Gender: Male Age: Secret Location: N/A
|Introduction: An explicit report on the World's most luxurious and exclusive brothel, and of the people who operate it.|
This is a repost of the story I recently submitted, edited as necessary because of the limitations of the XNXX website format which confuses graphics, inexplicably substitutes a question mark for quotation marks at times, and does not permit footnotes. It is hoped therefore that this reposting will provide more clarity.
I have also reposted the story as one entire novella because it is hoped the sprinkling of negative comments I have received results from the previous inability of the reader to have read the chapters in chronological order. It is a long piece, I will admit, but is understood best when read, in sequence, as a sort of in-depth investigative report one might find in “Rolling Stone,” “Vanity Fair” or even “Newsweek.” The name “IN/Sight” is an homage to the long-running PBS documentary series “Frontline.” It would appear that many readers did not recognize my attempt to provide the story a “legitimate” journalistic setting.
As I have earlier stated, this is my first posting to the website, and so of course legitimate constructive criticism would be appreciated. I’ve already started sketching out the outline for another story – not a sequel, though – but frankly I would prefer to receive some more reader feedback before deciding whether it would be worth investing much more time or effort into the new project.
Judging from other stories I have read on this website, especially those in the “institutional sex slavery” genre such as “Ladies at Sea” and “Payne Academy” to name but two, my submission is admittedly rather tame. There are a few “hardcore” passages, hopefully descriptively written of course, but my novella is far from “extreme,” as this website defines the term. In writing Island Royale, I had wanted to do something more than simply produce an erotic tale, however. My larger goal was to write a serious, thought-provoking piece of literature that would seek to explore the balance between human instinctive behavioral predisposition and the influence of social customs and mores all people are taught to be appropriate expressions of “civilized” human behavior. As an aside, I had also sought to address some of the more obvious logistical difficulties involved in establishing and maintaining a secret organization premised upon the sexual exploitation of women in this modern age of international travel, the Internet, global positioning satellites and instant telecommunications – problems, frankly, that never seem to be adequately addressed in these website stories but yet must be satisfactorily resolved unless the reader is to be expected to wholly abandon all physical and political realities. In short, I had wanted to write a plausible erotic story with – dare I say it? – “socially redeeming values,” to borrow the famous US Supreme Court language.
Please enjoy Island Royale.
An IN/Sight Special Report:
Island Royale: Institutional White Slavery in the New Millennium. An explicit report on the world’s most luxurious and exclusive brothel and of the people who operate it.
© 2011 IN/SIGHT COMMUNICATIONS, L.L.C. All national and international rights reserved.
Foreword by the Editors
Every few years a newspaper or magazine article will be published, or perhaps a television documentary will be aired, seeking to expose the sordid operations of the so-called “white slavery” business: The illegal trafficking of women sold into a life of exploitation and involuntary prostitution.
Almost always these reports have focused upon the cruelty of the slave trade and upon the appalling and often brutal conditions under which these unfortunate women must live and work while imprisoned within the squalid quarters of Cambodian, Indian or Turkish bordellos. There may be the occasional report of a police raid upon a relatively small prostitution ring in the United States, where a dozen or more helpless young women, typically from Mexico and other Latin American countries, are found quietly plying “The World’s Oldest Profession” within a pervasive climate of fear – a fear of beatings, of hunger, or more often than not, simply a fear of arrest and deportation – but such accounts are rare indeed; the far more common image of modern white slavery, as documented by the media, is that of a savage and barbaric underworld in which women are bought and sold like cattle and are forced to provide sexual services while held prisoner within the many filthy, disease-riddled brothels that litter the decaying sections of overcrowded cities in Southeast Asia and the Middle East.
Exotic tales of beautiful young women being whisked away upon spirited Arabian stallions, to live as pampered concubines in lavishly-appointed Middle Eastern harems under the spell of a ruggedly handsome desert prince, are the stuff of Romance novels. Many victims of sexual enslavement, especially those from the desperately impoverished rural regions of Moldova, Ukraine and other former Soviet states, are lured into the sex trade by vague promises of large sums of money to be earned abroad performing housekeeping or other “domestic services.” Most, however, are simply abducted by force – from their homes, their schools, from local restaurants and shops, or sometimes merely as they walk unescorted through the streets of the City – and are subsequently drugged or beaten into submission. Particularly in the underdeveloped Asian countries of Cambodia, Thailand, and Indonesia, a significant number of preadolescent girls are sold to the sex traffickers – often by an uncle or grandfather, a neighbor, or perhaps a “trusted family friend” – and once purchased these unfortunate children are repeatedly required to perform sexual acts long before they have even attained puberty.
The women and young girls held in sexual bondage live at all times under the total domination of their captors. Generally they are poorly clothed and fed, receive little if any medical attention, and are frequently whipped and tortured in order to ensure their obedience and to reinforce their feelings of degradation and absolute hopelessness. The death rate among the victims of white slavery is staggering: Few women survive into their thirties the physical and sexual abuse to which they are subjected on a daily basis, and those who do manage to escape the horrors of the brothel remain psychologically and often physically scarred for life. Official estimates vary, but between 1.2 and 2 million women and young girls are believed to be currently held as captive sex slaves throughout the world; however, despite the concerted efforts of several international humanitarian organizations such as AFESIP (Agir pour les Femmes en Situation Précaire, or “Acting for Women in Distressing Circumstances”), the POPPY Project in Great Britian, and the OSCE (Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe), tragically only a comparatively small number of women over the years have been successfully rescued from their lives of cruel sexual servitude.
This is indeed the “face” of white slavery in the 21st Century, as depicted until now by the international media. As shocking as the images presented may be, however, and certainly as disturbing as the graphic accounts told to us by the surviving victims of sexual enslavement, IN/SIGHT has learned these reports do not reflect the only manner in which, for profit, women and young girls are systematically abused sexually on an institutional basis. Until recently, even the existence of a large, well-organized and extremely well-financed business based upon the sexual exploitation of women has remained a closely guarded secret known only to a very select group of the world’s most wealthy and powerful men. In the following exclusive report, IN/SIGHT will examine one such highly profitable enterprise, known simply as “Island Royale.”
Pursuing this story proved to be both frustratingly difficult and exceedingly time-consuming. Our Correspondent, whose identity has been withheld at his specific request, began his investigation well over seven years ago with the sketchy stories told to him by rural Russian and Ukrainian villagers of several young female children having been stolen from their homes and families, never to be seen again. Despite repeated official governmental denials of the villagers’ claims our Correspondent pressed on, following a winding and often dangerous trail that would eventually take him to India, Thailand and Viet Nam in Southeast Asia, as well as to Spain, Poland, Turkey, and other countries in Europe and in the Middle East. Encountering along the way seemingly endless false leads and periodic threats to his personal safety, he nonetheless persevered.
Our Correspondent’s big break came finally with a chance meeting in Cairo, Egypt, with a local sex trafficker who in turn introduced him to yet another marketer of women known only as Yusuf. Yusuf told him very little, but several days later an unidentified Westerner contacted our Correspondent at his hotel and directed him to return to New Orleans, in the United States, where he was advised a car would be waiting for him. Not knowing what to expect, but having been assured that “all questions [would] be answered” upon his arrival, our Correspondent did as he had been instructed, and indeed was met at the airport by an unassuming black sedan and its enigmatic male passenger. He soon found himself aboard a private jet aircraft, and while flying high above the Gulf of Mexico received an extraordinary invitation to document in detail what is undoubtedly the most well-organized and lucrative bordello in the world.
His report follows.
You will not find the place marked on any published map, and no one you know can provide you directions to it. No commercial airlines schedule flights there, and even global satellite images of the area reveal nothing but seemingly endless blue waters.
There are no fancy internet websites maintained to allow you to book a vacation there, and no ordinary travel agent can make a reservation for you. On the shelves and kiosks of the World’s travel agencies there are no inviting brochures of the resort filled with rich prose and glossy color photographs displayed in competition with other pamphlets promoting popular holiday destinations. And you’ll never see a television commercial beckoning you to come for a visit.
To all but a relatively elite few, the place is but a myth – an ethereal phantom, if you will – heard of only through whispered rumor and existing solely within the dark recesses of the lascivious mind. Officially there simply is no such place; nevertheless the myth is quite real, for stretching along the eastern shore of a small, privately-owned South Sea atoll, Island Royale offers to an extremely select group of male clientele the very finest in heterosexual entertainment, all amid the plush surroundings of a first class holiday resort.
World leaders, heads of state, multi-national corporate kingpins, oil-rich Arabian sheiks, and – surprisingly, perhaps – even many of the highest-ranking members of the clergy periodically migrate to this isolated enclave to enjoy the hospitality of what is undeniably the finest brothel ever to exist on the planet. Hedonism II, Exotic Retreat, and even Thailand’s infamous Angels in Paradise sex resorts pale in comparison, for at Island Royale there is but one basic rule: Do not physically injure the staff. Within the wide parameters of that one basic rule, however, virtually “anything goes.”
How Island Royale has remained such a well-kept secret, insulated from international exposure and scrutiny, is largely due to the tremendous discretion employed by the resort’s many wealthy and powerful patrons. As Greg, the Managing Partner of the resort explained:
Only the most Alpha of Alpha Males even knows we exist.
An invitation to visit Island Royale is not extended lightly, and the acceptance of that invitation carries with it the clear understanding that all aspects of the experience must remain an absolute secret to those outside “The Circle.”
We are, to put it simply, very exclusive.
And our Guests respect and appreciate that exclusivity. Regardless of their position, title, political or religious beliefs, our Guests know they are able to come here to relax and truly enjoy the unique amenities Island Royale has to offer, but they also know that their ability to continue to do so in the future depends entirely upon our existence remaining quite confidential. Each of our Guests sincerely wishes for us to continue to flourish, and therefore each exercises great care in order to prevent the inappropriate disclosure of any information about the resort.
(It should be noted that, because of the exceptional candor I was to receive during my interviews, as a condition of my visit the names of all principals associated with Island Royale have been changed in order to preserve their anonymity. Although I was permitted to retain my audio cassette recorder for use during my interviews, Management refused to permit me to bring to the resort any cameras, camcorders, or other video recording devices, and I was further prohibited from attempting to interview any members of the Island Royale sex staff during my stay.)
* * * * * * * *
Getting to Island Royale is itself not especially difficult, provided of course one has first received that coveted invitation. All patrons are extremely wealthy, possess access to their own private aircraft, and are therefore able to fly freely to and from the small airport in western Costa Rica constructed exclusively to serve the needs of the resort. Guests arrive throughout the morning for their weeklong stay, with flights leaving for the island each Sunday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon.
Prior to boarding, each Guest is subjected to a thorough physical examination. There are no exceptions. The medical staff screens not only for syphilis, gonorrhea, AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases but for more “common” health concerns as well such as mononucleosis, viral influenza and rubella, in addition to confirming a Guest’s general overall physical health. Management of Island Royale is quite proud of the fact that there has never been a serious outbreak of disease during their thirty-seven years of operation in the sex business.
And their patrons completely understand the need for such a rigorous screening process. Although unusual, on more than one occasion over the years a Guest has been turned away at this isolated Central American outpost because of even the hint of a “common cold” infection and, according to Greg, when that has happened the Guest has each time completely accepted, without protest, Management’s decision to withhold from him boarding permission. Each Guest is acutely aware of just how very important it is to keep the resort “clean,” as infection or disease could easily and quickly be passed from a Guest to any number of the sex staff and subsequently to other Guests. Besides, a Guest who accepts his rejection gracefully knows he will receive another invitation to visit the resort once his medical issue has been successfully addressed.
The actual eight-hour flight to Island Royale, aboard an unmarked Boeing 757 jetliner, is largely uneventful. The aircraft is outfitted with first-class accommodations throughout the accessible portion of the passenger section and comfortably seats around one hundred twenty-six persons, including a small staff of male flight attendants. Each seat is equipped with a video screen, and passengers may choose from a variety of audio and video entertainment options. Most Guests, I observed, elected to view “first-run” movies – quality motion pictures, not the abysmally edited “feature films” shown on long-distance commercial flights – if they chose to watch anything at all. Generally, though, the passengers simply read or slept during most of the trip. Although some Guests talked quietly among themselves, on the whole I noted very little interaction between the passengers during the long flight.
The rear third of the aircraft fuselage is sealed off and is not accessible to the passengers. I was to learn later that the jetliner, as well as her sister air ship, serves both to shuttle patrons to and from the island and to provide the resort thrice-weekly shipments of food, beverages and other necessary supplies – including young human females – and consequently both aircraft have been modified to haul “freight” in the pressurized rear portion of the cabin as well as in the large cargo bays below.
Midway during the flight one of the attendants announced that a short instructional audiotape would be played and that it was strongly recommended that first time visitors to the resort listen carefully. I of course donned my earphones, but it appeared most of the passengers had previously visited the island and therefore largely ignored the suggestion of the flight attendant. I and the scattering of my fellow “first time visitors,” however, listened intently to the recorded message.
Narration is in English, and the male voice possesses a vaguely British accent. The syrupy background music seemed a bit much to me, but on the whole the instructional tape is brief and quite straightforward:
Welcome to Island Royale, where all of your fantasies become real!
You have embarked upon the trip of a lifetime. Every sexual dream you have ever had will be fulfilled over and over again by the willing staff of our wonderful little resort. Island Royale is indeed the paradise you have longed for.
Our girls are for the taking. Any time, any place, and as often as you would like. They exist only to serve you, and they will serve you in every manner imaginable. You want straight sex? All you need do is summon a girl. Fellatio? Each of our girls is an expert at providing the very best oral sex you have ever had in your life! Multiple partners? Whenever you wish. B&D? Simply book your visit to our Dungeon and select your “victim” or “victims.” Are children of interest to you? We have sweet little girls as young as five years of age ready and always eager to please you.
At Island Royale, there are but three simple rules that must be strictly observed at all times. They are all “common sense” rules, of course, but it must be emphasized that we cannot tolerate any violation of these rules.
• Rule No. 1: At no time can we permit you to subject any of our girls to actual physical injury or death. We do maintain a mock torture chamber for your enjoyment and if you wish to engage in this activity we will do our best to accommodate you. But any session of sadomasochism will, by necessity, require supervision by a member of our administrative staff.
• Rule No. 2: At no time may there be arguments about the girls. If a female is available for a session, she will accompany you immediately. If she has already made a commitment to another Guest, she will offer to serve you at a later time. Please do not argue with her or attempt to persuade her to break her prior engagement.
• Rule No. 3: You will notice upon your arrival that each of our very young girls displays a small red ceramic ornament attached to a chain suspended from her vagina. This ornament is to signify that she is too young to safely engage in vaginal or anal intercourse. All of our females, regardless of their age, are of course available at all times to perform fellatio and to be fondled, but you are not permitted to insert your finger, tongue, penis, or any foreign object into the vagina or anus of a girl displaying a red ornament.
Please remember these three simple rules and you will thoroughly enjoy the delightful accommodations Island Royale has to offer!
* * * * * * * *
Our flight had departed from the small Latin American coastal airport promptly at 3:00 p.m. local time Sunday afternoon, and therefore with the time zone changes we arrived at the clandestine resort shortly after six o’clock in the evening.
From the air, the principal Island Royale hotel building does not appear to be all that impressive, and in size would most certainly be dwarfed by the massive resort facilities seen along the beaches of Monaco or even Cancun or Maui. Structurally, the hotel is constructed in the shape of a softly curved crescent, with each end of the building bending gently to the east. The concave side constitutes the front of the building and in the wide area leading from the main entrance all the way to the beach is the “Compound,” where I would learn much of the outdoor sexual activities take place. Dominating the Compound is a massive irregularly-shaped swimming pool from which numerous canals, somewhat like tentacles, lead off to smaller and more secluded alcoves. Assorted walkways bridge these canals, enabling one to reach any section of the Compound with relative ease.
South of the hotel structure one can see from the air that several hundred acres have been cleared for an impressive eighteen-hole golf course, and a large one-story somewhat “T”-shaped building serves as a buffer between the corner of the golf course and a large cluster of tennis courts enclosed within a grid of tall chain link fence. Another much smaller swimming pool, shaped in the form of a semi-circle, lies immediately to the west of this building.
Our jetliner circled twice before gracefully descending to land upon the longer of the two concrete airstrips constructed on the far western side of the island. Frankly, our reception at the airport was as unremarkable as the flight itself, as Island Royale Management provides no formal greeting or welcoming ceremony to Guests upon their arrival. After the aircraft had slowly taxied to a stop before a small cinder block “terminal building,” we descended the boarding staircase to where two modern air-conditioned buses sat idling, waiting to take us to the resort, and as I stood to enter one of these vehicles I glanced to my right to see a couple of large panel trucks carefully backing toward the cargo hold of our recently landed aircraft.
I spent the short ride through the lush tropical island forest leading to the Island Royale resort complex watching as a blur of vegetation streaked silently past me outside the sealed windows of the bus, but as we approached the hotel we descended into a long tunnel, blocking our view of the Compound, and I could feel the bus sway slightly to starboard before slowing to a crawl and stopping at a well lit subterranean platform located below the hotel lobby. With little discussion we disembarked and were rather perfunctorily escorted in small groups into a bank of elevators. Upon our ascendance to the lobby we were met by a number of women, each dressed in lightweight green colored jumpsuits, standing patiently waiting to receive and guide us to our assigned rooms.
The main resort building consists of but ten floors I was to learn. Guest quarters are located on the upper six floors, with administrative offices, the seldom-used infirmary, and the “Graduate School” on the fourth level, while the second and third floors, not generally open to Guests, house all maintenance and managerial employees. The sex slaves themselves have no individual quarters and must sleep in the Compound or hotel lobby in the unlikely event they are unable to secure a liaison with a Guest for the night.
The concierge is on the main level, on the western side of the lobby in the middle of the crescent-shaped structure. Various suites, decked out in assorted “themes,” occupy the southern wing of the ground floor and are available by reservation to Guests upon request. These “themed” suites are furnished as appropriate: One is decorated as the inner chambers of a harem, while another possesses a pirate motif complete with a plank overlooking a large pool of water. Still another suite is designed as a saloon in an old American West town and is outfitted with several poker tables, a tinny player piano in the corner, and a well-oiled and fully stocked wooden bar stretching out along the northern wall staffed by bare-breasted women in full-length skirts. The largest of these suites is the Dungeon, located at the far southern end of the building, and is equipped with a wide variety of medieval and more modern “torture” equipment. As mentioned in the audio briefing, Guests are invited to bring girls to the Dungeon and subject them to simulated torture sessions employing a rack, a “wooden pony,” whips, chains, nipple clamps, and assorted other tools and implements commonly associated with sadomasochism. In all, the resort maintains six “environmentally themed” suites available for the use of the Guests and their selected sex partners.
To the north of the concierge, a large recreational center offers to resort Guests a wide assortment of more “traditional” amusements including two fully stocked bars, parlor games such as billiards, air hockey and pin ball, and video games including blackjack, an auto racing simulation, and even “Pac-Man.” A small dance floor is available but is seldom used. A much larger area is set aside for “Twister,” a game played principally by young naked girls, usually preadolescents and early teens, who assume extremely revealing positions while trying to maintain contact by hand and foot with a variety of brightly colored dots painted on the thickly carpeted floor. Needless to say, watching the girls play “Twister” is quite popular among the Guests, and these games are seemingly in progress throughout the day and evening hours.
Farther down the northern wing, behind a door, a large exercise room is available to resort Guests, although the sex slaves are welcome to use the extensive selection of workout equipment as well. Adjoining the exercise room are other areas where the slaves shower and groom themselves, and it is here where they receive their assigned clothing, if any. These latter areas are open on the interior side, and Guests can conveniently watch from the Compound as the females prepare themselves for their next session.
On the main level, to each side of the long front desk, large swinging doors lead down a hall to the formal dining room, and beyond that the kitchen – or “galley” as the administrative staff calls it – as well as the resort’s general storage facilities. To the rear of the resort complex, enclosed within a tall chain link fence, is an immense, lushly green and obviously well maintained field dotted with a scattering of the sort of common children’s playground equipment one would see in any typical school yard, and Guests can observe from the dining room the very young girls of the Nursery as they frolic and play outdoors in the nude beneath the warm tropical sun. Across that field and far to the west sits the Nursery itself, a sprawling one-story cinder block building quite reminiscent of a suburban American grammar school, where those very young girls – ages four to seven years – are housed and trained to eventually join their sisters as sex slaves in the Island Royale Compound.
The “T”-shaped building seen from the air to the south of the hotel accommodates several small steam rooms and a large sauna, and Guests may choose from a full menu of available spa treatments. A bar and limited-fare restaurant is also provided, and there is even a small “Pro Shop” located in the structure catering to the needs of both golf and tennis enthusiasts. Ironically, I was to learn during my stay at the resort that “The Clubhouse,” as the bar/lounge portion of the building is called, is an extremely popular hangout among the Guests – ironic, that is, because in the virtual sea of beautiful naked sex slaves available throughout the Island Royale complex, other than for the girls trained as masseuse and the bare-breasted bar and restaurant staff, females are rarely seen in the Clubhouse.*
None of this opulence is accessible inexpensively, of course. A week’s stay at Island Royale, excluding transportation costs to reach the isolated Costa Rican airport, is about $35,000 US, or approximately €25,700 Euros. But the resort’s patrons are all extremely wealthy men, and to these men $35,000 is a trivial sum to spend for even a brief stay in Paradise.
This is an extremely profitable business, to be sure, run by very smart and very calculating men – and one woman, I would learn – and in many respects represents a social system unseen since perhaps the times of the Roman Empire.
* See Appendix A for an artist’s conception of the Island Royale grounds and facilities – Ed.
* * * * * * *
From the lobby of Island Royale I was escorted to my suite by an attractive brunette in her early twenties clad in a simple light green jumpsuit that did little to disguise her large breasts and alluring figure. Her wardrobe, which was hardly flattering, and the rather automatic manner in which she conducted her duties as bellhop surprised me somewhat, as I guess I had expected my female attendant to have been provocatively attired and to have submissively offered herself to me immediately upon my arrival. I soon realized, however, that she had many Guests to guide to their rooms and therefore had no time to spare. She gave me a brief tour of my suite, presented to me my room key, bowed and exited, leaving me to explore my quarters on my own.
Actually, a Guest’s “room key” is not a key at all but rather a plastic card, similar to those provided guests at most modern hotels and resorts, except a bit smaller and thicker perhaps and with more gently rounded corners. The Guest’s suite number is embossed in large gold lettering along the face of the card, and a hole had been punched in the upper left corner to permit a thin band of strong nylon cord to pass through. A spring-loaded “alligator” clip is attached to this band, permitting a Guest to fasten his room key to his clothing as he makes his way around the resort complex. Access to one’s suite is gained simply by holding this plastic card in the immediate vicinity of a detection box located on the wall just to the side of the door.
Guest quarters consist of two large connecting rooms, each providing a spectacular view of both the Compound and the ocean beyond through the full-length windows that constitute the eastern wall. A sliding glass door, rarely closed, leads to a reasonably sized private balcony, or “lanai,” as it is called, large enough to accommodate a drinks table and several comfortable deck chairs. The rooms are tastefully furnished and are exceptionally well apportioned; the bath/Jacuzzi, for example, located at the far end of the suite is almost as large as an average cruise ship stateroom, and the generous number of shower heads installed along the three tiled walls can more than adequately allow a Guest to entertain multiple sex partners.
The latest in audio and video entertainment technology is available to Guests from two large “high definition” flat-screen televisions hung on the wall of each room. The video selections – in eight choices of language – include news, sports, and first-run motion pictures as well as the expected sexually oriented fare, and every imaginable style of music is available at the touch of a button. In addition, each suite is equipped with a computer terminal, with full Internet access, and a clever program allows a Guest to instantly summon any of the Island Royale sex slaves to his quarters.
The Guests’ rooms are located only on the ocean-view side of the crescent. A wide central corridor, appropriately decorated with plush pile carpeting and tasteful lighting, is available for the use of the Guests while a second hidden passageway, not as wide and with much thinner “institutional” carpeting, parallels the central hallway and is used exclusively by support personnel. The reason for the duplicate corridors, I was to learn, is to enable the maintenance staff to service the complex without inconveniencing the Guests and to provide Management, as well as the sex staff, the ability to reach any part of the hotel without encountering delays.
Exploring my suite I soon gravitated to the computer terminal. Declining other options I focused on the listing of the Island Royale sex staff. The main page permits one to scroll through small thumbnail portraits of each of the resort’s impressively large “inventory” of currently available females, and by clicking on one of the portraits, one may view a full nude image of the girl or woman complete with her name, “vital statistics” such as height, weight, age and country of origin, as well as the standard female measurements of bust size, waist and hips.
