices crying out in satisfaction.
Cho rudely pushed aside the brunette who had been servicing him and barked out a
command. The members of the Board of Directors of the Dungbu International Trading Co.,
Ltd. obediently struggled to their feet. It was the signal that the party was over. One
by one the men retrieved their knee length, pale blue robes and donned them. There was
much muted laughter and the slapping of backs as they prepared to leave. Not that their
night was over. Back in the guests’ dormitory there would be compliant and expectant
slave girls waiting for them, an accommodation of the house. If the men hadn’t yet
satisfied their lusts completely, or worn out the effects of their doses of Viagra, there
was more entertainment ahead.
Mr. Cho gave me a slight, respectful bow in thanks for my attendance at their
celebration, which I returned dutifully, careful to bow my head just a little bit lower
than his. The other executives made their polite acknowledgements and the men all
shuffled out of the party room. Tired and worn out slave girls lay about the room like
discarded party favors. It was my job to get them all back on their feet and secure them
for their happy journey back to the Slave Center. Their travails were over for the
evening and they could look forwards for the relative safety of their dorm. I eased the
red headed slave to the floor. She had been left hanging from her ankles during the
finale of lust that had topped off the evening. The other girls assembled dutifully in a
little line and I began to fix their wrists behind their backs and adorn them with their
travel gags. No slave girl was permitted to walk freely around the resort and they were
required to be bound and gagged while doing so. The girls would shuffle their way on
their pretty high heeled feet back to the Slave Center in a coffle with their destination
marked clearly on a tag around the lead girl’s neck. They would be strictly timed and one
of the delights of the resort was watching a line of naked and harried females, all
dressed in nothing but their bright red high heeled shoes, their stiff leather collars and
their slave bracelets around their wrists and ankles, clip clopping their way hurriedly to
their destination, their swaying, naked breasts recording each well timed step.
I had administered all of the girls’ gags and had bound all of their arms behind
them when I noticed that I was not the only man in the room. Joo-Chin was sitting in the
dim light at the table where we had had our feast and was downing a glass of scotch.
Apparently his duties for the night were at an end as well. He slowly rose to his feet
and approached me.
“I thank you for a very entertaining evening on behalf of Mr. Cho and the members
of the Board,” he said politely. His voice was soft and accommodating, he having resumed
his disguise as a mere servant of his master. I had just connected the hands of the
brunette, Darla or Donna, whatever her name was, to the collar of the red headed girl and
was about to fix the diminutive ponytailed girl behind her. She, like the other girls had
received her gag willingly, almost thankfully. She had a pleasant, almost childlike face
and her limpid, large brown eyes peered back at me happily, communicating her gratitude
that she had escaped her night of abuse relatively unscathed.
“Please, Mr. Wiggins, if I may interrupt you. I would like to take that one back
to my room. It is permitted I understand.”
I stepped back from the small, frail girl. “Of course,” I answered. The girl gave
out a little whine, not loud enough for the guest to hear, but loud enough for my
detection. I had already attached the 18” long chain to her collar and I gave it a little
tug to pull the girl from the line. Joo-Chin took it from me and then leaned over and
picked up one of the quirts that the other men had left behind on the floor.
I realized that the girl was in for a whole evening of shit. I felt sorry for her,
having survived the cunilingual contest only to end up with the booby prize of a night of
terror and pain with the cold, calculating Joo-Chin. I could see her tremble and the
beginning of tears in her eyes. I tried to dissuade him.
“You are aware, of course that there is a slave girl awaiting you in your room who
will be more than happy to let you act out your every desire with her?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, oh yes,” Joo-Chin answered. His eyes were wandering over the dainty
flesh of the girl and he had seized one of her pert, delicate breasts with his free hand.
“It’s just that I have been admiring this one all night, Mr. Wiggins. Her body seems to
have been just made for the whip. I watched her while she serviced you and my mind kept
imagining her exquisite cries and screams. Mr. Cho has promised me that I may acquire one
of your well trained sluts and bring her back with us to Korea. I think that I have found
the one I want.” He gave the girl’s breast a harsh pinch and her pretty, doleful,
frightened eyes winced in pain.
I had a moment’s thought to continue to try and dissuade him from selecting the
girl, but then I thought better of it. Clearly one of the girls was going back to Korea
with this cold hearted, cruel man. If it was not this girl it would be another. By
saving her I would be condemning someone else. Few of the beautiful young women who had
been kidnapped from their homelands and brought to this isle of pain off the African coast
deserved their fate. I was certain that this pretty, doll-like creature did not either.
But to seem too concerned with her fate would possibly reflect on my bona fides as a
ruthless, callous criminal. I had worked hard to fit into the milieu of Klitzman’s Island
and had steeled myself to its cruelty. I had refused to give up my cover for females who
I had known better and longer than the little ponytailed girl and would not do so for her
now.
“As you please,” I answered the thin, hard eyed Korean.
I watched as Joo-Chin marched from the party room, the unfortunate little
ponytailed girl struggling to keep up as he led her by the chain affixed to her collar.
She had given me one last desperate look before she was led away and I felt a swell of
pity for her. But it only lasted a moment. My last sight of her was her bound, writhing
little hands behind her and her tight, well rounded ass, the bright red ‘k’ burned into it
proclaiming her as Klitzman’s property to do with and dispose of as he wished. I guess
Joo-Chin found her to his liking since I never did see her again.
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