A button near the bottom of the screen invites one to either request to have the selected slave summoned or to return to the main page to view the thumbnail pictures of all of the girls. I browsed among the thumbnails awhile and selected Danica, an attractive nineteen-year-old brunette from Poland with large full breasts and a thin closely-cropped strip of dark brown pubic hair.
The screen cleared and a message popped up:
Danica is currently in session with another Guest.
What would you like to do?
Have Danica report to you upon the conclusion of her current session?
Return to the main screen to make another selection?
I was aware that the “Poolside Get-Together Party” for new arrivals to the resort was due to begin in just over an hour, so I chose not to “reserve” the charming little brunette and instead decided to shower for the upcoming party.
Since my arrival I had been dressed in the same comfortable khaki slacks, short-sleeved dress shirt and sports coat I had been wearing when I had been unexpectedly invited to Island Royale. My luggage, other than personal toiletries and the contents of my carry-on briefcase, had been “stored securely” by Management for the duration of my visit with assurances that none of my travel apparel would be necessary during my stay at the resort. After I had showered I inventoried my wardrobe closet, discovering only a few loose-fitting terry cloth robes and tunics of varying thickness and length, each either white or light blue in color, suspended from heavy wooden hangers. On the closet floor an assortment of comfortable sandals, all in my size, had been carefully set out. I saw no undergarments of any sort.
I selected a long white robe and, perhaps feeling a bit self-conscious, left my quarters and joined a number of similarly attired men walking down the hall, into an elevator, and out into the large reception area leading to the Compound. We exchanged small talk, in English and with an obvious enthusiasm for our upcoming “holiday,” but although the men spoke in a variety of accents, I noted that none asked the others for their names or countries of origin.
The sun had not quite set as I threaded my way between the drinks tables and lounging chairs scattered randomly all around the pool. To my left, I could see a young naked woman straddling a fat and balding European sitting in a chair, her tits bouncing as she repeatedly impaled herself on his dick. To my right, at a slight distance, the lower torso of a woman, her bare ass prominently on display, emerged from beneath the tunic of a middle-aged Asian man stretched out in a chaise longue. Beyond her, a large man sat on the edge of the pool as two naked teenage girls in the water took turns giving him head.
I continued through this maze and selected a seat among a group of other men over near the high diving platform of the large swimming pool. Soon a dark-haired man wearing a deep blue business suit approached from the complex, clapping his hands and smiling as he walked. He stopped near our gathering, still loudly clapping his hands while he surveyed the area. I would learn later that the man was Greg, the managing partner of Island Royale, but at this point I was fascinated only with the casual manner in which he seemed to weave his way through the congregation of nude and scantily dressed women as they engaged in assorted sexual acts.
Greg stopped clapping and a large cluster of young naked women began to huddle near the ladder leading to the diving platform. “Gentlemen,” he announced with a broad smile. “Welcome to Island Royale. And welcome to our Island Royale Poolside Party.”
A round of applause from the gathering of men abruptly ceased with a wave of Greg’s hand. “How many Guests do we have here for the party?” He counted, turned to an aide and said quietly, “I count forty-three. How about you?” His assistant nodded and ran to the cluster of naked girls, counted them, and sent three away.
“All right, Gentlemen. To assist you in becoming more… intimately acquainted with our staff, please drop your room keys into our bucket.” A little naked girl, about seven years old, passed among the Guests to collect our “keys” as we tossed them into a yellow plastic bucket she held out before her. She was of Indian or perhaps Pakistani ancestry, I thought, as she possessed the rich tan, jet-black hair and distinctively large, deep set brown eyes of the race. When she smiled, she displayed a set of brilliantly white teeth, perfect but for the apparently recent loss of an upper molar.
As the child drifted past me, my eyes were drawn to the small bright red ornament, molded to resemble a cherry, swinging delightfully from the end of a thin gold chain that emerged from between the lips of her tiny hairless vagina. Her ornament would bounce repeatedly against her smooth inner thighs as she threaded her way through the crowd of seated adult males, and I found myself rubbing the front of my terry cloth robe beneath which I had developed a very serious erection. I glanced around in embarrassment only to see I was not alone in having become aroused at the sight of the lovely naked prepubescent female.
The little girl continued on until she had collected into her bucket the room card of each Guest participating in the game, and then she carefully ascended the ladder and sat, straddling the edge of the diving platform high above the pool, with the bucket between her legs. “Gentlemen,” announced Greg, “This is Island Royale’s version of ‘Hunt and Seek.’ Each of our girls will carry a room key. She will belong to whomever’s room key she is carrying.”
Another round of applause followed as the little girl on the platform stood and began throwing our room keys randomly into the pool. When she had finished she turned, descended the ladder with her empty plastic bucket, and disappeared. Greg clapped twice and the group of young nude women gathered near the base of the diving platform quickly entered the pool and began searching for the plastic cards now lying on the bottom.
Several Guests cheered as, one by one, the young women emerged from the pool, each displaying the edge of a room key lodged between the lips of her vagina.
The first girl out of the water approached a Guest and stood before him, her legs slightly parted. I watched as he spread her labia, removed the key, shook his head and offered it back to her, but she declined to take it and, spreading her legs even more, motioned to the Guest to slide the plastic card back into her slit. With a smile he slowly did so, and the naked woman then moved on to present herself before another Guest.
By now many young women, their wet bodies glistening in the poolside light, had emerged from the water and stood presenting themselves to the seated Guests. A girl in her early twenties, with ample tits and a freshly shaved Mons pubis, appeared before me. Spreading her nether lips, I carefully removed the room key she carried in her vagina. “904” was printed on the card. I shook my head and as she spread her legs a bit I slipped the plastic card back into her pussy. She turned and slowly moved away.
Another naked female soon appeared before me, water still dripping from her nipples, inviting me to inspect her vulva. Again I played with her soft wet pussy lips while removing the room key, and again I reinserted the card. Others followed, and my hard-on
throbbed as I fondled the vagina of each young woman as she offered herself to me, all under the pretense of locating my “date” for the evening.
A raven-haired beauty in her late teens, with pert nipples and a flawlessly shaved pussy, approached and stood before me. I playfully spread her labia and retrieved the room key she carried. “516.” My room number. I looked up to her, but she was gazing out across the Compound, her hands clasped together behind her back, seemingly indifferent to my exploration of her genitalia. I held up the plastic card and nodded; she smiled and immediately dropped to her knees, spreading my robe to expose my swollen penis. I played with her smallish breasts and ripe little nipples as she began enthusiastically sucking my cock.
A glorious sun-drenched early morning greeted me as I awoke in my bed alongside the lovely brunette “door prize” I had won at the party the previous evening. It had been arranged for me to interview Greg at nine o’clock, so after fucking the young woman just once more I dismissed her from my suite, showered and shaved, and then contemplated what to wear for my appointment with the resort’s Managing Partner. I declined the limited selection of robes and togas available to me from the small wardrobe closet and elected instead to meet him clad in the same slacks, dress shirt and sports coat I had worn during my trip to Island Royale. Leaning against the front desk in the lobby, I felt a bit out of place as other Guests milled about in loose-fitting tunics, sometimes in the company of nude or semi-naked women and young girls, but I had resolved that I would not conduct my first serious interview dressed in a “bathrobe” and was therefore relieved to see that Greg greeted me wearing a conservative, well-tailored brown business suit.
Standing at just less than six feet tall, Greg does not present himself as a particularly imposing figure, and his charming graciousness soon places one completely at ease in his presence. His impressive tan, full head of dark brown hair – with just a hint of gray around the temples – and his seemingly boundless energy belies the fact that the American is actually almost 65 years old. We exchanged pleasantries and he asked if I had slept well. With a smile I started to recount my delightful encounter with the nubile young woman with whom I had shared my bed during the night, but when a buxom blonde wearing shorts and a halter top approached the concierge, he politely cut me off and suggested we grab some coffee from the breakfast bar before starting our interview. With our cups in hand Greg guided me through the swinging doors and over to one of the service elevators, and as we ascended he apologized for the earlier interruption but quietly explained that Management felt it best that the sex staff not overhear any conversation which might suggest that guests receive “attention” at the resort not commonly available to them elsewhere. “If the slaves were to learn that men don’t always have females on hand to entertain them," he said, “it would just confuse the hell out of ‘em.”
Greg is one of the “Founding Fathers” of Island Royale. He and John – or “John-Boy” as Greg and the others call him – had met as freshman classmates at Ithaca College in upstate New York during the early 1960s and had remained close friends while attending to their post-graduate studies at Columbia University. For several years they had together been quietly running as a side business a small “escort service” in Greenwich Village while pursuing their primary careers – Greg, as a promising young Wall Street attorney, and John-Boy, as the owner of a mid-Manhattan travel agency popular among the Very Rich – when the two young men met and had enlisted the aid of Dr. George, an equally youthful physician then in residence at a local New York hospital, to delicately address a “health concern” from which one of their prostitutes had been suffering. The two talented entrepreneurs quickly developed a warm and lasting friendship with the good doctor.
Their vision of a luxurious “all-inclusive” sex resort, catering to a select clientele of extremely wealthy men, took shape almost literally over the course of just one full weekend of serious drinking at Greg’s upscale East Side apartment. Greg, with his background in law, investments and management, would direct the general operation of the bordello, while Dr. George would see to the medical requirements of the staff and John-Boy, with his numerous connections to the “Rich and Famous,” would discreetly promote the business while also recruiting attractive young women from around the world to serve the needs of their customers.
Fearing local law enforcement “entanglements,” as Greg put it, the Three Partners scouted several offshore locations for their fledgling business venture before settling upon the purchase of an impressive Spanish-styled mansion, constructed in the early 1930s and set within the securely protected compound of a large former coffee plantation near Bogotá, Colombia, which appeared to offer what they believed to be necessary to the success of their enterprise: A secluded setting, favorable climate, and regional governmental officials who would be “sympathetic” to their cause. Following an extensive renovation of the mansion and grounds, La Casa – as the Partners had named their new brothel – opened for business with a sex staff of thirteen women, all Latinos in their late teens or early twenties hired locally from the slums of neighboring Bogotá or from the surrounding Colombian countryside.
Encouraged by the favorable responses the Three Partners had received from their initial trickle of visitors – predominantly rich American, Mexican, and Argentinean businessmen – more women were soon brought in to live and work at the bordello. With the arrival of seven young Thai women John-Boy had recruited and later, a group of European females he had enlisted for service while in Amsterdam, La Casa could now boast housing a truly “international” stable of young, attractive prostitutes who, while on duty, would skillfully play the role of “sex slave” for the amusement and enjoyment of their guests. As word further spread of the unique resort their business grew, and within a few short years La Casa had emerged as a popular Latin American “getaway” for extremely wealthy men seeking repeated casual sexual encounters with a large and varied assortment of submissive young women. Confident now that their enterprise would be a success, John-Boy sold his travel agency, Greg and Dr. George each resigned their respective positions in New York, and the Three Partners took up permanent residence in Colombia as full-time managerial directors of La Casa.
And indeed the business did flourish, at least for several more years, until senior members of the Colombian drug cartel – who were by then rapidly amassing political and military power as well as an even larger fortune than were the Three Partners – began demanding an ever-increasing percentage of the bordello’s profits in exchange for their “protection.” Faced with this growing financial burden and their uncertainty as to how long the cartel would remain appeased, the Three Partners decided to abruptly close La Casa, abandoning their prostitutes to the Colombian frontier, and move to a gated hotel facility they had acquired along the western coast of Africa, where they would recruit a fresh group of women from Europe and Asia to service their guests. The Partners would run their business in Africa for sixteen more years before again relocating to the present site of operations in the South Pacific.
The overall management of Island Royale served as an appropriate starting point for my interview with Greg, conducted in his large but surprisingly modestly appointed administrative office overlooking the Compound and deep blue South Sea waters beyond.
* * * * * * * *
Question: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. Frankly, I was surprised to have been invited to Island Royale and that you would accept my request for an interview. So, I guess I should start with asking you why you did so.
Answer: Well, you’re quite welcome. We’re all pretty proud of what we have been able to accomplish here and, now that we are rather well established, we feel comfortable in finally talking about the resort.
Or maybe it’s just that we want to do a bit of gloating. Besides, this whole feature of yours will probably never even see the light of day.
Q: IN/SIGHT is a rather highly respected news organization. Do you really believe this report will be dismissed simply as a work of “adult fiction?”
A: Probably. But it does provide us with some added insurance. We know you’ve been snooping around now for quite some time, and you were getting a bit too “close to home” with your investigation, if you know what I mean. This way, by inviting you here and letting you see in detail how we operate the resort, if word of Island Royale were ever actually to leak out we can just point to your little article here to discredit the claims as nothing more than a far-fetched pornographic fantasy.
Q: Nonetheless, you are taking a risk in talking with me.
A: A minimal one, maybe.
Q: I was impressed with the resort when I arrived, although I was a bit surprised to see such a large number of very young girls serving in the Compound. Some appeared to be no more than five or six years old. Tell me: Just how young are the girls here?
A: Well, actually, the girls you saw weren’t quite that young. More like seven or eight years old. But to answer your question, the totally serviceable females in the Compound range in age from about twelve to around twenty-eight years old, with the seven to eleven-year-olds available only for light petting, fondling, and other non-invasive sex such as fellatio and hand jobs.
We keep all of the much younger females segregated in the Nursery behind us.
Q: And how many girls do you keep in service?
A: It varies slightly from week to week, but on average we have about 300 women and young girls available for the use of our Guests at all times, plus probably 175 or so more who have been temporarily rotated out of sex assignment and into general resort maintenance – but who can be made available as needed.
Hey, somebody has got to cook the meals, clean the pool and change the sheets!
You tend to think there’s a bigger sex staff because you see females milling around the Compound all the time, awaiting their next session. Our girls are trained to return to that central area between sessions, but of course they generally don’t remain there long.
Now mind you, not all of these girls are available for straight sex. Many of them are simply too young to fuck, but we try to keep enough sexually mature females available to service well over half of our guests at any given time during the day and evening hours, and enough additional slaves “on call” from the maintenance pool to ensure each Guest can keep with him overnight at least one woman old enough to fuck.
Q: That would mean that the resort can accommodate about three hundred guests then, correct?
A: Actually we can accommodate three hundred forty-eight Guests, and rarely are we not fully booked.
Q: With a sex staff that large, I am wondering how big your general support staff is.
A: On the island itself, we basically figure a 2:1 ratio, including the service women. We require all of the staff you would expect to find at any exclusive resort, plus a somewhat larger technical maintenance staff – because we are so secluded.
Off the island we employ many more people. We obviously need a small but knowledgeable medical staff to screen our Guests, and then of course we have additional personnel associated with transportation, food and beverage purchases, sex slave acquisitions and the like. Not to mention all of our independent contractors in Turkey, Pakistan, Russia and elsewhere. But on the island itself, I guess we have around 700 on staff at any given time, including the sex staff. That’s not counting the girls in the Nursery, though.
A few – but only a few – of the women you see around here have been assigned permanently to the general maintenance staff. When a female has gotten too old to be of use to us as a sex slave, we usually just sell her, but occasionally we’ll keep a bitch as a full-time maintenance worker. We don’t have nearly enough “retired cunts” to do all the work, though, and that’s why we rotate the sex staff into and out of general maintenance service.
It actually works out pretty well. The sex staff knows they must treat the maintenance workers properly, and vice versa, because the next week their roles might be reversed.
Q: I’ve seen a number of males working here though as well.
A. We do keep a large technical and administrative staff – of men – to see to the physical requirements of the resort and to supervise the females. Keep in mind that we’re not just running a resort here. We maintain our own electrical, water and sanitation systems, and if something breaks, we can’t just simply call up a repairman to come out and fix it!
The men are of course employed by the resort and do what is necessary to keep the complex operating efficiently. Even the bitches permanently assigned to maintenance lack the skills to handle anything more complicated than general housekeeping and kitchen “KP” duty.
Q: I would think you would have difficulty getting any work at all out of your male technical staff, what with all the naked women running around.
A: Well, that really hasn’t posed much of a problem for us, actually. The guys are free to take the girls temporarily assigned to maintenance service back with them when they’re off duty, and some do quite often, but on the whole our male employees approach their work in an extremely responsible manner.
(Chuckling) And of course, I suppose, there is the “familiarity breeds contempt” factor. If you work all day in a bakery, after all, you’re probably not a huge fan of pastries on a regular basis.
Q: I suppose. But these men aren’t slaves. I know the women can’t leave voluntarily, but what happens if one of your male employees decides to quit?
A: Ah, well, that does pose a problem for us.
Generally a male employee will be with us only about 7-8 years before he will want to leave. Ironically, though, oftentimes one of our employees, having left, will contact us wanting to come back again. But even if he does, he’ll usually become bored again rather quickly and won’t stay long.
All of our employees are sworn to secrecy of course, but I must confess we are constantly worried that some clown will someday tell “what he knows” about our operations.
We take certain understandable precautions. All of our employees are quite well paid but their wages are sequestered in various bank accounts in Zurich. A former employee must accept only the “draw” we permit him to periodically make from his account, and if we receive even a hint that the former employee may have disclosed information about the resort, we can permanently shut down his account. Fortunately, we’ve only had to do that a few times over the years.
But still, I suppose, the saying is true: “A secret between two men can only be kept if one of the men is dead.” We remain constantly on guard to protect against word of Island Royale leaking out to the general public.
Q: So how does inviting me here serve as an “insurance policy” for you?
A. We figure that if you report accurately, then in the event one of our former employees does “spill his guts,” by simply suggesting that he had read your piece and tried to get some publicity from his fantasy, he can be effectively discredited.
Q: I see. Getting back to your female staff, when one of your slaves gets too old to even do general maintenance work, what then?
A: Well, we haven’t actually reached that point yet. The oldest members of our first Nursery school class – if any of them are even still around – would only now be in their mid thirties. As time goes on, though, I suppose more and more of our sex staff might eventually “retire” into general maintenance service. That’s why we figure that in the years ahead we won’t have to rely so much on our sex staff to help maintain the resort.
But you’re right. At some point we will need to deal with our aging female maintenance worker population, and frankly we haven’t figured out yet what to do with them once they eventually get that old. Management certainly doesn’t plan on running a nursing home for old whores here!
(Laughing) We’ll probably just take ‘em out and dump ‘em all in the ocean. That’s what we did some years ago when George found out one of the girls had developed breast cancer or something. Obviously we didn’t want to spend any time or money to treat her, and we couldn’t put her on the auction block like that. So we just disposed of her. Tied her hands behind her back, sliced open her pussy and pushed her off the deck. Oh, she kicked and screamed for awhile but with all that blood in the water it didn’t take long for the sharks to find her. And it saved us the hassle of having to get rid of the body.
Q: Speaking of management, how many partners do you have?
A: Not that many. I’m the general manager of the resort, of course, but I have four equal partners. John-Boy and Alexis, neither of whom are on the island right now, are in charge of acquiring new slaves and disposing of our unwanted culls. George, who you will meet later, sees to the medical side while Cynthia, who you will also meet later, supervises the Nursery.
Q: You have a female partner?
A: Oh, yes. Cynthia has been an equal partner with us almost since the beginning.
Q: And she has no qualms about training young girls to become sex slaves?
A: Not at all. This is a very profitable business and Cynthia shares equally in the profits.
Q: And may I ask just how profitable Island Royale is?
A: (Smiling) Well, you may ask….
Q: OK. Point taken. Getting back to the overall running of the business: How much does it cost you for a girl?
A: Uh, you mean our overall investment? That would be difficult to calculate. Or did you simply mean the cost of the initial acquisition?
Q: Well, let’s start with the initial cost of acquisition.
A: Well, nowadays we usually don’t have to pay anything at all to acquire a girl. We simply trade in our unwanted bitches for much younger females. But it wasn’t always that way.
You must keep in mind, we’ve been around now for a long time and we are pretty well known within the relevant circles. Our associates in Calcutta, Istanbul, Singapore or wherever are constantly on the lookout for appropriate girls, age four or five years old, to buy or kidnap for us. Typically we can get four or five cute little European females – or sometimes as many as eight or nine baby Asian girls – for even one of our older or less attractive culls.
Q: Really. I would have thought that the cost of purchasing a young girl as a sex slave would have been much higher.
A: Well, buying a teenager outright – especially a Caucasian bitch – is considerably much more expensive. I believe the going rate right now for an average-looking European girl of say, seventeen, is about $60,000 US if she’s already had her cherry taken, and you can expect to pay even more if her pussy’s never been used. But little girls are much cheaper and easier to get and, besides, we don’t want our new recruits any older than 4-5 years.
Q: Why not?
A: Because of the hassle.
Look, you bring in a girl of even, say, six years old and you know she’s already had six years of freedom, six years of bonding with her family and friends – and especially she’s had six years of socialization. By that age a girl has already been taught to believe that men shouldn’t be playing with her genitals as they wish, that she should be embarrassed to be seen naked in public, and that she should somehow be able to decide what she wants to do. By the time a girl reaches six years old, she may even already know that women have babies and that a woman’s tits are there to nurse those babies.
You bring in a girl older than about four or five years and you get a bunch of problems: Resentment of her captivity, a reluctance to perform sexual acts, objections to our demands that orders be obeyed without question and so forth. All of these are definite training and disciplinary problems. We don’t have any of those problems here since we acquire our girls so young – before they learn a lot of stupid social rules – and can train them to behave like we want them to.
Q: In other words, you substitute your own set of social rules of behavior for the ones the girls would have been taught had they remained with their families.
A: Exactly. If you think about it, we run Island Royale more like a classic Roman brothel than a conventional whorehouse, and these girls are all trained to behave like the slaves did back in those times. That’s our model.
Q: Please elaborate.
A: Gladly. Look, men have always wanted to have a lot of different pussy and they’ve devised a wide variety of ways to get it.
Keeping a large privately-owned stable of nubile females has always been reserved only for the Very Rich, of course. Arab culture in particular has traditionally approved of wealthy men having multiple wives and keeping women in harems as captive sex slaves. And for centuries it was common throughout the world for warlords, kings and emperors to own numerous female slaves and concubines they could fuck whenever they wanted to. But feeding and housing a bunch of gashes can get expensive, especially since they aren’t much good for anything else except to fuck, and so only very rich men could afford to have these toys. In fact, while these women were kept obviously to provide their masters sexual services, they served mainly as a status symbol – you know, as a way of demonstrating to others a guy’s wealth and prestige. By definition, the more females a man could own and maintain, the richer and more powerful he was seen to be.
Oh, sure, the King might have let his friends and colleagues use his girls, but the general public certainly wasn’t invited to the orgy. If an ordinary guy wanted to get laid, he either had to fuck the wife or hunt down some pussy on his own. The ordinary guy just couldn’t afford to keep a private stash of cunts, but (chuckling) he still liked the idea of fucking a bunch of different women. It didn’t take very long, therefore, before someone came up with the idea of pooling financial resources and started acquiring females who could be “rented out” to all the guys who wanted the pleasures of the harem but who individually could not afford the massive costs associated with one. Voila! The first bordello was created. And soon, there were many bordellos, each competing with the others for customers.
Many civilizations before and up through the days of the Roman Empire viewed having casual, impersonal sex with a stranger as a totally acceptable form of entertainment, and so elaborate brothels were built and stocked with slaves – both females and males – to serve the needs of their patrons. And for centuries, these businesses thrived. But attitudes change, and especially in Europe with the emergence of Christianity as a strong social force, the practice of owning slaves fell out of favor and sex itself came to be viewed, at least publicly, as a uniquely intimate act expressed only between married men and women. If a guy wanted to get a little extra-marital pussy he had to sneak out to get it, and since society no longer approved of or publicly supported lavish, ornate brothels stocked with sex slaves, he had to do it discreetly.
The traditional public whorehouse, at least since the Middle Ages, has by and large been a squalid little hut in a “bad” part of town, sheepishly visited by nervous men looking for an easy and relatively inexpensive way to get laid. The guy would arrive, select his prostitute, negotiate the price, fuck her and then leave as quickly as possible. Even in early medieval Europe, when society as a whole – not to mention the all-powerful Holy Roman Catholic Church – considered prostitution to be at least an “acceptable” occupation for a woman, customers rarely felt comfortable being seen in public with any of their whores. And that certainly remained true even for the miners and cowboys who were routinely being serviced out of the tents and saloons of the Old American West. Everybody knew the hookers were there, of course, but nobody in “decent” society would acknowledge them as fellow productive citizens of their community.
The fancy 19th Century “Gentlemen’s Establishments” of Paris and Berlin – and certainly their more primitive cousins in New Orleans, Chicago or San Francisco – weren’t really all that much better. Oh, the girls may have been a bit better dressed, and the whorehouses were perhaps kept a bit cleaner. Management would often even include some sort of alternate entertainment such as a nightclub act, a floor show, or maybe just a ragtime piano player, and the place may have seemed like a sort of private “club” to the patrons, but even the best of these places paled in comparison to the ornate brothels that they used to have in Roman days. Basically, regardless of how plain or fancy the whorehouse might be, the scenario really hasn’t changed all that much since the Middle Ages: The John still arrives and selects his prostitute, still negotiates the price of a fuck, and still leaves the place as soon as he has gotten laid.
And the women that work in these cathouses are all well aware of what they are doing. Some view providing sex as simply their occupation: No Fuck, No Eat. Others, such as those found in the seedy little clubs and “hotels” in Istanbul and Shanghai, may fuck out of fear – a fear of beatings, a fear of death, or sometimes simply because they fear life outside the whorehouse. All of these women have been taught to believe that what they are doing is “wrong” and not approved of by “decent” society, though, and most of these girls really don’t care whether their clients are happy. Heck, probably very few of them actually even offer up the use of their pussy without some resentment.
Q: But Island Royale is different.
A: That’s right. We model Island Royale after the luxurious bordellos that were popular at the height of the Roman Empire. Our females are true slaves, just like in the old days, and they are devoted to giving men pleasure. Our bitches accept without question that their only purpose in life is to sexually gratify men. That’s what makes Island Royale unique among the world’s brothels.
Q: Truly unique?
A: I think so. There are other sex resorts in the world, of course. Down in the Dominican Republic there’s Exotic Retreat for example and, oh yeah, the Angels in Paradise holiday resorts in Thailand. They’re pretty nice. But the way those places work is that the operators line up a bunch of good-looking women to be on hand as part of the hotel’s “accommodations package.” When a guest books a visit he reviews a list of the available females and reserves one of them to keep with him for the duration of his stay. Sometimes for a little variety a guest can arrange for a temporary “swap” with another visitor, but by and large he’s stuck with fucking the same bitch the whole time he’s there.
Q: Where do they get these women?
A: Oh, I don’t know. I think Exotic Retreat hires women mainly from Russia and other eastern European countries, but they also supplement their inventory with native Latinos. The Asian resorts recruit almost all of their women locally, though.
The gals make pretty good money as hookers, but they certainly all recognize that they are in the business of providing sex and companionship to these guys and can always quit if they get tired of the work or if they don’t think they’re getting paid enough for their services. And all of these women are adult professional prostitutes. No kids. If a guy wants to get some underage pussy, he’s got to leave the resort and go into town for it.
Not that it’s all that hard to find, really, especially in Thailand. There are a number of “hotels” just in Bangkok alone where a whole bunch of little girls are kept available for a quick lay. Shoot, in one of ‘em they even keep all the baby snatches stripped and standing around in these glass cages where a guy can just walk around and pick out the little cunt he wants to fuck. But it can be dangerous leaving the safety of the resort and, if a guy doesn’t know what he’s doing or where he’s going, there’s a good chance he can get ripped off – or worse.
Q: But not here.
A: No, Island Royale is completely different. We get our girls at a very tender age – four and five years old – and from the moment they arrive they are taught that their only reason for existence is to provide sexual pleasure to men. Here they’re told that’s all they’re good for, and that they will not have successfully fulfilled their purpose in life until they have fucked every man on the planet.
And here at Island Royale, a Guest is not simply limited to screwing just one or two of the girls – he has our entire inventory to choose from! Both sexually mature young women and preadolescent little girls, each willing and eager to please. Any time he wants.
Q: Any time?
A: Any time.
Look, as I said, our females here don’t just “act the part” of a submissive sex slave. They are sex slaves, and their lives are committed exclusively to sexually servicing men. A girl here who does not freely and enthusiastically suck cock is looked upon with distain by the other girls; the gash who is unable to get her Master to ejaculate feels she has failed somehow. At Island Royale, our prepubescent females anxiously await the day when they can finally spread their legs and receive a hard dick up their twat, and once they’re old enough to fuck, our slave bitches are genuinely disappointed if they don’t get laid at least four or five times each day.
Q: That’s just amazing. How do you get the girls to think that way?
A: Again, it’s all because of the age we get them.
We don’t take girls younger than four. We don’t want to bother with toilet training, or teaching them how to walk and all of that crap. But we do want to get them before they’ve been heavily influenced by “outside society.” That’s why acquiring a female child at the age of four or five years is ideal. They’re beyond the “toddler” stage and are eager to learn – to learn whatever it is we want to train them to do.
Q: And so does that training begin immediately?
A: Well, I guess the answer to your question would technically be yes, but a girl’s formal education and training doesn’t start for about a year or so after her arrival.
The first thing we do after we acquire a girl is to have her spayed. That obviously avoids for us the risk of pregnancy when she gets older. George prefers doing something called a “supracervical hysterectomy.” Simply sterilizing a female – you know, through radiation or maybe tying off her ovaries for example – isn’t enough because we would still need to deal with those awkward “monthlies” once she reaches puberty. Giving her a full supracervical hysterectomy makes her available for sex every day of the month for the rest of her life. And if you perform this surgery on a really young girl, she tends to heal up rather quickly.
While she is “under the knife,” so to speak, we also surgically rupture her hymen.
Years ago we didn’t do that, and instead would hold a raffle or something and offer up the girl’s virginity as a prize to one of our guests who happened to be visiting at the time she became ripe for fucking. But what we found was that the girl would be rather nervous about her first mounting, the Guest really excited, and invariably it seemed he would simply just want to jump on top of her, ram his dick up her twat as quickly as possible, fuck her hard and come. That would often leave quite a bloody mess and the girl might be in pain for days. Shoot, even after her pussy had healed she might still be scared about being fucked for several weeks afterward. So now, we simply rupture her hymen as soon as we get her, long before she learns what her cunt is for, and gradually introduce her to a dick as she grows up.
We do let her keep her clitoris, though. We want her to feel good about sex. (Laughing) We’re not interested in female genital mutilation around here.
Q: You said that formal training doesn’t begin then for about a year after you’ve obtained her. What do you do with her during that first year?
A: During that first year, before her formal education begins, all we expect from a girl is that she become accustomed to her nudity and comfortable being touched and fondled by men. After we’ve sterilized her, she’s equipped with her “jewelry” to designate her childhood – you’ve seen them on the younger girls in the Compound, I’m sure: A small red ceramic cherry attached to a thin gold chain leading from her vagina – and we get her used to wearing that.
She’ll spend a lot of time playing with her other “sisters” in the Nursery, and we’ll play with her, too. You know, feeling her up and fondling her pussy a lot – generally just get her used to being treated as a toy.
Q: While we’re on the subject of a girl’s “jewelry,” I also noticed that each of the girls wears a collar with her name printed on it. Under her nameplate, though, is a button. What is that button for?
A: When a female is between sessions, she’ll trigger a miniature receiver in her amulet. That way, we can keep track of how active she is and when she can be made available if a Guest summons her. While often a Guest will select a sex partner from among the females available in the Compound, he can also arrange for a specific girl to be summoned by using the computer terminal in his suite. Her amulet will vibrate and she will report to the concierge to receive instructions for her next assignment. Much like the electronics some restaurants use to let patrons know their table is ready.
(Laughing again.) It’s our version of “computer dating.” You just click on a girl you’d like to fuck and usually she’ll be at your door within minutes.
You really should check out your computer terminal.
Q: And so I shall. But back to the children. Do you simply send them right out into the Compound after that first year?
A: Oh, no, no. They won’t be permitted into the Compound for at least a few years or so after their arrival. After that first year, their formal training begins, but until they’re about seven or eight they’ll remain more-or-less segregated in the Nursery.
Q: How many girls do you keep in the Nursery?
A: Well, the figure is constantly changing, of course, as the girls complete their slave training and are put into service out in the Compound. Cynthia could tell you how many girls we have there at the moment, but on average I would guess we have around 175-180 or so baby pussies in the Nursery at any given time.
Q: I see. And do these girls go naked for those three years in the Nursery?
A: No, not all of the time. Initially they did, but what we discovered early on was that, if the little twats didn’t ever wear any clothing, they would get really uncomfortable once you tried to put clothes on them.
Most of our Guests, you see, don’t want these girls naked all of the time. They prefer that the staff tease them a bit. Sometimes they want to see their women in full length evening gowns; at other times, maybe just a short “revealing” outfit, allowing the girl to flash her tits and pussy. Having the little girls go completely naked all of the time would never give them a chance to learn how to wear clothing, so we introduce them to a rudimentary wardrobe when they are quite young.
Q: What do they wear, then?
A: Well, you’ll see for yourself later on when you visit the Nursery. But basically we have three simple outfits.
The first is just a rectangular sheet of cloth, hemmed on one edge, with a length of rope threaded through the loop. The girl wears the cloth around her waist and ties the cord in front. Her hips and ass are mainly covered, but of course her pussy remains exposed.
The second garment is really just a variation of the first, made with two much smaller pieces of cloth. Again, the girl wears this around her waist and ties the cord in front. Her flanks are somewhat covered, but her ass and pussy remain open to view.
When we want to introduce the girls to more elaborate clothing, we’ll start by having them wear a simple dress consisting of a couple of pieces of cloth with a semicircle cut out of one of the ends. Those ends are stitched together; she slips it over her head and ties a length of rope around her waist. The rope tends to make the cloth bunch up a bit in front but gives the girl a feel for cloth rubbing against her tits. The dress leaves her flanks exposed for the most part, and the cloth can be lifted easily in both the front and the back should you want to inspect her ass or vagina.
Sometimes, especially among the older girls on the verge of moving into the Compound, we may outfit them with more traditional “feminine” attire, but for the most part our girls in the Nursery wear one of those three basic outfits – if they wear anything at all.
Q: So then a girl’s formal training begins after about a year, right?
A: Training and education. Fairly early on, we concluded that we could not simply ignore basic education. So, we teach these girls the “Three ‘Rs’” – Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic – just as you would a kid in any typical grammar school.
Q: Why did you decide this was necessary?
A: It was so darn frustrating for us! We’d send a cunt to get something, and she couldn’t read the labels. Or we’d tell a girl to report for a session and she wouldn’t know which suite to go to – she couldn’t read the room number. Really, giving the bitches a basic education – to about a first or second grade level – is more for our benefit than it is for them. They certainly don’t need to be taught any other traditional grammar school subjects such as history or geography.
Q: Other than this basic education, then, what other instructions do your girls receive?
A: The Nursery curriculum consists of three more-or-less equal parts. One, as I said, is to give the little gashes an elementary understanding of reading, writing, and arithmetic.
The second is in what I like to call the “social graces.” These bitches will be with very wealthy and important men, and they all must learn how to present themselves properly and behave appropriately. They must develop good personal grooming habits and keep themselves clean, fresh, and ready for sexual activity at all times. We need them to be able to speak well. Etiquette is very important. We teach them to be polite and submissive. We teach them to obey orders. It is vital to us that these cunts always know they are subservient beings – animals, really – kept as pets solely for our amusement. We simply will not tolerate any female exhibiting an “independent streak” here.
Obviously, the third part of our educational program is devoted to providing the slaves extensive instruction in proper sexual technique. Our girls become familiar with male genitalia quite early in their training, and each will perform her first masturbation of a penis long before her sixth birthday. By the time they’re seven or eight, and ready to join the others in the Compound, all of these girls will be experts at giving head and providing exceptional hand jobs.
Q: And the girls don’t resist being used like this?
A: Absolutely not. They accept their existence as a sex slave quite easily.
You know, when we first started we thought we would have problems in that area, but we’ve never had any. I don’t know if the full answer can ever truly be known, but I think it’s a combination of a couple of things.
Certainly a large part of it, I think, is instinct. We may be living in the 21st Century, after all, but we still carry with us some remnants of our prehistoric nature. Way back in ancient caveman times, having children around was by and large a nuisance to the tribe. They were too young to go on a hunt, and too young to help keep the home fires going. Little girls in particular couldn’t do much of anything to earn their keep except that they could entertain their elders by sexually servicing their fathers, their older brothers, and the other adult males of the tribe. If you buy in to Darwin’s theory, as I do, that those who are more successful in adapting to their surroundings are more likely to live to maturity and reproduce, then it follows that those little gashes who were instinctively more inclined to provide sexual services were more likely to be allowed to remain with the clan. A young female who didn’t naturally take to sucking cock or who wouldn’t submit to being mounted whenever a male wanted to get laid was basically worthless to them and would either be killed outright or at least abandoned by the others and left to starve to death.
If you think about it, every successful civilization in history has been ruled by men, and by and large women have always served in a passive, submissive capacity. By instinct, females of all ages want to please men, and they unconsciously view performing sexual acts as a way of demonstrating to their bigger and more powerful male protectors and providers that they will remain docile and obedient servants at all times.
Look at the way little girls like to cuddle up on Grandpa’s lap, spreading their legs and encouraging Grandpa to touch and hug them. Girls at that age know nothing about fucking. What they do know on an unconscious level, though, is that by letting the older males play with their bodies, they can in turn rely upon those males to provide for and protect them.
And this isn’t just human behavior. Look at little puppies. They may be only a few weeks old, but already a few of the males in the litter will be seen demonstrating mounting activities. That can’t be sexual desire – they’re all far too young to breed. No, it must be a canine way of establishing each puppy’s social ranking within the pack.
Q: That’s a good theory.
A: But I don’t think that instinct alone explains why these girls are all so willing to engage in sexual acts. I think the role society plays in teaching young girls how to behave might be equally important. I truly do not believe that a little girl feels “victimized” or “exploited” if she’s called upon to provide sexual services unless or until someone – a parent, a teacher, or perhaps a social worker – tells her that what she’s doing is “wrong” or that she’s not supposed to be used like that.
I recall reading a story in a newspaper many years ago. Some little five-year-old girl had been taught to come home from school each day, take off her clothes, and give her stepfather a blow job. (Chuckling) Sort of a basic daily household chore for her, like washing the dishes or taking out the garbage. Around the time she turned twelve he started fucking her on a regular basis and later on let her older step-brother and some of his friends fuck her as well. This went on for several years, without any problems whatsoever, until the authorities learned of it and had the guy arrested.
Now, mind you, this little “family routine” didn’t come to light because the girl had complained to the police that she was being “sexually molested” on a more-or-less daily basis. Rather, they learned about it only because somebody overheard the girl’s step-brother talking with one of his friends about what a nice little tight pussy she had! Only after the girl had been sent into counseling did she learn that she had been made “a victim of sexual exploitation.” Only then did she start feeling “traumatized.” Hell, she had been getting along fine – doing quite well in school, even – until the damn counselors started messing with her head. After that, she was a basket case.
Think about it: Even in Europe, up until the 18th Century or so, girls were still routinely being married off when they were only nine or ten years old. Now, granted, a cunt that young is just way too small to safely fuck, but you can bet their husbands – some of whom were in their twenties, thirties, or even older – certainly didn’t wait around until their wives were eighteen to jump on top of them. Heck, back then fucking little girls wasn’t considered a sexual deviancy; it was just something you did with little girls. Certainly none of those kids back then thought of themselves as being “sexually exploited.” They were simply doing what their society expected of them. And for that matter, the Mormons still order girls into polygamous marriages when they’re twelve. Hell, she’ll have pupped out a few kids before she’s old enough to get a driver’s license!
All young bitches instinctively want to suck a cock – it’s in their DNA – and they all want to be mounted just as soon as their pussy is big enough. Shoot, it took a statute to make fucking a girl under eighteen a crime, and until societal attitudes changed, nobody considered the practice of screwing little girls at all improper. And for that matter, the practice is still considered quite socially acceptable in many Asian and Middle Eastern countries.
Simply put: There’s nothing “unnatural” about having sex with children. Pedophilia isn’t biologically a sexual deviancy; it’s just another way of having sex. It only becomes a “deviant sexual activity” if society decides to make it one.
Q: That all does make a lot of sense.
A: Of course it does! And so, all of our girls – who already instinctively want to sexually please men – are told that they are supposed to do so! It makes them feel good. It gives their life meaning and purpose. The females here on the island have all had men playing with their pussies for as long as they can remember, and they’ve all been sucking cock on a daily basis since they were five years old! It’s really not surprising, then, that by the time they’ve reached the age of eight, every one of our little slave bitches is an expert at giving head – and is eager to give it – and that they all look forward to the day when they’re finally old enough to get laid. Here at Island Royale, these cunts are all trained to understand that they exist only to provide men pleasure.
To these gashes, it’s not just their job – it’s their only purpose in life.
Q: But surely the children must still be taught how to perform fellatio. Who provides this instruction?
A: (Smiling) Well, in the early years me, George and the other administrative staff would do all the “tutoring.” But, as the business grew so did the Nursery, and after awhile we just had far too many little girls needing to suck our dicks than we could handle. The guys were all kept pretty busy just running the joint and they couldn’t, you know, always spare the time, so tapping the technical staff to take off work to have their cocks serviced didn’t work out very well at all for us once the Nursery really got going.
And then one week, one of the guys suggested that we ask for volunteers from among our Guests to help train our little girls to give blow jobs. Boy, was that a great idea! I think every single one of our Guests volunteered. (Laughing now.) We had to draw straws!
Nowadays, we simply make “training visits” to the Nursery a regular feature here at Island Royale. Getting a blow job in the Nursery is an extremely popular activity, but usually our Guests can get as much head as they want from the little ones during a week’s stay.
While you’re here this week you should definitely sign up for at least a visit or two. You’ll really enjoy it. Just contact the concierge for a reservation.
Q: All right, I will. So when are the Nursery girls actually then ready to join the general population of sex slaves in the Compound?
A: They’re all pretty well good to go before they turn eight. Of course, that doesn’t mean they’re immediately available to fuck. They won’t be ready for that for a few more years. That’s why they wear their ornaments.
Q: Yes, what are they exactly?
A: Well, basically they’re just a little plastic plug, shoved up into her pussy. They’re about the same diameter as a tampon, I guess, but are quite a bit shorter – only about two inches long or so. The chain attached to the end of the plug is a little bit longer – about four inches – and actually is made of gold so it doesn’t tarnish. The ornament itself is simply a ceramic charm, molded and painted to look like a cherry.
Q: I did find that amusing.
A: Yeah, most of the men do. And I take full credit for the design! (Laughing again.) Hey, even if none of these girls have an intact hymen anymore, they at least get to keep their “cherry” until they’re ripe.
The girls themselves, though, have no idea what the joke is.
Q: I wouldn’t think so. When do you decide to “pull the plug” and release a girl into the general population?
A: (Chuckling) You mean, when do we “pop her cherry?” That’s really a medical decision that George makes, but generally our girls become available for vaginal sex when they’re around eleven or twelve years old.
You understand, of course, that we give all of our slaves regular physical examinations, including full gynecological exams. That’s especially true of our preadolescents. And once the girls leave the Nursery, we’ll start conducting periodic dildo tests on them, so we have a pretty good idea of when it’s finally safe to pussy-fuck them.
Q: A “dildo test?”
A: (Laughing) Yeah, that’s what we call it. And it’s just what you’d expect it to be. We shove a rod up her cunt and measure how big a dick she can take.
As a matter of fact, I saw George earlier and I think he said he’d be giving a dildo test to one of our young girls in (glancing at his watch) well, just a few minutes from now, actually. Would you care to watch?
Q: It’s all right for me to be there?
A: Sure. George doesn’t mind and the gashes are all quite used to being naked around men.
* * * * * * * *
We suspended our interview at this point and Greg led me out of his office and down the long curving hallway leading to the entrance of the infirmary.
Inside the infirmary is a simple desk and behind this desk sits a chair and a row of plain metal filing cabinets. To the left are three small windowless rooms, two of which were open but neither occupied at the time of my visit. In each of the first two rooms there is a single-sized bed, a small writing desk and chair, and a wall of wood-faced cabinets. Indeed, in all material respects these rooms look just like any other modestly appointed sick room one might see in a high school or college infirmary. The third room, which remained closed and locked while I was there, serves as the resort’s surgical chambers and it is here that Dr. George sterilizes each of the newly acquired young female sex slaves.
To the right of the desk is a much larger room, obviously used for medical examinations. Dominating the center of the room is the table, covered with a white custom-fitted contour sheet and equipped with the ubiquitous gynecological stirrups doctors always seem to require when examining female genitalia. Running along the full length of the far wall is a laminated plastic countertop, with drawers and wood-faced cabinets installed both above and below. The countertop was empty during my visit except for a clipboard, two ballpoint pens, a few bottles of antiseptic near the stainless steel sink, and a long white tapered plastic rod, softly rounded on one end and ringed in multiple colors in what looked to me to be about half-inch intervals. The instrument appeared to be slightly more than two inches in diameter at its thickest point and to measure almost fourteen inches in length, although the colored marking rings stopped about three-quarters of the way from the shaft’s brightly-colored blue tip.
Several minutes passed before Dr. George arrived carrying a thin manila folder. After exchanging introductions, Dr. George explained that he would shortly be performing the routine examination of a ten-year-old girl named Mica. Commencement of the examination would be delayed slightly, he said with a hint of annoyance, as the girl was still “engaged in a session” with a Guest, but would be ordered to report to the infirmary as soon as she had concluded her blow job and had rinsed her mouth.
Dr. George showed me Mica’s file. Most of his medical notations were gibberish to me but I did glean some pertinent information regarding the girl:
• Mica had been acquired by Island Royale at the age of four years as part of a trade that had sent two of the resort’s older women to a wholesale sex slave broker in Istanbul, along with twelve others he had purchased, in exchange for ten very young girls, age 4-5 years. A few of these children had simply been kidnapped by the broker himself from their rural village homes in (the former) Yugoslavia, but most of them had been purchased from others who had performed the actual abductions. Mica had been born in a small town near the Russian-Ukrainian border and had been sold to the broker by one of her maternal uncles for an undisclosed price. The small photograph clipped to her file suggested Mica to be an attractive little girl with dark hair and brown eyes.
It suddenly occurred to me that little “Mica” might very well be one of the children whose disappearances had launched my investigation into the sex slave industry. I scoured her file for the name of her home village and, yes indeed, the area had been one of the first places I had visited. I mentally calculated when that visit had occurred and concluded that the little girls taken from the village at that time would all be about ten years old by now. I did not recall from my interviews any of the little abducted girls having been named “Mica,” but of course the children’s captors could – and most probably did – change all of the young girls’ names in order to make their disappearances all that much more difficult to trace. How very interesting, I thought: Until this time I had believed all of these children had been viciously abducted in the night by strangers, but in fact many – including Mica – had actually been sold into sexual slavery by someone the child both knew and trusted.
And after years of searching, I realized, I was soon to finally meet one of these kidnapped little girls.
• Mica had completed her preadolescent slave training in the Nursery shortly before her eighth birthday and had therefore been in service in the Compound for almost two and one-half years. According to her file, after she had been surgically sterilized the child had had to visit the infirmary but twice other than for her periodic “routine” examinations: Once, to have a problem milk tooth extracted and, more recently, to receive treatment for an abrasion to her vaginal lining caused by a Guest who had inappropriately slipped his finger into her during a session. Dr. George had noted that she had recovered nicely following an overnight stay in the infirmary, however, and had resumed her daily activities in the Compound the next morning without any complications. Her file did not reveal if or how the Guest had been sanctioned for his indiscretion.
• Mica’s most recent physical examination had been about ten weeks prior to my visit. According to Dr. George’s medical history, at that time she had accepted almost four inches of the phallus into her vagina without demonstrable pain or discomfort and the doctor had noted that he believed she was due for a “growth spurt” in the near future and might soon be able to comfortably accommodate four inches or more of the instrument into her vaginal canal.
Just as I had concluded reading her file, Mica quietly entered the infirmary and presented herself to Dr. George for her examination. Her photograph did not do her justice, for she was indeed a beautiful little girl with big brown eyes and dark brown hair which she held securely in back by a brightly colored elastic band. Soon after her arrival she released that band, sending her hair cascading down to her shoulders, leaving exposed the slight swells of her still largely undeveloped breasts.
The child wore nothing but a simple skirt, open in the front and fully displaying before us her tiny hairless vagina. Swaying gently between her thighs, kissed by her pussy lips, was the thin gold chain and bright red ornament that confirmed her preadolescence.
The little girl spoke in English, with just a hint of an eastern European accent, and she politely greeted each of us in turn, appearing neither ashamed of nor embarrassed by her nudity. She casually untied her small garment and allowed it to drop to the floor as she leapt up on to the examination table, immediately negotiating her heels into the gynecological stirrups. She had obviously been examined this way many times before and eagerly assumed her position: Flat on her back with her hands tucked, palms down, under her buttocks and with her thighs spread wide by the stirrups. She calmly lay there beneath the bright fluorescent lights, offering to us a stunning view of her smooth, hairless prepubescent vagina.
I had been quietly gazing at the splayed lips of Mica’s bald pussy for quite some time, marveling at the softly rounded contours of the child’s exposed sex, before I noticed Greg smiling at me.
“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” he grinned. And indeed, it was.
It was with increasing difficulty that I resisted touching the little girl’s vulva, but the gold chain and red ceramic cherry, now resting quietly between the cheeks of her buttocks, reminded me that Mica’s presentation of herself was for the benefit of Dr. George, not me, and that the soft pink interior of her preadolescent womanhood was strictly “off limits” to visitors. I continued to stand there, mesmerized by the display of the beautiful young girl’s tiny pussy, while Dr. George examined Mica’s ears, eyes, throat and teeth, but I quietly moved to a position just beyond her left leg as the doctor positioned himself between the naked girl’s thighs.
Quickly spreading her labia with his left hand, Dr. George plunged his right index and middle fingers deep into the girl and withdrew her plug. Mica gasped slightly with this invasion of her gender, but otherwise did not react.
The doctor casually tossed the young girl’s pussy charm to the counter and walked over to the far side of the table. He began massaging the girl’s tiny clitoris with his right index finger while simultaneously lightly rubbing her budding left breast in an ever-decreasing circular pattern. Mica clearly enjoyed being played with and smiled as she arched forward to meet the doctor’s hand. Dr. George continued his circular movements around her breast until he had finally centered over her smooth coffee-colored areola, and he then began to gently twist and pinch her nipple, coaxing it to stiffen. He pulled his finger out of her vagina, studied her swollen little nipples, and turned to the counter to scribble something in his file.
“Ok, then, it’s time to test you. Are you ready?” asked Dr. George as he turned again to the young girl lying naked on the table. He was holding the long multi-ringed plastic phallus, wet and shimmering in the bright glow of the examination room lights. Mica nodded and struggled to lean upward and forward, positioning herself to where she could observe her vaginal impalement while supporting her torso on her elbows. She looked first to Greg, then to me as she began wetting her lips, but turned her head back sharply to Dr. George as he brought the instrument into contact with her slit.
Dr. George gently but firmly pierced the lips of the little girl’s hairless pussy with the tip of the phallus, and slid it up inside her about three inches. Mica inhaled deeply with this modest penetration, but continued otherwise to remain motionless. Glancing back and forth between the little girl’s face and the plastic dildo partially buried within her baby cunt, the doctor moved the phallus forward a half inch, held position briefly, and then backed it out a bit. Mica again quietly gasped. Dr George advanced the dildo yet again, this time eliciting from the little girl both a sharp gasp and a slight twitch of her pelvis as her pussy lips curled inward around the plastic shaft. He left the phallus in this position for a few seconds before slowly retreating slightly from her vagina, but soon he was advancing again and Mica grunted audibly as she leaned forward in an attempt to protect herself from the invading dildo. Again, the good doctor backed the rod out an inch or so before plunging it even deeper into the child’s moist little twat, eliciting an even sharper gasp from Mica. Dr. George pressed the white shaft even further into the little girl, burying the tip deep inside her, and held the instrument in this position for several seconds. Mica was visibly in discomfort now, and the doctor abandoned his efforts to further impale her, drawing the phallus fully out of her pussy. Mica relaxed and slowly exhaled as she settled back once again to the table.
“A little bit more than 4 ½ inches, Honey. You’re really getting to be a big girl,” said Dr. George as he made further notes in his file. “Yes, Master!” answered Mica, smiling broadly.
Dr. George returned to the foot of the table, swinging the little girl’s cherry ornament by its chain. He deftly spread her labia and slipped the small plastic plug back deep into her pussy. Again, Mica grunted. “OK, then, we’re done. You’re free to go,” announced the doctor as he clipped his pen to her file. He turned to look at me. “Unless, of course, you’d like to use her now.”
Mica quickly lifted her heels from the stirrups, swung her legs over to the near side of the table and slid to the floor. “Would you like me to serve you now, Master?” she asked me politely. I nodded vaguely, somewhat bewildered still by what I had recently witnessed, and the little girl approached. Dr. George smiled as he and Greg walked out the door. “You can use this room if you want,” he said. “Come on down to my office when you’re done.”
The child struggled a bit unhitching my belt – most of the Guests wear togas and tunics much easier for the girls to negotiate – but she finally succeeded in working my trousers down to my ankles. She stared curiously at my jockey shorts, unaccustomed to seeing men wearing clothing beneath their robes. No matter. She soon had my underwear peeled down as well, exposing my member as it hung but inches from her face.
I must confess that, while I had maintained an incredible hard-on during most of the child’s examination, my penis was by this time only semi-erect. It did not take the little girl’s tongue long though to again bring me to full attention. She started first by massaging my rod with her left hand, cupping my testicles in her right, while carefully licking my balls. I could feel a climax rapidly approaching and Mica, sensing this as well, abandoned her hold on my shaft and began licking my inner thigh, slowly moving higher and closer to the base of my penis. The urgency of my orgasm subsided somewhat. Greg had been right, I thought. These girls are experts. Mica had slowed her pace in order to extend my pleasure.
The level of my sexual excitement again increased as the little girl slowly traced the underside of my shaft with her tongue. When she reached the tip of my penis she began her final assault upon my manhood, and soon I could no longer control myself, exploding in a series of orgasmic spasms, filling her tiny mouth with my cum.
Mica had anticipated my climax as well and had placed her tongue over the tip of my penis, directing my jism away from the back of her throat. Methodically moving her head forward and back as I unloaded into her, she paused briefly, just once to swallow, before resuming her mouth-fuck. The little girl continued to suck my cock, even after I had emptied myself, but as my erection diminished she withdrew and nestled my shaft between her cheek and palm, slowly rolling it back and forth as she licked the tip of my knob in search of any remaining drops of semen.
I imagine she would have remained massaging my member forever had I not eventually stepped backward to stare down to the young female standing naked before me. Mica recognized that her services had been completed but continued to cradle my flaccid penis in her hand.
“If you are finished with me now, Master, I will leave,” she said softly. I nodded and mumbled something. Mica smiled, gently released her hold on my cock, and casually picked up her loincloth as she quietly moved toward the doorway of the examination room. I watched as she positioned the small garment around her waist while exiting the infirmary.
Years before, I thought to myself, I had agonized over the plight of those unfortunate little girls who had been so savagely stolen in the night from their homes and families.
And now I had just received the most impressive blow job of my life from one of them.
In candor, I have no recollection of either dressing myself or walking back down the hallway to Dr. George’s office. I do, however, recall the doctor sitting comfortably behind his desk, wearing a grin the Cheshire Cat would envy, as I made my entrance.
“Quite a deal being blown by a ten-year-old, isn’t it?” I tried to think of something clever to say, but managed only a rather lame “Oh, yeah……”
Leaning forward, Dr. George continued to smile. “I think Greg had wanted you to interview me now, but you’re obviously in no shape to do so. Why don’t you go back to your room and change, and we’ll get together later.” I nodded in agreement. “Out the door and turn right,” gestured the doctor. “The service elevators will be a little ways down the hall.” I nodded vacuously again and left his office. I could still hear Dr. George laughing to himself as I staggered down the hallway.
I returned to the main level of the hotel and passed the concierge. Glancing to my left, in the distance I could see a dozen or more nude or semi-naked girls and women outside in the Compound, but Mica was not among them. Still in the Boudoir, I assumed, washing her mouth to remove any remaining evidence of my recent ejaculation. A young nude woman with long curly blonde hair stood leaning against the front desk, her large breasts draped over the counter, listening as the male desk attendant read to her from his computer screen the orders for her next liaison. Another girl, black as night and clad in a skimpy white bikini, stood waiting behind her to receive instructions for her next session. Under other circumstances I would undoubtedly have wished to have studied such a scene in much greater detail, but at that time all I could think about was getting back to my room and collapsing.
And so I did.
* * * * * * * *
I awoke late in the afternoon, the vivid memories of Mica’s exquisite blow job still fresh in my mind. I was eager to explore other sexual adventures available to me during my stay at Island Royale and decided to revisit my computer terminal. Browsing through the thumbnails, I again located Danica, the attractive nineteen-year old Polish brunette I had “discovered” the previous day.
I recalled from my first exploration of her web page that Danica stood 5’8”, weighed just over 115 pounds, and that her “vital statistics” were 34C-24-33. I could feel a stirring once again in my loins as I studied her photograph, taken as she posed in the nude while leaning against a palm tree, and I decided to inquire as to her availability. The screen cleared:
Danica is currently available for your use.
What would you like to do?
Have Danica summoned to you?
Return to the main screen to make another selection?
I requested that she be summoned. Following another brief pause, the screen again cleared:
Danica has been summoned for you.
Within minutes there was a knock at my door and the bare-breasted girl stood before me wearing only a short, tight, crimson-colored skirt. “You requested me, Master?” she asked. “Yes,” I answered, and Danica stepped into the room.
She arched her back as she crossed the doorway threshold, accentuating her breasts and large, erect nipples, but then she stopped and turned to face me. Her long black hair flowed down each side of her magnificent twin globes, framing her deep brown areolas. I knew she was waiting for further instructions, but all I could do was marvel at the beautiful young woman’s body as she stood there, offering herself to me.
I motioned vaguely toward my bedroom and she nodded, removing her skirt as she traveled across the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, her arms behind her for support and with her legs slightly parted, revealing to me her exposed pussy and the thin manicured strip of dark brown pubic hair just above her slit. She seemed to be studying me as I slipped off my tunic, and when I crawled on to the opposite side of the bed she lay down and arched her back even more, inviting me to caress her naked breasts.
I played with her boobs and delightfully hard nipples for several minutes before working my hand down across her belly to her nether lips. By this time Danica had found my cock and had begun expertly caressing my rock-hard member. Her pubic hair was surprisingly soft, and as I ran my hand over her pussy, occasionally plunging my fingers into the soft wet recesses of her vagina, the girl rolled to her side to face me. Leaning forward, she slowly took my cock into her mouth and began working her tongue around my shaft.
Soon I was ready to mount her and she paused to await my choice of position. I got up, walked around to the near side of the bed and, grabbing her ankles, pulled her toward me. She spread her legs wide and I buried my prick deep into her tight wet pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from the girl as I impaled her. With her calves resting on my shoulders I banged her hard, and with each thrust her tits would dance madly across her chest. I grabbed her left nipple and twisted it sharply; Danica responded with a squeal and threw her arms around my neck. Again and again I would thrust, and the girl would counter by tightening her cunt muscles as if to try to capture my dick in her twat.
I was exploding now, and she squeezed her right breast as I emptied myself into her. I continued to plow my way in and out of her wet cunt, even after I had shot my wad, while the young woman gyrated and moaned with delight beneath me.
Exhausted, I withdrew and fell gasping for breath on the bed to her side. Danica repositioned and immediately began softly licking my penis, sending me into yet another dimension of pleasure. I was soon hard again and, encouraged, the woman began to aggressively service me once more using her mouth and tongue. In time I ejaculated yet again and was truly spent when I heard her softly speak.
“Do you wish me to stay or leave, Master?”
I don’t recall exactly how I answered, but the girl understood she was to leave. Quietly, my raven-haired sex slave arose, picked up her skirt, and was gone.
* * * * * * * *
I lie sprawled across my bed for almost an hour, unable to move, before finally gathering the strength to rise and shower. I had missed the formal dinner because of my delightful little tryst with the nubile brunette, but I knew I could still grab a slice of pizza or a sandwich from the snack bar at any time. Selecting a comfortable toga to wear, I slipped into some sandals and ventured downstairs to the Compound.
The on-going party was in high gear. Caribbean music filled the air and I joined a number of other Guests who had gathered to watch as a dozen or so naked teens engaged in a “limbo” exhibition for their amusement. I ordered a cocktail and stood near the perimeter of the circle as each girl in turn shuffled to the Calypso beat under the ever-lowering limbo bar. When one of the girls seemed to get stuck right under the bamboo pole, a Guest laughingly reached in and finger-fucked her where she stood, torso arched awkwardly backward, with her gaping, freshly shaved pussy on marvelous display. The girl waited patiently until he had withdrawn his fingers from her cunt before continuing, and then amid a roar of laughter from the lust-filled spectators scraped her tits on the bamboo as she finished negotiating her way under the bar. With each round of the competition the bar was lowered and, one by one, the nubile young women fell to the ground, only to be claimed immediately by a Guest. I was well into my third vodka tonic when the last female finally conceded to the limbo bar and fell laughing to the ground on her back, and as I drifted away from the gathering to discover other amusements, a tall man in a light blue robe casually walked in and stood over the girl’s nude outstretched body, rubbing his crotch as he stared down at his next sexual conquest.
I followed the mingled sounds of cheering, laughter and high-pitched squeals to a clearing on the south side of the Compound, where a handful of young women were taking turns racing back and forth across a makeshift “shooting gallery” platform as Guests hurled water balloons at them from a distance of about ten yards. I laughed along with the others as the half-drunk Guests repeatedly missed hitting their naked female “targets,” and after awhile the girls slowed their pace to make it a bit easier for the “hunters” to find them. One rather short and elderly Asian Guest had exceptionally poor aim and managed to graze the forearm of a girl only because she had come to a stop and had leaned into his poorly thrown water missile. In time, though, all of the young women had been “bagged,” and as trophies stood in the custody of a Guest. A fresh supply of water balloons and young naked women was ordered, with another round of the game soon to begin, but I decided to withdraw and head back toward the pool area.
Earlier in the day the volleyball courts would have been teeming with activity, but now they were deserted but for a few little girls quietly playing in the sand. A short heavy-set man stood watching over them, casually rubbing the front of his robe as he studied the naked children busily constructing some sort of circular wall around a rectangular sand building. The little girls seemed to be ignoring their leering observer, but when he parted his robe and exposed his cock, one of them stood and began performing fellatio while her sister child sex toys continued their play.
The bars in the Compound seemed crowded so I walked back into the lobby. A buxom topless woman quickly arrived with my vodka tonic and I gazed out over the recreational center as I sipped my drink. To my left, a little naked girl no more than eight years old sat innocently straddling the lap of a Guest, her legs spread wide, casually stroking his erect penis while he ran his hands over her smooth flat chest and belly, occasionally sliding his fingers down to caress the outer lips of her tiny hairless vagina and play with the small cherry ornament dangling between her thighs. To my right, a somewhat older girl lay on her back on a couch as another Guest licked her bald pussy while masturbating. In the distance I could see yet another young woman, naked but for a thin pink scarf wrapped loosely around her neck, repeatedly impaling herself upon a Guest seated in a large overstuffed chair.
I was contemplating which luscious female I would next like to take back with me to my quarters when suddenly Greg appeared.
“Having a good time?”
“It has indeed been an eye-opening experience,” I replied, trying – undoubtedly without success – to sound impassive.
“Listen, if you’re free tomorrow, would you like to come and visit the Nursery? Not on an official tour, but rather as one of the Guests. You can help us out with the training.”
I of course immediately accepted his invitation and he advised he would “pre-register” me with the concierge. I was to join a group in the main lobby the next morning after breakfast.
Greg said goodbye and quickly disappeared. Well, I thought, since I had a “business appointment” the next morning, I had best not stay out too late, and so I returned to the Compound for a little air and to make my selection of a bedroom playmate for the night. Amid the music and laughter of the nightly Compound party I studied the numerous attractive young women available for me to choose from, and I set eyes upon a lovely young brown-headed girl with small breasts, slim hips, and a nice little round ass standing all alone, idly gazing into the water from one of the many walkways that bridge the swimming pool. She was wearing only a short black “fish net” pull-over blouse, and the garment was not quite long enough to completely cover her ass or the lips of her smooth bald pussy. Her firm red nipples poked through the mesh of her blouse in a most enticing way and I just knew I had to fuck her.
The girl’s name was Meggan, and I would learn later that she was thirteen years old. Perfect, I thought, and I engaged her immediately as my bedroom toy for the night.
Dressed in a loose-fitting light blue terry cloth robe, I joined a couple of dozen similarly attired men in the lobby of the resort shortly before 9:00 a.m. Most of the gathering of Guests sat quietly sipping tea or coffee, but a few Asian men – Chinese, I think – sat huddled together talking in subdued tones broken only by brief sporadic outbursts of laughter. Their conversation was not in English and I did not understand what they were saying, but from their gestures I suspected that each was in turn recounting to the others his most recent sexual adventure.
Greg arrived soon after the hour wearing a white Roman-style tunic with gold trim. Once he had taken a head count of the “Nursery Volunteers” he escorted us down a service corridor and out a door on the western side of the building to where a series of open buggies, lashed together to form a train hitched to an old jeep, awaited us. We rode past the dining room and storage facilities and out across the wide expanse of the playground area, and in the distance I could see a number of naked little girls playing in the sun, each completely indifferent to our passing caravan.
We eased to a stop near an entrance on the northern side of the Nursery, and Greg motioned to us all to exit. The shuttle train departed, heading back to the hotel for the next party of “educational assistants,” and we were formed into two groups. My group, with Greg as our guide, was soon led down a hallway and into a brightly lit room furnished with a dozen or so student desks arranged neatly in rows. Scattered across most of these desks were assorted pencils and paper, and an open book lay precariously close to the edge on one of the desks suggesting that the room had been abandoned quite suddenly. In the front sat a simple teacher’s desk and chair, and on the wall behind the chair hung a large chalkboard stretching nearly the width of the room. Above the chalkboard was a long narrow poster illustrating the proper formation of upper and lower case block lettering, and in the far corner a television monitor had been placed atop a tall metal rack, with a videocassette/DVD player on a shelf below. In most respects, I thought, this room was identical to any children’s classroom one would see in a typical American grammar school.
But of course this was not an ordinary grammar school classroom. All along the back wall were several large color posters displaying pictures of adult male genitalia, circumcised and uncircumcised, in various stages of sexual arousal, and a series of comfortable chairs had been lined up against the near wall. Most of the Guests had obviously visited the Nursery on prior occasions and migrated quickly to the chairs; the rest of us followed only at Greg’s invitation. Once we had all been seated Greg stepped outside the room, but he returned shortly thereafter and eased himself into one of the remaining chairs stationed against the wall.
We were there only briefly before a stream of little girls entered the room followed by their teacher, a tall thin man in his mid-30s wearing a light blue jumpsuit. As each child passed before the line of seated observers, she would glance in our direction and smile before taking a seat behind her desk.
Most of the little girls were naked, although a few wore abbreviated skirts like the one Mica had worn to her examination, and each displayed the ubiquitous gold chain and bright red ceramic ornament of childhood below her vaginal lips. I found it amusing to watch as several of the children, squirming in their seats, would spread their legs and casually play with their ornaments, seemingly oblivious to the lusty stares of their visitors.
“Now, girls, it’s time for our lesson,” Teacher announced in a soothing voice. “But first, let’s not forget to thank our guests for helping us this morning.”
“Thank you, Masters!” a chorus of young female voices responded in unison. I had to smile in amazement: An entire roomful of six-year-old girls thanking me for granting to them the opportunity to suck my dick. The scene was quite surreal.
“All right, then,” continued Teacher. Several of the girls started to leave their seats. “Now, remember, today we’ll be concentrating on pleasing the testicles and base of the penis.” A flurry of sound and movement followed as the children bolted from their chairs and raced toward us.
A little naked Caucasian girl with a round face, long light brown hair and bright blue eyes suddenly appeared and flopped to her knees before me. She leaned back a bit, resting her arms on her thighs, beaming a proud smile upward and revealing the gap created by a recently lost milk tooth. With her legs spread slightly apart, I could see the top portion of her hairless slit and her small red ornament as it rested on the floor beneath the lips of her vagina.
Teacher announced to the class that they could begin their lesson, and my little student leaned forward and began carefully parting my robe. She gingerly took my shaft in her tiny left hand and, dropping her head downward and to the side, began lightly licking my balls, starting first at the bottom, then working her tongue up to the base of my cock before slowly moving back downward to repeat. Occasionally the little girl would stroke my penis while massaging my testicles with her lips, but she would soon abandon her gentle masturbation and I would retreat from an approaching orgasm to further savor the waves of pleasure the child was generating in my groin with her young tongue.
I could hear Teacher vaguely in the distance, calmly offering words of encouragement and praise to his pupils amid his reminders to “check your Master’s status, girls,” but I was all but lost in the sexual ecstasy created by the naked little girl stationed between my legs.
Just how long the child spent caressing my balls with her tongue I cannot say. She began stroking my swollen shaft again, this time a bit faster, and as I approached my climax I could feel her thumb brushing over the tip of my cock. My orgasm was imminent, and the little girl abandoned my testicles and plunged the tip of my penis into her mouth, working her tongue around and around my knob as she rhythmically moved her head back and forth in my lap. I lightly slid my fingers through her soft brown hair and she responded by burying her face even deeper into my groin.
Suddenly I exploded, spraying jism all over the back of the little girl’s throat. She gagged and withdrew my throbbing member from her mouth, still coughing. I fired again, splashing her cheek with my cum. Quickly she stuck my penis back into her mouth and began sucking while attempting to use her shoulder to wipe away the semen on her face.
I was spent, but the little girl continued her blow job. My erection was failing and I gently pushed her forehead away. She looked up at me, a troubled look on her face. “I’m sorry, Master,” she whimpered. I looked down to her, a trickle of my semen still dripping from her cheek, and assured her that she had performed splendidly. With that, her countenance brightened and she gleefully leaned forward again to lick the tip of my penis in search of any remaining drops of my orgasm.
I glanced to my side, where two bare-chested little girls were still aggressively giving head, and I felt my dick once more begin to swell. “May I serve you again, Master?” my little student asked hopefully. “No, you’ve done fine” was all I could muster in response, and the girl returned to kissing the tip of my organ.
In time all of the Guests had been satisfied and our visit to the Nursery had concluded. Teacher marched his little pupils out of the room to wash and Greg led us outside to the shuttle train to rejoin the other Nursery volunteers. We rode back to the main complex in silence, each of us savoring the memories of the delightful oral sex we had just received from Cynthia’s babies, and upon our arrival Greg guided us back up the hall and out through the swinging doors leading into the lobby. Another group of robed men had already gathered there, impatiently awaiting the return of the shuttle to take them to the Nursery for their opportunity to “assist” in the instruction of yet more young females in the art of performing fellatio.
* * * * * * * *
Ever since I had witnessed little Mica’s gynecological examination, I had very much looked forward to my scheduled Tuesday afternoon interview with Dr. George. He had suggested we get together in the recreational parlor of the resort rather than his office, but I was concerned the ambient noise might play havoc with my recording equipment. He assured me, though, that a quiet spot could be found and so I had agreed to meet with him there after lunch.
Shortly before 1:30 p.m. Dr. George joined me near the concierge and together we walked across the large hotel lobby. At his urging I had abandoned my Western apparel in favor of a comfortable, loose-fitting robe like the other Guests wore, but although I felt somewhat awkward wearing such informal attire to conduct the interview, the good doctor seemed genuinely pleased to see that I had “gone Native,” as he put it.
We were soon standing before the entrance to one of the numerous cubicles that line the far northern wall of the recreational center. Each of these cubicles offers a choice of two large, comfortable chairs or a full-length couch along the back wall. A small folding table separates the chairs, and I placed my tape recorder on top of it while we each took a seat. Dr. George suddenly stood back up and, leaning toward the front, closed the two saloon-style "half-doors," of the cubicle, offering to us a bit more privacy and quiet.
One’s first impression of Dr. George is that of an exceptionally powerful and intelligent man. Standing very tall and lean, with thick black hair, wire-rimmed bi-focal glasses, a full “salt and pepper” beard, and wearing the dark trousers and seemingly obligatory white smock of his profession, he looks like a serious medical physician.
And indeed he is, but Dr. George also possesses a wry sense of humor that becomes evident as he casually describes his role within the organization. “I’m simply a mechanic,” he says with a smile. “I keep the machines running smoothly.”
Like Greg, Dr. George is a very wealthy man with little need for personal spending money. Over the years he, as well as the other Partners, has been an extremely generous “anonymous” donor to numerous private and public colleges, universities and research facilities, as well as to countless other medical, cultural, and humanitarian causes. Ironically, he and the others have contributed significant sums to various international organizations dedicated to the advancement of women, and although they espouse no particular political opinions, the Partners have given rather liberally to many – often even conflicting – political parties and movements. “Sometimes,” he confessed with a sheepish grin, “we’ve got to do it just to appease one of the Guests.”
Also like Greg, Dr. George seldom leaves the island. “Too much hassle,” he explains. “Besides, what’s out there that I can’t get here?” He is right, of course, for the resort offers practically anything and everything a man might ever need or want. For many years, however, Dr. George has been an avid golfer and on those rare occasions when he does travel, he delights in visiting the world’s finest and most prestigious golf courses. “I always travel with my golf clubs,” he told me with a big smile, “and I’ll have already mapped out which courses I’ll be playing long before the plane has even touched down.” When pressed, he could not name for me his “favorite” golfing venue, but he laughingly told me that the strangest course he had ever played had been with some local “resort associates” in Dubai, where – because of the intense daytime desert heat – he and the others played exclusively at night beneath hundreds of bright flood lights. “Now that was weird. And talk about your sand traps!” Although he usually has some duties to which he must attend each day at the resort, the good doctor assured me that he is never extremely busy – “except maybe when we get in a new crop of girls” – and thus he possesses more than enough time to enjoy the amenities available at Island Royale, which for him include almost daily trips to the golf course. Usually he plays the course with off-duty male resort personnel or with Island Royale Guests, but occasionally, he told me with a grin – “only when [Greg] feels like getting humiliated” – with the resort’s Managing Partner.
My recent experience with the lovely little ten-year-old Mica offered an appropriate beginning for our interview.
* * * * * * * *
Question: I must say I was amazed at how well you kept your composure during yesterday’s examination. I don’t think I could have maintained my concentration, playing with a little girl’s vagina like that.
Answer: (Laughing) Well, I guess that’s the downside of being chief medical officer here at Island Royale. After awhile, you get a bit blasé about female genitalia.
Oh, occasionally I’ll still get really horny and fuck a girl right there on the table. Usually, though, I just do the exam and send ‘em on their way.
Look, when you’re surrounded by naked pussy all day, it just doesn’t seem all that special anymore.
Q: And is it like that for the others as well?
A: I think that’s probably true for Greg, because he spends as much time here as I do, and for the other guys on the administrative staff too, I would guess. That’s certainly not true for John-Boy and Alexis, though, because they don’t get here all that often. When those guys come to the island, they really want to “party down” while they’re here.
Cynthia, of course, isn’t interested at all in the special amenities available here at the resort.
Q: I assume Cynthia is straight, then.
A: You know, it’s funny, but I really don’t know for sure. She may be bi-sexual, as far as I know. She really doesn’t seem all that interested in any sexual activity, straight or gay.
(Chuckling) She’s probably the most “professional” one of all of us. She seems only to be interested in training our girls to behave and perform properly.
Q: That seems such a tragedy. Sexual Boredom while surrounded by beautiful naked women, all eager to please.
A: Hey, we’re not all monks here! Of course we sometimes fuck the girls. It’s just not the overriding priority for us like it is for the Guests.
And it wasn’t always like that. Heck, years ago me and Greg would each routinely take one or two – sometimes even three of the girls – back with us at night to party. But that was years ago. We’re both a lot older now, and frankly I can’t “get it up” as often as I did back then. One or two fucks and a few blow jobs a week is about all I can handle anymore.
I don’t keep track, of course, but I suspect that’s Greg’s average as well.
Q: But you say that’s not true for John-Boy and Alexis.
A: Definitely not true for them. Those guys are “on the road” most of the time.
They can’t fuck the recruits – heck, they’re only four or five years old and probably have never even seen a guy’s dick, let alone received the training to know what to do with one – and the guys don’t dare fuck a local for fear they’ll catch something. So the only time those guys get laid is when they make it back here.
Q: And how often is that?
A: Oh, I don’t know. Alexis gets back about once every two or three months or so, I would guess. John-Boy tends to visit a bit more often. But neither of them usually can stay for more than a week or so before they have to leave again.
Q: Well, let’s get back to your specialty: Medicine. How often do you check the girls?
A: It depends a lot on how old they are. A little girl, like the one we did yesterday, I’ll tend to want to look at every couple of months or so to monitor her physical development. We want to have these girls available for vaginal intercourse just as soon as they’re ripe. Once she’s been approved for full sexual service, I’ll maybe only see a girl once a year for a general check-up. Unless, of course, she complains to somebody that she isn’t feeling well.
Q: I thought these girls were all pretty well insulated from disease.
A: And they are, but even so a naked broad can still catch herself a chest cold every once in awhile. (He smiles at his joke.)
Actually, all of our “medical problems” here tend to be rather minor. A cold here, a vaginal yeast infection there. And of course we have our usual share of cuts and bruises. On the whole, though, the sick rooms in the infirmary are rarely occupied. I’m really proud to say that we’ve never had a serious injury or an outbreak of contagious disease – sexually transmitted or otherwise – in our entire 37-plus years of operation. And I mean to keep it that way.
Q: You mean you have never had a medical crisis here?
A: We did have this one old fart once that keeled over from a heart attack after fucking a bitch. Couldn’t save him. Greg had to do some quick scrambling to get him back to the Philippines so’s it would look like he died while visiting some bullshit pineapple plantation or something. That was kind of weird. The girl he was with at the time was really freaked out about it. (Chuckling) The cunt didn’t know a man could actually die!
We had to sell her off really quick. Too bad, ‘cause she was pretty good looking as I recall and could really give good head.
That’s why we check out a Guest’s overall physical health now before we issue him a boarding pass to the island. We don’t want something like that happening again if we can avoid it.
Q: What about the girls? Greg told me about one girl who you had diagnosed as having breast cancer.
A: Umm. Don’t recall that.
Oh, I know what he was talking about. No, that bitch had leukemia. You know, blood cancer. But that wasn’t really a “medical crisis” for us. Just an unfortunate inconvenience. Leukemia isn’t contagious. Nobody was at risk. We just had to get rid of her is all.
Q: Yes, he told me how you did so.
A: (Dr. George shrugs his shoulders.) Well, we had to do something with the cunt. She wasn’t any good to us and we sure couldn’t sell her off like that.
We toyed with the idea of giving her over to some guys to use in the Dungeon, but decided it would be too messy for us to clean up once they were through playing with her. And we couldn’t be sure the other girls wouldn’t find out about what happened to her. So we decided the best thing to do was to simply dump her in the ocean. (Chuckling) “Burial at sea” and all that.
Q: You mentioned before that you don’t need to examine a woman very often once she’s been approved for “full sexual service.” When does that occur? Take the girl from yesterday, for example. You said she accepted over 4 ½ inches of the phallus. How soon will she be available for vaginal intercourse?
A: Well, that girl actually still has got a ways to go yet. At just past 4 ½ inches I was already starting to press on what’s left of her cervix.
Q: What do you mean, “what’s left of her cervix?”
A: I try to get each girl spayed within a couple of months or so of her arrival. The sooner the better, really, so her training isn’t delayed.
There are obviously different ways of sterilizing a female, but I prefer doing a supracervical hysterectomy. It’s a pretty straight-forward procedure, with minimal risk of infection. I can’t do a vaginal hysterectomy on a girl that young because her pussy just isn’t big enough for me to get in there, but the incisions from a supracervical hysterectomy tend to heal leaving very little scarring.
Anyway, what you do is slice into her belly and yank out her ovaries and uterus. All that’s left of the cervix, really, is a little stump at the end of her vaginal canal, but it helps keep her snatch wet and the inside lining of her twat from dropping down.
(Laughing) Ya sure can’t fuck ‘em very well if their pussy’s falling out!
Q: So how long will it be before that girl from yesterday is available for vaginal sex?
A: Well, she’s still got some growing up to do before her cunt will be big enough to handle a full-sized cock on a regular basis.
I just don’t feel comfortable authorizing a slave to be pussy-fucked until she can take at least 5 ½ inches of dick up her twat without a problem. Off hand, I’d guess that girl’s snatch will be ready for general service in the Compound in about 12-14 months or so – maybe just before her twelfth birthday.
Q: She seemed very excited about her progress.
A: Very typical reaction for a girl that age.
Keep in mind, she’s been used by our Guests now for well over five years, giving blow jobs and the like, and she’s been in the Compound for more than two years, watching the older bitches being mounted every day. It’s only natural then that she looks forward to when she, too, can finally spread her legs and get laid.
Look, you’ve got to remember that Island Royale is not your typical whorehouse. These girls live to sexually service men. They’re taught here that creatures with pussies just aren’t any good for anything else, and that the only reason they exist is to entertain and please their masters. They’re trained to use their bodies to provide men pleasure, but the gashes don’t really recognize that they’re performing intimate sexual acts with our Guests. All they understand is that they are to be available at all times of the day or night, to be used how ever their masters might wish to use them.
Heck, these girls have only a very primitive understanding of the concept of gender.
Q: I don’t follow.
A: Our sex staff doesn’t think in terms of “male” and “female.” I’m not even sure they think of themselves as “human.”
To these girls, men are exotic, omnipotent “Magical Beings.” Magical, because they have a dick, of course – heck, these girls all think a guy’s dick has special “magical” properties the way it enlarges, hardens, and shoots out special liquid – but also because, as far as the slaves are concerned, men magically appear from nowhere, have their dicks serviced, and then vanish just as mysteriously.
Obviously, a girl doesn’t have a dick and from the moment she arrives here she is told that she is therefore nothing more than a domesticated animal, kept as a pet for our amusement. The girls here at Island Royale are all instructed that men are their natural Masters, and that a female’s sole purpose in life is to serve – and service – men and their dicks. Our slaves think more like a dog does, actually. A dog obeys her master’s command to “fetch” or “roll over” or something because the dog is trained to do what her master tells her. So are these girls. They’re all trained here how to use their bodies to please their masters. They have no idea even that sex is involved in procreation.
If you ask one of these women out in the Compound where babies come from, she’ll tell you that her masters pluck them from the sky and deposit them into the Nursery. And if you ask her what a baby looks like, she’ll tell you a baby looks a lot like her, except that a baby is smaller and has a flat chest. If you ask her what a baby boy looks like, she won’t know what you’re talking about. Heck, these girls have never even seen a picture of a prepubescent male.
None of these women can ever get pregnant, of course, and they’ve never seen a pregnant woman. They’ve never seen a woman breast-feed an infant. You ask one of these girls what her tits are for, and she’ll tell you that they’re toys for Guests to play with.
(Chuckling) Every one of these cunts is completely clueless about human reproduction.
Q: That’s incredible.
A: Not really, if you stop and think about it a bit.
Look, for thousands of years people thought the world was flat. Why? Because all they could see was a flat world. The concept of a round world was totally outside their ability to experience or understand. Even today, the only reason most people know the world is round is because that’s what they’ve been told. If they’d never heard that, they’d still think the world was flat.
Or take the case of a bunch of anthropologists or whatever who stumble upon some previously unknown tribe in New Guinea or some other remote, isolated place. Now the natives may have some vague notion that they're not totally alone, based on a few encounters over the years with neighboring tribes, but they have absolutely no idea that there are billions of technologically advanced people in the world. If those anthropologists decide to pull out a few trinkets – a Bic lighter, say, or maybe your tape recorder here, for example – the tribesmen will take them for magical gods. And if the anthropologists were to tell these tribesmen that their village really was one of the few human outposts on the planet, the tribesmen would believe them. Why? Because the “gods” would simply be confirming to them what they already “knew” to be true.
The females here at Island Royale have never been told the Earth is round – they’ve never been told there are billions of women in the world who do not exist merely as pleasure toys. Rather, they’ve been taught that all creatures with pussies are kept in camps like this and do nothing but fuck. They simply don’t know anything else.
Q: But don’t they ask questions?
A: Nope. It’s never come up.
Q: But how do you explain to them the departure of one of your “culls?”
A: Ah, well, that’s pretty easy. Our girls think Island Royale is just one of a number of places scattered around the world where females are housed for the purpose of servicing men’s dicks. When a woman gets too old for us here, or if we decide a girl’s not good looking enough for us to keep, we simply tell her she’s been “re-assigned” to another camp, or maybe that a new camp has opened and that we need to stock it. We pack ‘em in the bus, take ‘em to the airstrip, and they happily climb aboard the airplane.
Q: When do they learn differently?
A: I don’t know. You’d really have to ask the other partners – the guys that take them away. I gather, though, that most of the younger girls don’t figure it out until they’re already on the ground and put into service in a brothel. The older women probably figure it out a bit sooner.
Even so, most of these bitches will still be good for a few years or more of regular service after we’ve gotten rid of them.
Q: What happens then?
A: Well, by that time most of them will get sick and die.
A: Some of them will, of course, especially if they’ve been shipped off to Cambodia or India. Mostly, though, they’ll die from some silly disease like the flu, or measles or something. Childhood diseases you and I had no problem with, but of course our girls never get exposed to any of those diseases while they’re here and therefore never get the chance to build up any immunities to them.
Q: Couldn’t you vaccinate?
A: What’s the point? After a few years of fucking five or six dirty little locals every day, those cunts who aren’t too sick to get up will have seen enough of the “outside world” to know that not all females are sex slaves. They’ll try to escape.
Q: And do they succeed?
A: I doubt it. They know so little about the “outside world” and have no idea where to run away to. I suppose a few may have gotten away over the years, but almost all of them are soon captured and returned.
(Chuckling) John-Boy told me once about some stupid Norwegian bitch who tried to escape and ran out, stark naked, into the streets of Calcutta. What a dumb cunt. She had absolutely no idea a tall naked blonde would draw a crowd! Obviously, they grabbed her and brought her back rather quickly.
A girl might survive her first unsuccessful escape attempt – you know, get a severe whipping from her owner or something – but she’ll never survive a second try.
Q: Her owner will kill her?
A: Oh, no, no, no. He’s got way too much money tied up in her to simply slit her throat. Nah, her owner will sell her to a broker who specializes in the sex torture racket for later sale to one of his customers. Believe me, there’s a lot of money to be made making and selling videos of women being slowly tortured to death.
Q: You’re talking about so-called “snuff films.”
A: Well, yeah, but not your standard snuff film, although I suppose a few of the lucky ones might wind up starring in a traditional snuff film.
Q: You say “lucky ones?”
A: Yeah. Your typical snuff film is rather short – maybe a fifteen to twenty-minute “one-reeler.” They’ll flip on the camera, drag a girl in and fuck her while she’s being strangled or stabbed or something. Not much imagination there.
No, these guys are true perverts. They get off videotaping girls being slowly tortured, usually sexually. Hours on end. Several sessions over a period of days or even weeks. The girls are begging to be killed near the end of one of these sessions. But they won’t do it. They’ll torture her until she passes out. Then, after she’s rested a bit, they’ll wake her up and start in all over again. The poor bitch may live like that for weeks before they finally get bored enough to kill her.
Vaginal impalement, usually.
A: Yeah. Vaginal impalement is quite a popular way of finally putting a poor girl out of her misery. They’ll suspend her above a long skinny metal pole with a sharp tip on the end, stick the tip up her twat, and then slowly lower her over the course of a few hours or so.
Q: I can’t imagine….
A: We have quite a few videos available here for our Guests if you care to watch them. I’ll warn you, though. They’re pretty gruesome. I’d certainly recommend you turn off the sound. Frankly, I’m not much into sex torture. I can’t watch more than a few minutes before I start feeling sick. Greg’s the same way.
It’s funny, though; these vids are sometimes very popular, particularly among our Arab Guests, and especially if the “featured attraction” is European or Indian.
* * * * * * * *
At this point in our interview, Dr. George’s pager suddenly began to chirp. Glancing down to flip a switch he said, “Listen, it’s probably nothing, but I’d better go take a look. I won’t be gone long. Why don’t you wait here and we can pick it up again when I get back.” With that, the doctor casually arose from his chair and exited the cubicle, leaving the half-doors fully opened.
I looked out into the recreation parlor. To my far left two Guests were playing pool with a stunning brunette dressed in a red, silky low-cut evening gown with matching high-heeled shoes. As she would lean over to make her shot, the young woman’s tits would hang tantalizingly, and when she would again straighten, her dress would slip from her shoulder, fully exposing her breast. She would make no immediate effort to adjust her gown while she watched the billiard balls roll across the table and would only reposition her garment as she prepared for her next shot.
Pretty tame scene, I thought. I supposed these Guests needed some “recovery time” following their most recent sexual liaison. Or perhaps the gorgeous brunette was to be the “trophy” awarded to the Guest who prevailed in the billiards contest. I pondered briefly what the girl’s prize might be were she to win the game, but from the quality of her play I could see that a female victory was highly unlikely indeed.
My eyes drifted toward the center of the room, where I could see the bare ass of a young girl peeking out from beneath the tunic of a large black man in his early forties. He was obviously enjoying the blow job he was receiving, and from the frantic movements of the girl’s telltale virginal cherry swinging between her legs, she seemed to be enjoying herself as well. I wondered if the child might be Mica, but concluded that this girl’s ass was much wider than that of the slim-hipped prepubescent female who had so expertly sucked my dick the previous day.
An attractive girl of about fifteen years, quite slender and with long light brown hair falling well past her shoulders and down across her bare chest, half-hiding her nipples, appeared at my door. As she stood there wordlessly seeking an invitation to enter, my eyes slipped further down to the narrow strip of short-cropped hair between her legs. Without knowing how much longer Dr. George would be, though, I had to sadly shake my head and wave her on. She seemed genuinely disappointed as she moved away from the cubicle.
I returned my gaze to the center of the room, where in the distance I could see a boisterous game of “Twister” well in progress. A small gathering of Guests looked on as five young naked girls, many with their legs spread wide displaying delightful strips of pink between their bald nether lips, jockeyed for position above the brightly-colored dots on the floor. Ah, I thought: The innocence (and flexibility!) of youth. I faintly heard a female voice call something out, and the young girls began frantically shifting their positions. One girl fell to the floor amid the cheers of the spectators, and soon I saw her in the company of one of the Guests, her small fresh tits bobbing ever so slightly as she walked away holding his hand.
By this time the pressure in my groin had become intense. As I tried to concentrate on the notes spread out before me, I found myself unconsciously slipping my hand below the small table to massage and pinch my swollen cock. I really wanted to mount one of the girls in the recreational center but knew I needed to await the good doctor’s return. Again I attempted to focus on my journalistic obligations, but soon again discovered myself rubbing my engorged penis beneath the soft cloth of my light blue robe.
I suddenly became aware of a small naked Asian girl standing in the doorway of my cubicle. She was almost completely flat-chested but possessed amazingly long thick nipples, and as she held the cubicle doors open to fully display her body before me I glanced down to her bald pussy and was surprised to see no chain or bright red cherry swinging between her thighs. One of Dr. George’s more recently authorized “full service females,” I surmised.
The throbbing in my cock was becoming unbearable by now, and I was obsessed with the idea of discovering just how far up into this tiny girl’s slit I could ram it. I started to motion her into my cubicle when Dr. George abruptly reappeared.
“Am I intruding?” he asked coyly. With a wave of my hand I sent my little China Doll away and Dr. George sunk back into his chair. “Sorry about that. Minor emergency,” he said. “Some stupid gash twisted her ankle playing volleyball. She’ll be good to go again tomorrow. I wasn’t really needed, but these bitches get so melodramatic about everything. All I did was tape her up and comfort her a bit.”
“What did you do to comfort her?” I asked with a slight laugh. “Let her suck my dick. Women around here just don’t feel like they’re worth anything unless they can make a man come.”
“Now then,” continued Dr. George. “Where were we?”
* * * * * * * *
Q: I believe we had been discussing what happens to a woman once she is no longer of interest to you here at the resort. How long can a sex slave expect to remain at Island Royale?
A: Obviously, it depends a lot on the girl.
Almost all of them will stay here at least until they start sprouting some tits, but if it’s clear to us that the gash will never be pretty enough to use in the Compound, we may ship her out as soon as she finishes Graduate School. And we’re always reviewing our inventory of pussy, selling the older or less attractive ones as the Nursery empties. Heck, we sometimes have had to dump some real “hotties” simply because we didn’t have enough room for them!
Even the good-looking ones, though, tend to gain weight as they grow older, particularly in the thighs, stomach, and ass. Oh, sure, we do maintain some, shall we say “Full Figured Females,” but that’s because some of our Guests prefer to fuck a woman with some “meat” on her. They describe fucking a skinny girl as like fucking a broom. But by and large, most of our women are young and well proportioned. We don’t tolerate much flab around here. We maintain a rigorous exercise program to retard that fat accumulation – and watching the girls’ diet helps too, of course. The bitches swim quite a bit. Swimming, incidentally, is a great form of exercise for both men and women.
But there’s only so much we can do, and so – to answer your question – by the time one of our women reaches her late twenties, usually her tits will have begun to sag, her pussy will no longer be tight, and she may even have started to develop some cellulite in her ass. Very few of our cunts stay in the Compound past their mid-twenties. Maybe a few will get permanently assigned to maintenance work but most will have been traded in for “newer models” long before they turn thirty.
Q: You mentioned monitoring the sex staff’s diet. Don’t the women eat what the Guests eat?
A: Certainly not! Well, except for when a Guest chooses to bring a girl with him to the dining room.
Our Guests dine on very fine foods and beverages. We don’t want to feed that to our girls, though. We’d have a harem full of fatties in no time! No, the sex staff is fed much more sensible meals than those we serve our Guests.
Q: I did see a woman dining with a Guest, though.
A: Sure, if that’s what the Guest wanted. Above all, our slaves are taught to obey the wishes of their Master.
(Laughing) Usually, though, the only time you can count on a guy not wanting sex is when he’s eating.
We don’t have enough tables to seat all of our Guests at once, so like they do on cruise ships, we serve meals in groups. The girls also eat in shifts, so there are always some females available in the Compound.
Q: Don’t the girls resent the fact that they don’t get the same quality of food as the Guests?
A: On the contrary. They would much rather not eat what the Guests are served. Believe me, that bitch you saw the other night really would rather have been eating dinner with the other girls.
A: (Chuckling) Because she knows she’ll pay for it the next day, doing extra laps in the pool or something to burn off those extra calories!
In all probability, the bitch you saw didn’t eat all that much. Well, she didn’t eat much food, anyway. She probably spent far more time eating the guy’s dick then she did eating dinner.
Q: That’s true. She did seem to spend most of her time under the table.
A: We don’t actually discourage a Guest from taking one of our sex staff into the dining room, but we certainly don’t encourage the practice either. Frankly, I think most of the other Guests get annoyed if a girl is brought to the table.
Q: So the women try to steer clear of the rich food available to the Guests.
A: Yes. And that goes for the alcohol, too. If you see a girl in the Compound with a drink in her hand, I can almost guarantee she’s drinking water, iced tea, or some non-caloric soft drink. We will not tolerate an intoxicated female around here.
Q: Surely over the years you’ve had girls get drunk, though.
A: Not really that often, actually. There have been occasions over the years, but in fairness, most of those girls were forced to drink by the Guest she was with at the time.
We’ve taught these girls since long before they’ve left the Nursery that they’re not supposed to drink any booze unless required to do so by a Guest. Even then, though, the bar staff puts very little alcohol in the drinks they provide to the slaves. We don’t punish the girls who are forced to drink, obviously, but we’ve dealt harshly with the others.
A: Well, let’s just say they each got a long and very private session in the Dungeon, conducted by Senior Administrators. Believe me: After we were finished with them, they never wanted to take a sip of booze again.
Q: You tortured them.
A: Let’s just say that none of the girls were “available” in the Compound for several days afterward.
Q: Ouch. Tell me, is that how you deal with all of your disciplinary problems here?
A: As a matter of fact, we seldom have had any disciplinary problems, at least since we abandoned our early practice of hiring prostitutes to serve our guests.
Oh, sure, over the years we have had a few girls – really crazy ones – who just couldn’t get along with anybody. Arguments with the Guests; catfights with other girls over the silliest of things and so forth – you know. But we didn’t need to deal with them in the Dungeon. We just shipped them out.
Q: What happened to them?
A: Oh, I don’t know. We don’t keep track of the females once they’ve left the resort. Regardless of where they ended up, though, I doubt any of them lasted very long unless they really changed their attitude quickly. The guys that buy these girls want to put them in service immediately and they won’t tolerate any misbehavior. Heck, one of those crazies we dumped was a little Vietnamese cunt only eight when we sold her. She probably didn’t even survive her first month of fucking.
Q: Because of her age?
A: Yeah. An eight-year-old’s twat is just way too small. Heck, you were with me yesterday when I tested out – What’s-her-name, uh, Mica? – What did she take? 4? 4 ½ inches?
Q: I believe it was a little more than 4 ½ inches.
A: And she’s ten years old. And my little dildo tests are conducted under extremely controlled conditions. Asian girls are generally smaller than Europeans, too. Can you imagine the damage to a little girl’s insides if she’s suddenly forced to have eight or nine big dicks shoved up her cunt each day? Yet her new owner probably put her into service as soon as he bought her.
Those Asian pimps are such pigs. They don’t give a shit about their girls. I’ll bet the little bitch bled to death within weeks of her arrival. Such a waste of good pussy.
Q: Well, it is obvious that the girls here at Island Royale are treated considerably better. You monitor their physical development. Do you also supervise the Nursery?
A: Nope, that’s Cynthia’s department. All I do is keep track of their physical development as the girls approach puberty. I do, though, supervise the Graduate School.
Q: The “Graduate School?” You mentioned that earlier. What is it, exactly?
A: (Smiling) Call it a girl’s “Rite of Passage” into adulthood – a ritual we put all of the slaves through when they become of age. Two weeks of intense sexual training once we “pop her cherry” and prepare to make her available for vaginal intercourse on a regular basis.
When I decide a girl is old enough to be pussy-fucked, we’ll pull her out of the Compound and park her in the Graduate School for a couple of weeks. We’ll teach her quite a variety of sexual positions and get her familiar with the feel of having a dick in her cunt – and up her ass.
Q: And you can do all of that in just two weeks?
A: Yeah, generally two weeks. A few girls may stay in the Graduate School a bit longer, but we can usually teach a girl all she really needs to know about fucking in about two weeks.
Now, mind you, we don’t study every page of the Kama Sutra. But our Guests do expect our slaves to know more than simply “the good ol’ Missionary Position.”
Q: But even so, two weeks is not a lot of time.
A: Well, remember that these girls will have been out in the Compound for years watching the older bitches getting mounted. By the time she’s ready to enter the Graduate School, believe me, a young girl of eleven or twelve pretty much already knows “what goes where and when.”
Plus, all of these girls are very eager to learn. They’re all quite excited about their first chance to take a cock up their pussy.
Q: May I see the Graduate School?
A: Sure, if you want to. But there really isn’t all that much to see. Just a simple bed.
Unfortunately, at the moment we don’t have any students in the Graduate School. Too bad, really. We’re always in need of some “Visiting Professors” whenever we have a graduate student.
Q: What does a “Visiting Professor” do?
A: (Laughing) He fucks the girl, of course! Fucking is about all a girl does in Graduate School. Fucking and sucking off different guys all day.
During a girl’s two-week stay in the Graduate School, we’ll screw her ten, twelve, maybe even fourteen times a day. Heck, she’ll get mounted at least twice before she’s even had breakfast! Believe me: After a girl’s been laid a couple of hundred times during that two-week period, she’s pretty well ready to handle whatever a Guest might want to do with her.
And that’s why we need “Visiting Professors.” Years ago, me, Greg and the other guys on the staff did all the “tutoring,” but (laughing again) it’s getting harder and harder for us to screw these girls as often as they need to be fucked – no pun intended. That’s why we’ve taken to enlisting the aid of some of our Guests. Our “Visiting Professors.” Most are happy to oblige us – I mean, who hasn’t dreamed of sticking his cock into a tight little bald pre-teen pussy?
I usually give the girl her very first fuck, because she’s used to having me fingering her snatch and because I want to make absolutely sure her cunt is big enough to accommodate a full-sized cock. The dildo tests are good, but they’re no substitute for a good old penis, and… well, I’m all right in that department, if you know what I mean.
After that, it’s Greg, other resort administrators, and whoever else we can draft to fuck her. A girl will get mighty acquainted with quite a variety of hard dicks during those two weeks of Graduate School training.
And, during the second week of her stay, we’ll usually start having her wear a plug up her ass to kind of stretch her out a bit and get her ready for butt fucking. Some of our guests really get off fucking a bitch in the ass, and we usually need to spread a girl out a little. Girls that age typically don’t have an anus anywhere big enough.
Q: And then after just two weeks she’s released back into the Compound?
A: Yep. She’s on her own. Oh, we’ll probably keep an eye on her during her first day or so, but by and large once a female leaves the Graduate School, she’s pretty well prepared for her life as a full-service sex slave.
Q: Thank you, Dr. George. You’ve been extremely helpful.
A: You’re quite welcome. So tell me, what’s up next for you?
Q: Well, I guess I should get ready for my interview with Cynthia tomorrow afternoon. But to be honest with you, at the moment I’d kind of like to try to catch up with that little China Doll you saw earlier.
A: I’d say, “Go for it, Dude!” If not with your little China Doll, then with some other sweet young thing out there. You’ve got all week, man. Enjoy yourself!
Let’s see. You say you’re meeting with Cynthia tomorrow afternoon, right? If you want, stop by afterward and I’ll show you the Graduate School “classroom,” such as it is.
Oh, and let me do some checking. I think we may have a graduate student available soon.
* * * * * * * *
It was early Tuesday evening and I lie sprawled across my bed, physically exhausted but feeling more relaxed than I had felt in years. My little Chinese bed partner, Jo, reclined at my side, resting her head on my arm, gently massaging my semi-erect penis with her tiny fingers as I casually played with her long firm left nipple. I recalled with a smile Dr. George’s earlier words of encouragement and had headed into the Compound in search of the girl immediately following the conclusion of our interview. To my delight I had found the little China Doll relaxing in a chaise longue, her legs spread wide, tanning her milky-white thighs and tight little bald pussy beneath the warm tropical sun while she patiently awaited her next session with a Guest. I had lost no time in acquiring her for my use.
Despite her flat chest, hairless vulva and other child-like features, Jo was not the recent “graduate student” I had earlier assumed and indeed, at eighteen years of age, she had probably been providing Island Royale guests all forms of sexual service for over six years. I made a quick mental calculation and concluded she had already been fucked in the cunt well over nine thousand times before I had first mounted her earlier in the day. The girl was quite athletic, had great muscle strength and carried no fat whatsoever on her lithe lean body. Had she not been sold into a life of sexual slavery she might very well have become a world class gymnast, so skillfully had she adopted such imaginative positions to copulate – over a chair, across the table, and of course in my bed.
But all of those remarkable feats of sexual athletics had been earlier. Now all I wanted to do was to lie back and savor the afterglow of my orgasms. I could feel my cock beginning to swell once more as the little Chinese girl continued to softly role my shaft between her fingers, but I knew I was far too tired to climb up on top of her again. I reached for the television remote control resting on the nightstand and pressed a button; however, the screen remained blank but for a brief message:
Video Signal Unavailable While Female(s) Present
Of course, I realized: It would be disastrous to Island Royale were the sex staff to be permitted access to news of an “outside world.” I wondered how resort Management knew the little naked Chinese girl was here with me and I suddenly panicked at the thought of hidden surveillance cameras secretly recording the interiors of each of the Guests’ quarters. But then I saw the dim glow of a tiny red light on the top of Jo’s amulet and realized the sensor worn by my bedroom toy had triggered a circuit, disabling the television in her presence. I relaxed again and playfully resumed my gentle teasing of her thick ripe nipple.
My mind drifted as Jo continued to slowly massage my organ. At this time only a week before, I reflected, I had been in an Egyptian hotel room – half a planet and seemingly an entire universe away – frantically packing my meager travel belongings as I anxiously awaited confirmation of my flight arrangements back to the United States: A late-night departure from Cairo to Frankfurt, then another flight to Heathrow in London before boarding the trans-Atlantic airliner to JFK in New York and my connecting flights to Chicago and on to New Orleans.
My meeting days earlier with Yusuf had been rather unproductive – or so I had thought at the time – but something I had said to the Egyptian slaver must have prompted the visit from the mysterious Brit, who had insisted quietly but firmly that I return immediately to the States to receive “all of the answers” to my questions. By this time a week ago the soft-spoken stranger had already left my modest hotel room in the City, leaving me little time to gather my gear, and I recalled cursing the fact that I had not yet arranged for transportation to the airport but feared I would miss receiving confirmation of my flight itinerary were I to have been on the telephone summoning a taxi when that important call from the travel agency finally came.
I smiled as I remembered bolting from my room to check out of the hotel as soon as I had received word that my flight arrangements had been set, and I remembered having rejoiced that a cab “happened” to be parked outside the door to take me to the airport. Now, as I lie in my bed, lost in thought while softly caressing the long erect nipple of my nubile Chinese sex slave, I wondered whether the presence of that car had simply been fortuitous, or whether my British “friend” had thoughtfully arranged to have the taxicab waiting for me. No matter. I had reached the airport in plenty of time to clear customs, my connecting flights had been a breeze, and now, a week later, I was here and thoroughly enjoying some of the special amenities Island Royale has to offer.
And I was happy.
I certainly would like to believe I can perform with the best of men, but I must confess the little Chinese gymnast had completely worn me out. Under the care of the girl’s nimble fingers my cock had again become hard, and Jo sat up in bed, leaned forward, and began sucking me off once more. Although the feel of her tongue dragging across my knob was indeed delightful, I knew that I would not be able to handle yet another round of sex games so soon and consequently, with only slight regret, I gently pulled her face away from my dick.
Jo turned to face me, her tiny hand still holding my cock, and smiled.
“Do you wish me to stay or leave, Master?”
“I believe it is best that you go now,” I replied quietly. The small young woman released my organ, crawled off of the bed and stood. Silently she walked toward the door and then spun around to face me.
“Thank you, Master,” she politely said. I looked deeply into her eyes but said nothing. She turned again, opened the door, and was gone.
Dusk was approaching and it was very quiet. The evening’s party in the Compound would not begin in earnest for another hour or so, and the silence in my dimly lit room was broken only by the distant sound of the waves as they washed up along the shoreline. I figured I would rest for awhile, grab a quick bite later in the evening and then select another female to amuse me overnight, but I ended up sleeping straight through to the morning.
I was not scheduled to interview Island Royale’s female partner, Cynthia, until the afternoon and therefore assumed I would be “on my own” throughout Wednesday morning. Greg, however, caught me as I was leaving the dining room following breakfast and suggested I accompany him for a tour of the “Ladies’ Boudoir,” located at the far northern end of the building.
The Boudoir consists of a series of connecting rooms, all visible from the Compound through the open archways on the southern side of the building, and it is in this area that the slaves prepare themselves for their next assignment. Although the rooms are rarely crowded there is a seemingly constant stream of activity throughout the day and evening hours as the females periodically visit the Boudoir facilities to clean themselves, apply fresh makeup, and receive new clothing directives.
A long tiled stall with numerous showerheads connects from a relatively small area in which the girls disrobe, surrender their clothing to an attendant, and receive towels. As Greg was explaining to me how Island Royale determines the slaves’ wardrobe assignments, two nude young women strolled by us, smiling and talking quietly among themselves, completely indifferent to our presence as they each stepped casually into the stall. I enjoyed watching these girls for several minutes as they showered before Greg finally nudged me onward.
From the shower room Greg led me to a much larger area dominated by a wall of mirrors hung behind a long narrow countertop. An assortment of combs, brushes, and small containers of makeup lay scattered all along the counter and several naked women sat or stood near the counter applying cosmetics. I guess I had not really thought about the sex slaves needing to “ready” themselves for the Guests, and asked Greg about this.
“Yeah, the ‘primping room’ is a rather inefficient part of a girl’s daily routine here. I don’t mind them showering so much – heck, who wants to fuck a bitch with somebody else’s jism dripping from her twat? But every time they shower they’ve got to brush their hair and put on their makeup again.
“We’ve been experimenting with so-called ‘permanent makeup’ for a few years now. Basically it’s tattooing. We tattoo eyeliner, mascara, and we’re now trying to permanently apply lipstick. You simply can’t imagine how much lipstick these girls go through in a month.
“Now the younger ones – the preteens – don’t really need cosmetics. They all have that ‘childhood glow’ about them, although sometimes it is a turn-on to have some sweet little baby pussy wearing a lot of heavy women’s makeup. Anyway, though, about the time that a girl starts growing some tits she starts losing that ‘childhood makeup’ and starts needing cosmetics. We buy mascara by the truckload around here! That’s why we’ve been trying this ‘permanent makeup’ experiment: To cut down on the cost of cosmetics and the time the girls have to spend here putting it on.
“The jury’s still out on it, though. It takes us a lot of time to tattoo eye shadow and such, but the main problem is that once a girl has received permanent makeup, we’re pretty much stuck with whatever we’ve done to her. And some of our Guests don’t really like the girls wearing all that much makeup.”
We continued walking across the “primping room” and stopped alongside several tables, each equipped with footrests similar to gynecological stirrups. A naked brunette in her early twenties lie calmly on one of the tables, her legs spread wide, while another woman with a towel wrapped around her hips and armed with a set of tweezers carefully plucked stray hairs from around the brunette’s vagina.
“I would have thought you would have used electrolysis here,” I commented.
“We do,” he replied. “But electrolysis takes a long time and doesn’t really result in permanent hair loss. True, electrolysis kills the particular follicle treated. But a woman is constantly sprouting new hair in her armpits, on her legs and around her pussy, so the process must be repeated periodically. I suppose if we had the manpower we could give treatments more often, but for now the women all take turns grooming each other between sessions. We have all of the girls shave their pits and legs every few days, and their pussies as we direct, but they still need someone else to really take a close look at their beavers.”
“How do you decide the hair pattern on a girl’s vulva?” I asked.
“It’s largely a matter of aesthetics, I guess, given her skin color, the fineness of her pubes, and her overall body shape. Few of us around here are really turned on by the sight of a thick bush, so we usually have the girls keep their snatch hairs pretty closely cropped. I’m actually kind of partial to bald pussies, so I tend to want to see their twats completely shaven, but sometimes it’s preferable to let her keep a little hair – especially if the girl’s got really wide hips or has a seriously discolored cunt or something.
“Some years ago, we actually tried to ‘tattoo’ a woman’s pussy to sort of lighten it up in color the way most little girls’ twats look. But the experiment was a dismal failure.”
“Well, for starters, we didn’t have a good local anesthetic available to us and had to strap the bitch down real tight because she couldn’t handle all those needles poking around her cunt. She just couldn’t keep any bladder control and pissed in George’s face more times than I care to think about before we finally decided to knock her out with a general anesthetic.
“But the bigger problem was that George wasn’t able to inject the lighter-colored ink all around her twat and still keep the color even. The bitch’s pussy ended up looking like she had a bad rash or something ‘cause it was so blotchy. We obviously had to sell her right away, but with that weird-looking snatch she certainly didn’t bring much at auction. So we gave up trying to tattoo girls’ pussies.”
“Have you tried other forms of cosmetic surgery? Breast augmentation, perhaps, or liposuction?”
“Nah,” Greg shrugged. “There really isn’t any point. All plastic surgery on a woman is performed to either correct a physical defect or disguise the onset of age. As often as these slaves get fucked, every one of them would need vaginoplasty – you, know, surgery to tighten up the pussy – by the time they’re thirty. It just makes more sense for us to simply sell a bitch when she gets too old or if she gets too fat and replace her with another girl from the Nursery. We’d be wasting our money investing in liposuction or a ‘tummy tuck’ or something and heck, even a nine-year-old with a big nose or crooked teeth can still give great head in a Burmese whorehouse. No, if a cunt isn’t good enough for us to keep, we just dispose of her.
“All of our girls are completely ‘natural.’ Some of course have very small knockers, but there’s no point in giving them a boob job because many of our Guests prefer to fuck a girl with tiny titties. There’s really no motivation for us to spend time or money altering a girl’s rack. For every Guest who might like the result, another would be disappointed.”
We walked on past the “primping room” and entered a large dressing area with a number of full-length mirrors on the far wall. A man sat on a stool behind a counter in the corner, and as each naked girl approached he would consult his computer screen before issuing her clothing. Some would be assigned dresses; others would receive a skirt or perhaps merely a blouse. Often he would simply shake his head and the girl would walk away: Management had dictated that she remain nude for awhile.
The dressing room constituted the end of the tour and we walked outside. Several Guests stood waiting impatiently for the girls as they exited, each eager to claim his next sexual conquest fresh from her shower. Greg confirmed that Cynthia would be available for me to interview later in the day, but indicated he had other business to which he needed to attend and promptly departed, heading back toward his office.
I gazed out over the Compound, contemplating a return to my suite to review for my upcoming meeting with Island Royale’s female partner, but as I started to leave a beautiful young girl of about sixteen years, naked except for a thin translucent scarf wrapped loosely around her hips, emerged from the Boudoir.
Her name was Piper, and as we walked I asked her if she was in session. “No, Master,” she replied. “I believe you are now,” I said. She smiled, pressed the button on her amulet, and stepped closer to my side. I lightly massaged her small right breast as I guided her away from the pool and down the long pathway leading to the beach. Her skin was incredibly smooth, and her firm upturned nipple felt good between my fingers.
I slid my hand down her side, glided over her hip, and firmly took hold of her taut right buttock. The girl reacted by lunging forward, her tits bobbing delightfully, but she soon regained her stride and together we strolled to the beach. She untied the thin makeshift skirt she had only recently received in the Boudoir and, tossing it to the side, gracefully dropped to the sand and opened her thighs. Neither of us seemed at all concerned as the flimsy scarf caught the breeze and went sailing into the late morning ocean air.
* * * * * * * *
I will admit I was apprehensive about meeting Cynthia.
It was intriguing to me, of course, that for years this woman had so actively and enthusiastically participated in the sexual exploitation of others of her gender, and there were a thousand or more questions I wanted to ask her, but I had rather suspected Cynthia to be a real “ball buster,” openly contemptuous of men, who would receive me with obvious loathing and disgust. Earlier in the day Greg had arranged for me to interview her in a fourth floor conference room in the northern wing of the hotel, but at the last minute Cynthia had insisted instead that we meet in her private office – on her “own turf” so to speak – and therefore as I was being led across the field and into the Nursery I braced myself for what I had expected to be a very chilly reception by Island Royale’s female partner. I was once again clad in my familiar khaki trousers, dress shirt and loafers rather than a robe or toga – no use feeling any more vulnerable than absolutely necessary, I had reasoned – and was grateful Management had thoughtfully arranged to have my clothing freshly laundered during the morning, for I of course had no other “regular” apparel to wear on the island and by this time my shirt in particular had become rather dirty and wrinkled. Nonetheless, as I entered Cynthia’s office I still felt quite nervous about our impending interview.
As it turns out I was completely wrong about Cynthia, as her demeanor is that of a calm and gentle school teacher even when no children are present. She cordially greeted me from behind her large and tastefully organized dark mahogany desk, uncluttered with but a laptop computer, a telephone, two matching antique Tiffany table lamps and a delicate clear crystal vase filled with freshly cut flowers, but she quickly invited me to sit with her for our discussions in a pair of charming and comfortable “ice cream parlor” chairs placed closely by a small round mahogany table on the near side of the room. These pleasantly informal surroundings, possessing a decidedly feminine touch, stood in marked contrast I noted to the comparatively Spartan accommodations I had observed during my earlier interview with Greg in his office.
Cynthia is a slim and still rather attractive middle-aged woman, and in her younger days had undoubtedly turned quite a few heads. She always dresses in loose-fitting jumpsuits while attending to her duties as caretaker of the Nursery, seldom wears makeup, and generally keeps her shoulder-length light brown hair tied securely in back with a plain elastic band. Although she is fluent in English, Cynthia is Austrian by birth and still speaks with a noticeable accent despite her many years of having lived and worked on the island, and it is perhaps in part because of that distinctively Aryan accent that I had been caught a bit off-balance by her warm and friendly nature.
Much like her two other “resident” partners, Cynthia seldom leaves Island Royale, preferring instead to focus on the seemingly countless details associated with the day-to-day management of the resort’s decidedly unique school for young girls. Cynthia has but one hobby, or at least only but the one to which she would confess to me: A passionate love of light classical music, particularly the 17th and 18th Century compositions of the Baroque period. While she is a voracious reader as well, she seldom reads anything except books relating to early childhood development or those that explore the latest theories in teaching methods, and she could not even recall for me the last novel she had picked up. As the only female on the island who does not serve as a submissive sex slave, although she is in frequent telephone contact with Greg and other resort managerial personnel Cynthia tends to remain physically to herself for the most part, sometimes going for days at a time without visiting the main hotel complex. She even maintains her own private quarters immediately adjacent to her office, complete with an outdoor patio and hot tub all enclosed within a tall privacy fence, and usually she has her meals brought to her rather than dine with the other administrators. For all of these seemingly reclusive traits, however, Cynthia does not appear in the least to be a lonely person and she assured me she socializes with others of the managerial staff on a regular basis, although for obvious reasons she avoids direct contact with the guests and is never seen in the Compound or recreational center of the resort except while in disguise. “It could be a bit awkward,” she told me with a slight smile.
Cynthia had not been one of the original partners, but had joined the group only a few years after the business had moved to West Africa. She had met and befriended John-Boy while in Great Britain as a student attending the prestigious London School of Economics, and had increasingly become interested in what the American had initially termed “a theoretical male-dominated society.” Only after several months of her persistent questioning did John-Boy finally reveal to her – “like peeling an onion,” as she put it – the actual existence of the brothel. Cynthia was fascinated with his description of the resort and immediately became an enthusiastic supporter of the enterprise. Following the conclusion of her classes for the year she agreed to accompany John-Boy to West Africa, initially intending only to serve as a short-term supervisory “Madam” to the sex staff before returning to the LSE, but upon her arrival Cynthia soon began to critically assess overall resort operations, within weeks had emerged as an active full-time managerial director, and she never resumed her university studies back in London.
Cynthia had astutely recognized that the chronic administrative difficulties the Three Partners had been experiencing in those early years stemmed principally from their erroneous belief that the females employed at the resort should all be young, physically attractive, but nonetheless sexually mature professional prostitutes who would simply play the role of “sex slave” while on duty. This fundamentally flawed premise, according to Cynthia, generated a myriad of recurring managerial problems: Jealousies among the women, persistent complaints about their wages and working conditions, a constant turnover in personnel, and – perhaps above all – the frequent refusal of many members of the sex staff to submit to some of the resort patrons’ more “unusual” sexual demands.
Cynthia changed all of that. She persuaded her male colleagues to discharge all of their prostitutes and instead acquire much younger females who, under her direction, could be appropriately educated and trained to actually become submissive and willing sex slaves. Upon Cynthia’s recommendation, the Partners reluctantly closed their profitable West African brothel, converted a portion of the prostitutes’ dormitory area into a “Nursery,” and over the course of several months obtained – through abduction and purchase – a dozen or so female children between the ages of four and five years who were immediately placed in her care. “There were a few lean years,” Cynthia recalls with a smile. “And at times the guys really weren’t sure it would all work out. But gradually, as my girls grew up a bit and learned what was expected of them, the guys saw I was right.”
The first practical demonstration of Cynthia’s teaching methods came almost three years after the Nursery had been created, when she and the other partners presented to a carefully selected gathering of invited male clients a bevy of naked little seven and eight year old girls, each willing and eager to skillfully perform fellatio as often as requested.
As more children were procured the Nursery was enlarged, and in time Cynthia’s initial “class” of young female sex slaves attained early adolescence and became available for vaginal intercourse. From that point on, resort patrons were able to use and enjoy the bodies of both prepubescent and sexually mature females – and profits soared. The enterprise continued to expand, eventually exceeding the capacity of their facilities, and after sixteen years of operation in West Africa the partners – once again at Cynthia’s urging – directed construction of the present resort complex in the South Seas, and the business once more relocated.
The overwhelming success of Island Royale is due in large part to Cynthia’s profound understanding of how, through proper indoctrination, a woman can be taught to believe that her only function in life is to sexually service men. How Cynthia has reconciled her participation in the training of human females to accept their existence as mere sexual playthings presented an appropriate opening for my interview.
* * * * * * * *
Question: You have made a career out of training young girls to become docile and obedient sex slaves. Does it ever both you, as a woman, to see your gender reduced to this?
Answer: Not a bit. Women around the world are by and large nothing more than whores.
Q: But there are, and have been, many women who have achieved greatness.
A: Sure, some women have. Madame Currie, Joan of Arc, Margaret Thatcher, perhaps. And there are others, of course. But there aren’t really all that many women who have gone on to become something other than the mother, wife, or mistress of a great man. On the whole, far more men have made significant contributions to mankind than have women.
Come on, be honest. Other than to birth Jesus, what else did Mary do?
Q: Even so, that’s quite a stretch to label all women as prostitutes, don’t you think?
A: But in the final analysis, isn’t that true?
Q: I hardly think the average suburban American housewife would consider herself a whore.
A: But isn’t she? Distilled to its essence, what is a whore? A woman who rents the use of her body for profit.
A prostitute is really being more honest. Pay her enough money and she’ll agree to let you fuck her. Your “average suburban housewife” does the same thing: She trades the use of her body in exchange for food, shelter, and an occasional gold or diamond trinket. Money is exchanged, whether it’s “up front” or hidden. At least a prostitute doesn’t try to hide the transaction.
If you stop and think about it, what else is a woman good for except to fuck, breed, and raise children? Everything else can be done by a man, and generally a man does a better job.
Q: You’re being awfully hard on your own gender.
A: Not hard, just realistic. Look, I can’t help having been born female. But that doesn’t mean I must resign myself to accepting nothing more than a traditional female role.
Look at Stephen Hawking. A brilliant mind, tragically trapped within a useless, quadriplegic body. Does the fact that he lacks the ability to function as a normal man stop him? No, of course not. He long ago accepted the limitations imposed upon him by his handicap and moved on.
I’ve merely accepted the handicap of having been born female, and I’ve moved on.
Q: You mean you have no interest in sex?
A: Of course I do! And when I want to get laid, I get laid. But I have the ability to do other things as well. I have chosen to be more than just the simple, fucking, baby-producing machine that most other women are.
Q: And is that, then, how you reconcile your role as the enslaver of females?
A: “Enslaver?” You make it sound as if these women are being abused. These girls are pampered!
They don’t need to cook or clean. They don’t need to change any messy diapers. Heck, they don’t need to worry about anything in life except to make sure their masters are sexually satisfied.
They live the carefree life the suburban American housewife secretly dreams about. And, they get to live that carefree life in a beautiful South Pacific island setting.
Q: At least while they’re here. I gather most of these girls will die within a few years after they have been discarded by the resort.
A: Well, all life ends. And for many people – both women and men – the end can be rather painful indeed. That’s been true ever since life began. I can’t change that.
Granted, the life expectancy of one of our women is only about thirty years if she leaves Island Royale, but until very recently the average life expectancy of all women had only been about thirty-five to forty years.
Q: But the average life expectancy of a woman, at least in the developed countries, is now well more than twice that. Dr. George tells me these women will all probably die from some highly preventable disease within a few years of their departure.
A: So? What’s your point? A woman’s ability to bear children still basically ends when she turns thirty-five or so. By then her role has shifted to providing support: Support for her man, during his most productive years, or support for her daughters who are by then raising their own children.
We don’t need women to bear children here, and all of our guests have already achieved great success and fortune. A woman in her late twenties, leaving our resort, has already fulfilled her life’s mission. She’s done all that is expected of her.
Q: Still, I consider that a rather cold way of looking at things and I would think that you, as a woman, would feel differently. Does it really not bother you to treat your fellow human females as … well, animals?
A: Do you mean, “There but for the Grace of God go I?”
Q: Ok, yes.
A: To be honest with you, sometimes I dream of changing places with one of these slaves. No worries; no cares. To live only to fuck, and to fuck incessantly, without fear of shame, pregnancy or disease.
Actually, once (smiling as she leans back in her chair) – oh, gosh, this was years ago, back when we were still in Africa – I did put myself “in service” for a week, just for the fun of it. I couldn’t let the women see me, of course, so I didn’t hang out naked around the swimming pool or anything, but….
(Still smiling as her voice trails off, Cynthia sighs and silently gazes out the window for awhile before continuing.) Well, anyway, back in those days we didn’t have a computer directory but we did keep a card catalogue of the sex staff up at the front desk. If he wanted to use a particular girl or woman, a Guest could pull out her card and reserve her rather than have to wait out in the courtyard for her to become available. I had a picture taken of myself in the nude and a card made up, and we stuck my card in the box right along with the others. The Guests never knew I wasn’t one of the “regular” sex slaves.
(Laughing now.) I still have that card around here somewhere.
Anyway, while I may not have been the most requested girl at the resort, I did get summoned over thirty times during the week my card was in the box, and I just had a blast serving as a submissive little sex slave, fucking and sucking off different men all day and night. It was exhilarating to be placed completely under the control of a man and to function as nothing more than a mindless sexual plaything!
And, believe me: I worked hard while I was “in service.” Mind you, most of the guys that screwed me were good-looking enough and were reasonably… well-endowed, if you know what I mean, but I did have to service some rather disgusting-looking men and a few real “pencil dicks.” A sex slave must treat all of her masters with proper respect, of course, but sometimes it’s difficult for a girl to get enthusiastic about being laid by some fat slob with a tiny cock.
But, oh, it sure was a lot of fun serving as a sex slave….
Q: You “served” only that one time, then?
A: Yes, just that once, regrettably. But I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
And so, no, to answer your question, I don’t have any qualms whatsoever about what I do. At times I actually envy these girls.
Q: Well, Ok then. Let’s move on. I gather you are in charge of the Nursery.
A: That’s right. From the moment we receive a new crop of girls until the time they are ready to be released into the Compound, I’m responsible for them.
Q: You serve as both “mother” and “teacher” to these children.
A: (Smiling) Yes, I suppose that’s true. The girls, especially the younger ones, tend to want to embrace me as their mother surrogate.
Q: And do you welcome that embrace?
A: Of course I do. Little girls are little girls, regardless of whether they are being trained to become engineers or sex slaves. They look to me for both guidance and comfort, and I try to be a loving, caring adult for them throughout their stay in the Nursery.
Q: And are you sad, then, when they leave the Nursery?
A: Oh, heck no! By the time one of my girls is ready to join the others in the Compound, she’s eager to leave and I’m equally ready to see her go. I have my hands full just dealing with the younger ones, believe me.
Q: Obviously you don’t behave like the other women in the Compound, though. How do you explain to these girls – who you say view you as a “mother surrogate” – why you wear clothing and they don’t, or why you are not expected to perform sexual services upon demand like they are?
A: Well, the term “mother surrogate” may not have been completely accurate. Maybe “gentle, adult authority figure” is more like it. The girls never see me without clothing, never see me engage in sex, and sometimes I even join the guys in fondling the little ones out in the playground. As far as the slaves are concerned, I’m just one of their many “masters.” In fact, all of the girls refer to me as “Master” or “Master Cynthia.” They never call me “Mistress.” They don’t realize that I’m female.
(Laughing) All they know is that I’ve got a high-pitched voice and have never had them suck my cock!
Q: These girls are certainly being trained to provide men sexual pleasure, but they also spend a lot of time around the other females. How do you handle a girl who seems to be…
A: Attracted to other women? We haven’t really had any significant problems with Lesbianism over the years.
Oh, I’ve seen some of the Nursery girls petting and fondling each other, exploring each other’s bodies and so forth, and usually most of the youngsters will try a little cunnilingus shortly after they’ve given their first few blow jobs. But I think that’s more a phase the girls go through as they learn about their genitals rather than an indication of a girl’s sexual orientation – and so that kind of behavior doesn’t bother us.
Over the years, I guess we have had a couple of handfuls or so of girls who clearly demonstrated lesbian tendencies as they attained early adolescence – and who knows? There may be a number of dykes out in the Compound right now! But female homosexuality really hasn’t been a problem for us.
You see, our slaves view providing sex as simply their function in life – their sole function in life – and so sex isn’t really an intimacy issue for them. Although they of course feel pleasure while being laid, they don’t acquire any personal or romantic attachments while they are in session, and since they each will have already been fucked thousands of times well before their sixteenth birthday, they get no special enjoyment from simple sexual arousal. A slave may on occasion turn to another female for some sexual gratification, especially if she’s been in maintenance service for a few days and hasn’t been mounted in awhile, but none of them really have the time to develop any serious relationships with one another and they get no unique “thrill” from having another girl lick their pussy or anything.
Heck, most of these girls – especially the younger ones – get their pussies licked several times each day by our guests!
No, almost all of our slaves display absolutely no particular personal sexual orientation. If a girl turns out to be a true Lesbian, it will become pretty obvious to us once she has completed Graduate School because she will resist having sex with our guests. If that happens, we simply have her shipped out, just like we do if a slave is not physically attractive or whenever she gets too old for us.
Q: Let’s talk about the training these girls will receive. I gathered earlier from Greg that formal training doesn’t begin immediately.
A: No, it doesn’t. When the girls first arrive, they all tend to be very shy and scared, of course. Those first few days, after we’ve taken away their clothing, tend to be the hardest on them – especially if they don’t speak English. But they calm down soon and since all of the other little girls are naked as well, they get over their shyness pretty quickly.
The next step is to see Dr. George for a complete physical examination in preparation for their surgery. George tries to have each new slave sterilized within the first two months or so of her arrival. The sooner that can be done, the sooner she’ll begin to heal. A slave will start her training once she has recovered from her surgery.
Q: Please describe the training a girl will receive.
A: Well (inhaling deeply) it’s quite a rather long process.
For the first six months or so after they’ve been spayed, we really don’t do much of anything with them. We just want the girls to become comfortable being naked around men. Greg, George, other administrators, and sometimes even a few Guests will spend time out in the playground area with them. No sexual activity at first, but later on we’ll start touching them, rubbing their little pussies and such. Basically desensitizing them and “un-doing” any residual reluctance the girls might have to having their genitals fondled.
Formal classes won’t begin for almost a year following the girl’s arrival, but by then she will already have learned quite a bit of English and will have become acquainted with both the Nursery and with the other girls in her “class.” And most importantly, by the time she is ready to begin her formal lessons she will have learned that men are her masters and that she must obey them at all times.
Q: I’ve seen some of your classrooms. For the most part they look remarkably like any other grammar school classroom.
A: And so they are! Each day, we have the same lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic you’d expect to have in any other early grammar school class.
Q: Except of course none of your students attend class wearing much clothing.
A: Many schools require that their students wear approved uniforms to class. (Smiles) Our school uniform is simply a little girl’s “birthday suit.”
Q: In addition to the traditional lessons in “The Three ‘R’s,” what other subjects do you teach?
A: Well, that’s where our curriculum differs from that of a typical grammar school, I suppose. We obviously don’t spend any time at all on history, geography, or other non-essential subjects. We do spend a lot of time teaching the girls oral sexual technique.
We’ll start with showing them pictures of naked men. Pictures of both flaccid and erect penises. Circumcised and uncircumcised. Big fat cocks and little “pencil dicks.” You name it.
Q: How do the girls react when they first see pictures of male genitalia?
A: Oh, as you would expect, at first there’s a lot of nervous giggling. After all, most of these girls will probably have never even seen a penis before. But we emphasize the importance of the penis and teach them to love, respect, and desire to service the penis.
We keep a number of accurately molded plastic phalluses the girls can touch, hold and examine. We’ll start with teaching them how to stroke the penis and especially how to be gentle with the testicles. In time, we’ll invite Guests to the classroom to be masturbated by the students. A girl must of course learn what happens when a man climaxes before she can be taught anything else.
Q: How do the girls react when they touch a man’s penis for the first time?
A: Well, obviously a plastic dildo is not a real penis, and most of them at first just want to hold it in their hands and look at it. (Laughing) They’re all amazed at first with how the penis swells and hardens! They seem to have little trouble getting used to dealing with a man’s dick, though, and once a girl has given a few hand jobs, we can start teaching her how to use her mouth and tongue.
Generally, a girl is a bit tentative the first time she puts a man’s penis in her mouth. But they all get used to it very quickly and we can get on to more advanced lessons.
Q: Such as?
A: Well, I gather you visited the Nursery yesterday morning. In the class you visited we were working with some of our six-year-olds on licking testicles and stimulating the base of the penis. It’s very important for a young girl to learn how to provide a man pleasure in ways other than simply sticking his cock in her mouth.
And we teach other things as well. Despite what they seem to always want to show in the porn flicks, most men don’t want to shoot their wad all over a girl’s face or breasts. Most prefer to climax into her mouth. So we teach the girls how to deflect a man’s semen away from the back of her throat as he discharges. Nothing turns a guy off more than to have a girl gag while he’s ejaculating!
But the girls all need to know far more than simply how to swallow cum without choking. A girl needs to know, for example, how to pace herself so that neither her head nor her tongue gets tired. Or how to handle a Guest who is prone to premature ejaculation – or the opposite: How to be patient with a guy who’s slow to “get it up.”
Oh, there’s quite a lot a young girl needs to learn about in order to give a man a quality blow job. We teach all of that to these girls.
Q: You don’t actually instruct them in sexual intercourse, though.
A: No, there isn’t really any need to at that stage. A girl will leave the Nursery when she’s seven or eight years old – far too young to safely engage in vaginal sex – but by the time she’s eleven or so she will have been in the Compound for quite a while and will have seen women being mounted hundreds – if not thousands – of times, so by the time George decides a girl’s old enough to provide full service to our guests, she’s already pretty knowledgeable about sex and extremely anxious to get laid. (Chuckling) I sometimes tease Greg that the only reason the Graduate School program lasts as long as two weeks is because he and George get off on fucking eleven-year-old girls.
Have you had a chance to screw any pre-teens while you’ve been here, by the way?
Q: No. Dr. George told me there aren’t any girls in the Graduate School at the moment.
A: That’s a shame. (Chuckling again) To hear Greg tell it, nothing beats fucking a little pre-teen with tiny tits and a tight little bald pussy. Those girls are all so eager to get laid!
Q: Who decides when a girl is ready to leave the Nursery?
A: Well, I guess I do. But it’s not really a difficult decision. The girls have all been trained to provide quality oral sex long before they’ve completed their education in the more traditional subjects.
It’s funny, in a way. It takes far longer to teach a little girl how to read and write than it does to teach her how to suck a man’s dick.
Q: And so she’s released from the Nursery then when she’s seven or eight years old?
A: Yes, usually when she’s seven; sometimes a bit later if she’s not particularly bright or mature for her age.
The main problem is that a girl is just not emotionally mature enough to serve effectively in the Compound until she’s at least seven years old or so.
Q: She objects to performing fellatio multiple times a day?
A: Oh, no, no. Our girls are all fine with that. No, the problem is that a girl usually hasn’t acquired the social skills she needs until she has reached that age.
Very young children – girls and boys, for that matter – all tend to be rather self-centered. They tend to have a very short attention span, lack any sense of responsibility, and are prone to periodic “temper tantrums” if they don’t get their way or if they haven’t had their afternoon nap or something. Very annoying.
Furthermore, a girl doesn’t seem to be able to develop adequate verbal skills until she’s about seven years old. During the latter part of a girl’s Nursery training, we probably spend far more time on grammar, diction, word pronunciation and so on than we do on oral sexual technique.
We teach all of our girls to speak proper English, but many of our Guests are only marginally proficient in the English language. The Guests need to be able to communicate their needs and desires to these girls, and it would be a real problem if the girls were still talking “baby talk” or couldn’t enunciate clearly and distinctly.
Q: I can certainly understand that. I have difficulty at times understanding what my five-year-old nephew is saying.
A: Exactly. Now, think about the added problems you’d have if you yourself didn’t speak English all that well.
But it’s not just the language problem. Remember that our Guests are all extremely wealthy and influential men, and they expect our sex staff to be polite and submissive at all times. We simply cannot tolerate a young female throwing a temper tantrum out by the pool or somewhere!
Fortunately, girls all tend to acquire the necessary social skills at a much younger age than boys do, and that’s why we can feel comfortable releasing a seven-year-old female into the Compound. We don’t keep boys here, of course, but if we did I doubt that we could trust a boy to behave properly at that age.
Q: Tell me about the group of girls I visited yesterday. Where are they in terms of your training schedule?
A: Well, let’s see. You visited one of our younger classes, didn’t you? At this time I’d say they’re all about a third of the way through their training.
The girls are already well into their reading and writing lessons, but they still have quite a lot of arithmetic left to learn. At this point that class is just beginning on the “social graces” portion of the curriculum, while of course continuing to practice their fellatio skills on a regular basis.
And, as you know from your visit, while the girls are all now quite comfortable servicing a man’s penis, they still have a lot to learn about technique.
Q: I guess you heard about the little “accident” my girl had yesterday?
A: (Smiling) No, but some mistakes at that age are to be expected. And I’m sure she was far from alone. A lot of girls have trouble handling her Master’s climax at first. But they learn.
Actually, I think the most difficult lesson a girl must learn when giving a man a blow job is to always know his state of arousal. She’s got to feel it with her tongue as well as with her hand. Generally, a man won’t verbally tell a girl when he’s approaching his climax, and often he’ll ejaculate in spite of himself. But all men send signals of impending orgasm: Rapid breathing, a slight thrusting of his pelvis, a few involuntary muscle spasms in his groin, perhaps, and of course a little pre-ejaculate liquid. The girl must learn to identify all of these signs in order to make sure she’s ready, with his penis in her mouth, when his orgasm occurs.
And I think the second hardest lesson for a girl to learn is how to dispose of that ejaculate properly. I’ll bet that was the problem your little girl had yesterday, wasn’t it? She wasn’t ready for your climax and forgot to block the tip of your cock with her tongue, and so she gagged on your cum. That threw her off even more, and you ended up spraying all over her face. Am I right?
Q: Well, yes, exactly.
A: It’s to be expected.
(Smiling again) But remember, of course, she’s only six years old and she probably hasn’t given more than a few dozen blow jobs yet. She’ll learn. They always do.
Q: Do you have an estimate as to how many times a girl will perform fellatio before she’s released into the Compound?
A: Oh, well, I’d have to think about it. Let’s see: A girl will give her first blow job about a year after her arrival, and during the rest of her time in the Nursery she’ll be giving head on average twelve to fourteen times a week. What does that work out to be?
Q: Well over thirteen hundred, I would guess.
A: Mmm, probably closer to fifteen hundred, actually. During her last few weeks or so we’ll try to have her suck off eight to ten different men each day, just to make sure she’s ready for life in the Compound.
(Smiling) And we have this exercise – this game we play – using the girls just getting ready to move into the Compound. We invite a dozen Guests to sit down in two rows and have a couple of the girls suck them off, one by one, as fast as they can, using only her mouth and tongue. It’s a race, you see, between the girls as to who can satisfy her line of six Guests first, and the winner gets a “special” dinner and a private session with a man for the night. The girls in the Nursery all look forward to this contest, rooting for their favorite girl, and hope someday to be selected to participate in the game.
As a pre-teen in the Compound, a girl’s only good for playing with a man’s dick and mouth-fucking. Guys really like to get blow jobs from very young girls, so a preadolescent female’s mouth will be kept rather busy here on the island.
Q: How busy?
A: Well, you’d really have to ask Greg. He keeps track of those sorts of things. But I’d guess the average seven to eleven year old girl will suck off eight to ten men each day, not counting the nights she sleeps with a Guest. If she spends the night alone with a Guest, she’ll probably service him a few more times, but if she’s up there with an older female or two – which is more typical – she may only suck him off once more or so.
Q: I gather these girls spend all of their time right here in the Nursery until they are ready to be released into the Compound. How do you handle getting them acquainted with the rest of the resort?
A: Oh, well, it’s not all that difficult a transition for them really.
As the girls approach the completion of their training in the Nursery, we’ll go on some “field trips,” and walk them around the complex a bit to familiarize them with all of the various places here. They’ll eat with the older girls, take showers with them and so on, maybe even orally service some of the Guests out by the pool while we watch them. By the time we release a girl into the Compound she pretty much feels comfortable out there.
Actually, the biggest problem we have here with a new girl in the Compound seems to be getting her to remember to reset her amulet every time she starts or finishes a session. We’ve had little girls summoned right in the middle of giving head because she forgot to signal that she was engaged. She can’t break off her current assignment, obviously, yet her new Master is expecting her to report immediately. We’ll apologize when that happens, of course, and usually the Guest will be understanding about it – but not always.
And sometimes we’ve had to track down a new girl to find out why she hadn’t made herself available for a long time, only to discover that she’s out playing somewhere and forgot to reset her amulet. The computer thinks she’s still in session!
It’s a problem we can’t seem to solve, but fortunately the slaves all seem to “get the hang” of the amulet thing within a short time. We rarely have any troubles in this area after a girl has been in the Compound for a few months. Resetting her amulet becomes more-or-less second nature to her.
* * * * * * * *
Upon the conclusion of our interview, Cynthia offered to me a brief tour of the Nursery. We walked quietly together down the long central hallway leading from her office, passing several small classrooms on our left and right filled with young children receiving their daily lessons. But for the fact that most of the seated pupils wore no clothing, I thought, we could have been visiting any one of a number of the small private “all-girl” grammar school academies found throughout the United States and Europe. In one classroom, for example, the children were all reciting a series of short poems they read aloud from a primer, while in another, a fair-haired little girl wearing nothing but a short open-fronted skirt stood in front of the class before a large chalkboard, performing a simple arithmetic exercise under the watchful eye of her adult male instructor. In still another, a group of children sat at their desks, pencils in hand, carefully spelling out on paper the words dictated to them by their male teacher.
We turned a corner and walked down another corridor, passing yet more rooms to either side filled with young female pupils receiving their lessons. Cynthia stopped before the open door of a classroom near the end of the hall and, placing her index finger to her lips, gestured for me to follow her inside. We quietly walked in upon a dozen or so naked little Asian girls all sitting at their desks, each carefully licking the anatomically correct plastic replica of an erect penis held gingerly in her hands. A few of the children looked up as we entered, but most remained focused on their exercise as their teacher calmly offered words of instruction and encouragement. He paused briefly when he saw us, but Cynthia shook her head and he soon resumed his lesson. We stood near the door for several minutes, watching as these very young girls received one of their first tutorials in the art of performing fellatio, before Cynthia signaled to me that it was time for us to leave.
We retraced our steps up the hall and turned yet another corner. A stream of giggling little naked girls filed past us, their bright red cherry ornaments swinging between their legs and bouncing off their thighs as they headed through a door and out into the large field beyond. I smiled. It was recess time and the little ones were anxious to go outside and play.
Half way down the hall Cynthia turned left and, opening a set of double doors, led me into the large Nursery cafeteria, vacant now but for a small staff of bustling green-clad women still wiping down tables and straightening chairs from the noonday meal. Two tall stacks of clean yellow plastic trays were in the corner near a conveyor belt leading through a window into the kitchen, and the room still retained the faint aroma of macaroni and cheese from the children’s lunch. Like the resort’s Guests, the Nursery girls also eat in shifts and the staff was working diligently to ready the cafeteria for seating the first dinner group of the evening.
From the cafeteria we descended yet another hallway and entered the children’s dormitory area. A large open shower and toilet facility, much like that which one might find in the locker room of a girls’ middle school gymnasium, led to a series of other rooms, each lined on either side with bunk beds arranged neatly in rows like an antiseptic army barracks. The rooms remained quite bright from the many “institutional” lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and I commented to Cynthia that I had rather expected the bedroom area of the Nursery to have been more intimately outfitted with the sort of children’s things little girls would like, such as teddy bears, lace curtains, or miniature tea table place settings.
“Oh,” laughed Cynthia, “we don’t go into any of that here. We are training these girls to become sex slaves, not debutantes! The girls don’t play here. All they do here is sleep. We don’t want them to have any personal belongings or even to come to think of the Nursery as their ‘home.’ They are housed here to be educated and trained to serve their male masters. We want them to understand that their ‘home’ is wherever their Master might take them. This area is simply a way station for them.”
We left the children’s dormitory and returned to the central hallway leading to Cynthia’s office. I mentioned that I was to contact Dr. George following the conclusion of my visit and Cynthia offered to accompany me back to the resort complex.
Together we strolled across the wide expanse of the sunny playground area. In the distance I could see a small crowd of robed men near the rear of the hotel building climbing into the Nursery shuttle for their next visit to the classrooms, and to my right were several groups of little girls, many engaged in some sort of game with a big multi-colored plastic beach ball, while others amused themselves on the swing sets, “monkey bars” and other playground equipment. Suddenly Cynthia veered off in the direction of the children, inviting me to join her with some of her students during their recess, and as we approached a couple of naked little girls stopped playing and ran smiling to her side.
Cynthia and I sat down together along the edge of a low, manually-propelled children’s carousel and, following her lead, I picked up one of the girls – a cute little Afghan child with jet-black eyes and hair – and sat her on my lap. I curled my arm around the girl’s shoulders and she parted her legs slightly as she leaned backward, melting in my embrace.
“What did you learn in school this morning, Dominique?” asked Cynthia as she gently brushed her hand back and forth across the bare chest of the little Caucasian girl sitting in her lap.
“Oh, nothing, Master Cynthia.”
“Come on,” she continued. “You must have learned something.”
“Well, all we did was read! Out loud. And Teacher kept stopping us ‘cause we weren’t saying the words right.”
“What words did you have trouble with?”
“I got them all right, but stupid Celina kept saying ‘teeesticles’ when she should have been saying ‘testicles.’ She was so silly.”
“Well,” replied Cynthia with a soothing tone in her voice, “I’m sure Celina will get it right soon. But are you sure you said all of the words correctly?”
“Teacher only stopped me once. I said ‘wibbon’ when I meant to say ‘ribbon.’ But that was because my tongue got stuck. I got it ‘wight’ – I mean, ‘right’ – all the other times.”
Cynthia smiled knowingly, turned her head in my direction and nodded once. Not sure what to do, I read the name on the amulet of the little girl perched on my lap.
“And what did you do in school this morning, Sonali?”
“We did some ‘rithmatic and read out loud a lot, too,” she replied with a sigh. Then her countenance brightened. “But then, we had a visit from some masters and we all got to service them! I swallowed all of my Master’s candy,” Sonali said proudly, “without spilling a drop! Teacher said I was the best in the class!
“Would you like me to show you how I did it?”
I glanced to Cynthia and she laughed. “Uh, no, Sonali,” I answered sheepishly. “I don’t think so… not right now. Maybe later.”
The little girl hugged me and then swooned as I ran my fingers over her smooth bald labia. Cynthia too had by this time moved her hand down to Dominique’s vulva and had been gently caressing the lips of the child’s tiny vagina while she listened to my exchange with the young girl seated on my lap. But in time a bell rang and the children’s recess ended. Cynthia and I stood and watched as the little naked girls all scurried back across the field and into the Nursery for their late afternoon classes.
“I find them to be so charming at that age,” remarked Cynthia as we resumed our walk toward the hotel. “So sweet and innocent. Oh, sure, they all tend to get a bit sassy when they get to be 9 or 10, but that’s long after I’ve released them from the Nursery. The
older women in the Compound won’t put up with it for long, though. They’ll make sure the youngsters behave properly, believe me."
* * * * * * * *
Cynthia said good-bye and departed for the service elevators before I passed through the swinging doors and out into the lobby. I stopped by the front desk to ask for Dr. George, who had earlier offered to allow me to tour the “Graduate School,” but Greg joined me shortly instead to show me the fourth floor “classroom,” explaining that the good doctor was engaged elsewhere.
Dr. George had been right: There really is not all that much to see. The room itself is rather small and lacks windows, but remains reasonably well-lit from a set of recessed fluorescent lighting fixtures installed in the ceiling panels. The sole furnishing is a standard full sized mattress and box spring supported on a common metal frame – no headboard – outfitted with clean white sheets and a few randomly scattered pillows of various sizes. A narrow pathway around the foot of the bed leads to a modest stainless steel sink in the far rear corner of the room, mounted much lower than is usual and formed rather oddly in the shape of a violin. Above the sink there is a small shelf, barren when I visited except for a toothbrush and a half-empty bottle of mouthwash, and below that shelf are the customary faucets for hot and cold water; however, instead of a spout, a thin white plastic hose about three feet in length snakes from the wall and had been carefully coiled and hung on a hook above the sink.
Greg anticipated my curiosity about the unusual plumbing arrangement. “For cleaning her snatch between lessons,” he explained with a smile.
We left the Graduate School “classroom” and walked down the hall to a bank of service elevators. One of the elevators opened upon two women, each dressed in a green jumpsuit, standing to either side of a multi-shelved cart loaded with towels, toiletries and assorted cleaning supplies. We stepped inside and I started to ask Greg a question, but his stern glance in my direction, accompanied by a raised index finger, reminded me that around the slaves discretion must be observed at all times.
The elevator opened and Greg and I exited into the service area behind the concierge. As we walked through the swinging doors leading into the lobby I glanced behind and saw the two cleaning women slowly negotiating their cart out of the elevator cabin.
“Sorry about that, Greg. All I had wanted to ask you, though, was if you had heard anything further from Dr. George. He told me he thought he might be having a candidate for the Graduate School in the near future.”
“Well, you understand, we believe it best not to discuss any business around the bitches. It would just confuse them.
“No, George hasn’t said anything to me about getting a new girl up there, but I’ll check on it for you.
“Oh, but I did hear from Alexis. He’s coming in this evening on the shuttle with a fresh crop of baby pussy. You want to go out to the airstrip with me and meet him?”
The lobby was bustling with late afternoon activity as Greg and I parted company. A sizeable number of Guests had gathered over near the dance floor where two long banquet tables, draped with several white linen table cloths, had been set up closely together. Four young naked girls, each with her arms extended and her thighs spread wide, reclined on their backs amid an extensive assortment of raw vegetables, fresh fruit, sushi, boiled shrimp and other hors d’œuvres comprising the resort’s late afternoon pre-dinner buffet. The little girls had been carefully arranged to lie in alternating directions, and the placement of their bodies served as dividers between the mounds of various appetizers offered up to Island Royale guests. Over the splayed lips of their tiny hairless vaginas each child had been generously ladled with various condiments, vegetable dips, or whipped cream, and the Guests, cocktails in hand, freely brushed the little girls’ genitals as they collected sauces for their hors d’œuvres. The four children held in each hand the stem of a glass crystal goblet containing a long white lit candle, and a short tapered plastic vase filled with freshly-cut flowers had been carefully placed in each of their mouths, thus forming a living female candelabra.
I dragged a carrot stick through some vegetable dip covering the bald pussy lips of the first little girl before moving on to a raised tray of chilled shrimp stationed over another child’s belly. I playfully dipped a shrimp into the pool of thick red sauce that marginally covered the girl’s vulva, purposely snagging the small ceramic cherry ornament attached to the chain emerging from her slit, and then contemplated the mountain of freshly sliced fruit piled high between the thighs of yet another prepubescent female lying on her back farther down the table. Selecting a ripe strawberry, I collected some whipped cream as I slowly twirled the fruit across the child’s exposed sex.
The four little naked girls would remain patiently serving as delightful table decorations throughout the late afternoon and early evening, but I knew Alexis was due to arrive around six o’clock – giving me little time to shower and shave – so I circled the buffet once more for a mouthful of shrimp and vegetables and headed back toward my suite. I had not expected during my brief stay at the resort to have had a chance to speak with either of the two “Traveling Partners” about their contributions to the business, and so of course I had eagerly accepted Greg’s invitation to accompany him to the airstrip to meet Alexis and witness the delivery of the “cargo” his partner would be bringing.
Still, I thought as I cut across the lobby, I did have enough time to take advantage of some of the special “amenities” available to me at Island Royale, and so I selected Rochelle, a comely little fifteen year old French girl with blue eyes, light brown hair and small firm breasts, to accompany me back to my room.
Rochelle had been wandering through the entertainment section of the lobby seeking her next assignment when I had first noticed her slim hips and long, shapely legs. She was dressed rather simply in a thin translucent wrap-around skirt, and as she crossed the lobby heading generally in my direction, her exposed breasts bobbed slightly with each step. I could feel my manhood swelling again as I studied her soft pink nipples, and when the charming young woman had reached me I wrapped my arm around her cool bare midriff and started guiding her toward my quarters. As we walked, I slid my hand up her right side, catching the underside of her breast, and gently rolled her nipple between my fingers.
The girl must have been rather puzzled, I thought, as she sat quietly on the edge of my bed: Here I had “acquired” her to entertain me but then had declined to invite her to join me in my shower. I knew I lacked the time for an extended encounter with my new little toy, but I wanted her available to amuse me while I readied myself for the evening.
I emerged from my shower and sauntered over to the bed before removing the towel wrapped around my waist. Rochelle glanced upward to me with her big blue eyes, seeking permission to suck my cock, but I turned without speaking and walked back into the bathroom. Only then did I call to my little sex kitten, and Rochelle leapt from the bed, crossed the room, and quickly knelt before the vanity to begin caressing my dick with her tongue.
Have you ever shaved while getting a blow job? Believe me, this is the only way to shave! I must confess it was a bit difficult at times to concentrate on the safety razor as Rochelle expertly sucked me off, but I managed to finish shaving long before the girl had brought me to an explosive climax. While I stood, hands on my hips, watching in the mirror the reflection of the young woman as she tilted her head to lick the underside of my balls, I considered calling Greg and canceling my trip to the airstrip. But no, I concluded, my first priority was to meet Alexis. I closed my eyes and focused on the waves of pleasure Rochelle was generating in my groin, and when I ejaculated the girl seemed to swallow my semen without even pausing.
I would have liked to have explored Rochelle’s other talents, but I knew Greg was expecting me to join him soon, and so with a brusque wave of my hand I dismissed the lovely naked teenager from my quarters. Rochelle smiled and nodded, grabbing her flimsy little skirt from the bed as she scurried from my room.
* * * * * * * *
I knew I was running late for my appointment. Wearing once again my khaki slacks, dress shirt and loafers, I charged down the hallway, into and out of the elevator, and met up with Greg near the front desk where he had been waiting patiently for me. Greg had also dressed casually, in a polo shirt and dungarees, and upon my arrival we left immediately, walking briskly through the galley, past the storage rooms, and out across the large outdoor playground area of the Nursery to where a late model Toyota minivan sat parked near a lonely double-wide gate in the far rear of the resort complex. An old faded yellow GMC school bus, still faintly lettered in English for a particular school district, sat idling noisily on the other side of the fence.
I remained standing near the minivan as Greg approached the unlocked gate. He exchanged a few words with the bus driver as they each pushed open a gate panel, then returned to the Toyota. “Listen,” Greg said as we climbed into the vehicle, “let me get us through here. Then, if you don’t mind, can I get you to get out and lock the gate?” Soon we were following the cloud of dust generated by the school bus as it staggered along ahead of us.
What appeared to me to be the same Boeing 757 jetliner that had brought me to Island Royale had already landed by the time we arrived at the airstrip, with only a handful of new Guests still waiting to board the second of the two large transport buses. The school bus parked near the tail section of the aircraft, parallel to a nondescript panel truck, and Greg rolled to a stop some distance from the near wing. I noticed that although the cargo bay doors were open the rear cabin door remained closed. Either Alexis had already disembarked, I surmised, or he had not been seated on the flight along with the other Guests.
After the two transport buses had left for the resort, the boarding staircase was moved into position and shortly thereafter the airplane’s real cargo, a number of frightened little Caucasian girls clad in tattered dresses, emerged from the rear cabin door and began descending the staircase under the direction of one of the flight attendants. I recognized Cynthia standing at the base of the stairs along with the school bus driver and another male aide, and I watched as she greeted each child with a hug and a small bag of candy.
I counted nine little girls all huddled around Cynthia and her assistants. She spoke in soothing tones to the children, but none appeared to understand English. No matter. Her reassuring voice, coupled with the candy, had noticeably relaxed the youngsters. Taking one of them by the hand, Cynthia led the giggling little ones to the faded yellow bus for their ride back to the Nursery, and as I watched Cynthia’s young charges disappear inside, Alexis walked up to us carrying a black carry-on handbag and dragging a large shabby brown suitcase on rollers.
Alexis is shorter and quite a few years younger than Greg, but his leathery skin and sunken blue eyes – by-products, no doubt, of his constant traveling – and his decidedly receding hairline make him appear considerably older than his partner. He embraced Greg, and the two men strolled away to talk in private. At one point I saw Greg gesturing in my direction and Alexis shook his head, but then after a long pause he offered a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders before returning to retrieve his luggage. I stepped inside the minivan and sat in the back. The two men wrestled the large suitcase into the rear and Alexis collapsed into the front seat, mumbling words of greeting to me in a thick Russian accent, as Greg climbed in and started the engine.
“Sorry about the sudden visit, Greg,” said Alexis as we threaded our way along the dusty dirt road leading back to the resort complex. He glanced at me before continuing. “I got a pretty good deal in Odessa for those two old cunts we want to dump, but I had to get this bunch out fast, if you know what I mean.”
“No problem,” replied Greg. “It looks like you got a really good crop this time.”
“I think so, too. Most of ‘em are Hungarian, but there are a couple of Czechs and a German thrown in. They all should be OK if we can keep ‘em from getting too fat in the ass. I tell you, that bastard Sasha drives a hard bargain, but he really knows his baby pussy.”
I sat quietly during this exchange, mesmerized by the casual manner in which these two businessmen discussed the purchase and sale of human female flesh. In a different setting, I thought, they could just as easily have been discussing the cattle or soybean markets, as the tired and confused little children in the bus ahead of us were merely commodities to them. These professional “livestock brokers” were simply comparing notes on current market conditions.
By the time we returned, the school bus had already passed through the gate and all nine little girls had exited and stood in a tight circle around Cynthia. Greg passed through the open gate and continued on toward the main resort building, and I turned my head to watch as Cynthia shepherded her new charges toward an open door. The little girls obediently filed into the Nursery to begin their new careers as sex slaves to the Rich and Powerful.
Island Royale had successfully harvested its latest crop.
Our minivan stopped before an unmarked garage door near the far southern end of the hotel, and Greg waited while the sectional panels crept upward. He drove in and parked, and soon two young women dressed in green jumpsuits began retrieving Alexis’ luggage from the back of the vehicle.
“Greg says you want to interview me,” Alexis growled in his thick Russian accent as we exited the Toyota. “But, man, I’m fucking exhausted. Can we get together sometime tomorrow?”
“Sure. Anytime you say.”
“Fine. How about ten o’clock tomorrow morning, then, at my apartment?” Without waiting for my reply, Alexis turned to Greg. “How’s that Swedish bitch with the big tits working out?”
“Really good. I’ll have her sent to your apartment in a couple of hours.”
“Great,” said Alexis, swinging his handbag across his shoulder as he entered the elevator. “That will give me enough time to shower and shave.” The elevator doors silently closed upon Alexis, his suitcase, and his two female bellhops.
“I’ll see ya tomorrow, Alexis,” laughed Greg as the elevator doors met. Motioning to me, Greg led us through another door and out into the central passageway near the Dungeon. I heard the crack of a whip and a high-pitched muffled scream from behind the closed door.
“Sounds like the Dungeon is booked for the evening,” Greg said with a mischievous wink as we passed.
* * * * * * * *
Dr. George had alluded to the existence of some actual sex torture movies within the resort’s library of recorded video “entertainment.” Quite frankly, I felt a bit queasy as I sat at my computer terminal to access these disturbing images. The thought of watching as a dispassionate voyeur the slow painful death of a woman was both loathsome but intriguing. I justified my actions as the requirements of my journalistic profession.
The computer library contained quite a few entries, I found, cross-referenced by the age and nationality of the victim as well as by the length of the film. Most of the victims were Asian women in their late twenties or early thirties, but several videos featured Caucasian females and the library had three offerings involving teenagers – including one five-hour video of a 14-year-old Italian girl. Each title consisted of a series of one to two hour “chapters” depicting the separately recorded and chronologically ordered sessions of the grotesque torture of a captive human female. Generally the videos contained four or five such segments; one feature, I noted, had twenty-seven “chapters.” I could not even imagine the horrors that poor girl must have suffered before she was finally put to death.
With great trepidation I selected a relatively short feature consisting of but three chapters, each approximately seventy minutes in length, documenting the slow torture and painful death of a 28-year old Armenian woman. I skipped the first segment and selected the second.
Soon the large flat screen television mounted on the wall to the side of my bed glowed with the image of a well-lit but windowless room with rough concrete walls and a badly stained concrete floor. Along the far wall had been hung various chains, clasps, and other instruments and equipment, and in the center of the room were two tall thick wooden pillars stationed about five feet apart, each equipped with a series of metal rings running down the sides.
The camera patiently recorded several minutes of inactivity, but in time I heard an off-camera door open and the victim, wearing only a loose-fitting red-stained faded yellow smock, was seen being dragged into the room by two large hooded figures dressed entirely in black. The woman was screaming and she struggled desperately against her muscular captors, but despite her efforts she was soon bound by the wrists and ankles to the heavy wooden columns. In short order one of the hooded men roughly stuffed a black ball into her mouth and secured it with a strap around her head, muffling her screams. She was completely immobilized but continued to twist and writhe in her hopeless attempts to escape.
A hooded figure appeared from the left, holding a knife similar to a stiletto but quite a bit longer. He stood before the terrified woman and slowly cut her garment, starting from the bottom hem, exposing her as the knife sliced through the thin fabric upward toward her neck. He cut the shoulder straps and the simple dress fell to the concrete floor, leaving the woman naked and sobbing as he kicked the tattered cloth away. The camera remained focused on the nude female as the hooded figure departed from view.
She was a rather plain-looking woman, perhaps slightly overweight, with dirty matted black hair that fell across her face and down over her bare shoulders. Her dark brown eyes were filled with terror and I could see from the numerous cuts and bruises to her face, cheeks and naked body that she had recently been severely beaten and whipped. Countless deep red lines criss-crossed her breasts, belly and thighs, and the dark brown aureoles framing her small, beet-red nipples evidenced the special attention her tormenters had earlier bestowed upon those particular parts of her body. Her vagina remained largely obscured from view beneath a thick unkempt forest of black pubic hair, but that would soon change.
The hooded figure returned holding a lit candle and, as she stared at him in horror, he squatted before the squirming naked woman. Slowly he drew the candle up and beneath the splayed lips of her pussy and amid her anguished screams set her pubic hair on fire. Twice in her agony she urinated, extinguishing the candle, but twice a freshly lit candle was quickly brought on camera and the terror resumed. The gag in the woman’s mouth did little to muffle her blood-curdling screams as the flame licked at her tender exposed flesh. I muted the sound.
I was sickened, but continued to watch as the hooded figure completed the horrific removal of the woman’s pubic hair. He then stood, seized her right breast, and slowly brought the flickering flame of the candle to the woman’s chest. She arched her back and her head jerked repeatedly as the flame roasted her small red nipple, but she slumped over and passed out as her left nipple in turn received the same treatment. With this, the hooded figure backed off and departed, leaving the poor girl hanging lifelessly from the pillars.
Several minutes more passed while the camera remained stationary, dispassionately chronicling the listless female. The woman’s vagina and breasts had been badly burned and their deep red color stood in marked contrast to her otherwise pasty complexion.
A shower of water from an off-camera garden hose awakened the girl to the next round of her torture. A hooded figure soon returned, holding this time what appeared to be a surgical scalpel, and he positioned himself in front of and just to the side of the tightly shackled woman. Reaching down with a gloved hand, he pinched her labia and methodically sliced off a thin layer of her flesh. Blood spewed everywhere, and I was glad I had muted the sound.
From a jug labeled “VINEGAR” in English the hooded figure soaked a small white cloth and pressed it to the girl’s badly bleeding vagina, immediately turning the rag pink with the diluted blood of her mutilated gender. Blood still oozed from her wounds and trickled down the poor girl’s inner thighs as the hooded figure removed the wet rag and walked off-camera, but by then she had again mercifully fainted.
And still the camera watched. After several minutes the limp female, blood still slowly dripping from her damaged vagina, was again awakened by a powerful stream of water, and the hooded figure returned, still carrying his scalpel. Again he grabbed the soft flesh of her labia and again sliced off a thin layer of her nether lips. She had stopped resisting by this time and appeared to have accepted her fate, but with this new assault upon her genitals she threw her pelvis back, sending blood streaming onto the bare concrete floor beneath her. The hooded figure departed but the camera remained focused on the screaming, tormented female. He soon returned, though, to spread her bleeding pussy lips with his gloved hand, and with a swift turn of his scalpel carved off her clitoris before walking away. The poor woman remained shackled to the pillars, bleeding profusely, twisting in agony.
After what seemed an eternity, the hooded figure returned again with his knife. This time, though, he moved directly to his victim’s head and quickly sliced off her ear lobes before departing off-screen. Blood now poured down the woman’s shoulders and across her breasts as well as from her cunt, collecting in a red pool on the concrete floor. She was still conscious, but this time the shower started immediately, blasting her face and chest with water. She was fully awake now, in intense pain, twisting her head wildly to avoid the water assault to her face. The shower ended abruptly and the hooded figure returned, this time carrying in his gloved hand a long metal rod, about two inches wide and with a brightly glowing red tip. He applied the tip first to the woman’s inner thigh, then to her badly mutilated gender, before plunging it deep into her vagina. Her fingers straightened and her head fell back in indescribable pain as the hooded figure worked the hot metal rod in and out of her pussy, cauterizing both the exterior and interior of her womanhood. Abruptly she collapsed and her head fell forward. The hooded figure slowly withdrew the steaming hot metal phallus from her cunt and departed. The camera stoically remained fixed upon the poor girl as she again hung lifelessly between the two pillars.
But she was not dead…yet. The video chapter, I noted, continued for another twenty-four minutes, but I felt too sick to the stomach to continue. I debated briefly ordering up the third installment of this horrifying feature and skimming ahead to the “final scene,” but I could not bring myself to do so. I turned off the television and left the room for some fresh air.
It was still quite early – not even 8:30 p.m. – as I strolled past the pool and headed toward the beach. I steered away from the “pool party” for the recent arrivals but noted it was winding down, with only four young naked women still standing before the seated Guests, presenting themselves and the room card each held lodged in her vagina. Most of the girls were either kneeling between the legs of their “date” or had already been escorted away, presumably in search of a more secluded setting. I looked for but failed to locate the attractive young brunette I had received as my “prize” during the pool party Sunday evening. Perhaps, I thought, she was not participating in the game this evening. Or maybe she was indeed there, already on her knees and with her head buried beneath the terry cloth robe of one of these new arrivals, welcoming him to Island Royale by sucking his cock. No matter. At least she was enjoying herself somewhere, unlike the poor wretched female in the video I had earlier been watching in my room.
The rumble of the waves rolling up along the shoreline provided the only sound as I distanced myself from the Compound and walked down the long graded pathway leading to the beach. During daylight hours this area of the resort could at times become quite crowded with Guests and their temporary paramours, but now it was deserted but for myself and a couple of naked teenage girls wading in the ocean. Both paused and looked at me as I crossed the sand, but as it was clear I had no interest in acquiring either of them, they soon resumed their slow walk through the shallow waters washing at their feet. The cool breeze that swirled around me was exhilarating; however, I could not escape the image of the poor Armenian woman, lashed between the pillars, being slowly and systematically tortured to death. Western Society tends to view the public display of most casual nudity as morally offensive, I thought, but what I had just been watching in my room had been scenes of true pornography.
I removed my sandals to feel the soft white sand between my toes. I considered removing my toga and taking a brief swim but elected instead to simply skirt the shoreline, allowing the waves to repeatedly lap at my feet. It was low-tide, I noted, and the beach stretched long and wide. My thoughts were still occasionally drifting back to the image of the poor tortured female in the video when I suddenly realized the lights of the Compound had become quite distant. Reluctantly I retraced my steps and returned to the resort complex. The two naked teens I had seen earlier on the beach were gone.
A lively game of “Twister” was in progress as I sought refuge at one of the interior bars of the recreational center. There were still quite a few patrons, but soon an attractive young bare-breasted woman accepted my drink order and I turned to watch the progress of the “Twister” competition while she prepared my cocktail. A small gathering of Guests dressed in robes and togas cheered as eight naked pre-teens jostled for position above the multi-colored dots on the floor. Another cheer erupted when one of the girls fell to lie spread-eagle on the floor, laughingly displaying a thin pink line between the lips of her smooth bald pussy. Unlike the other females participating in the game, I noted, this young girl had no gold chain or cherry ornament dangling from her vagina, and I figured it could only have been but a few weeks ago that she had been kept sequestered in the Graduate School classroom, receiving into that deliciously small slit the hard cocks of almost two hundred different men during her final days of training as a sex slave. I wondered how many more men had already fucked the cute little blonde since Dr. George had authorized the use of her body for “general sexual service” in the Island Royale Compound.
A Guest stood over the naked young girl and offered his hand to her, and I watched as she left with him, undoubtedly to be mounted yet again.
It was getting late now. I had finished my vodka tonic and had ordered another when a sweet little girl in her mid teens, with bright blue eyes and silky auburn hair still slightly damp to the touch, approached me from behind. She was dressed in a long, loose-fitting peasant-style blouse that fell from her neck, exposing her left shoulder and small firm breast. Her name was Anya, and from the anxious look on her face I surmised she had recently concluded a session with one of the Guests – possibly at the “pool party” earlier – and was earnestly seeking to be acquired by another in order to avoid having to spend the remainder of the night alone in the Compound.
“May I be of service to you, Master?” she asked hopefully. She had had me with her bright blue eyes and alluring figure, I must confess, but I felt a bit mischievous and wanted her to “work” a bit more to earn her shelter for the night. Without answering, I casually reached out to roll her small button of a nipple in my fingers. The girl smiled and leaned forward to allow me easier access, and I gently pulled her tit forward and kissed her.
I sent my left arm downward, but Anya had anticipated my destination and raised her blouse to expose her smooth hairless vagina, wordlessly inviting me to explore the soft contours of her gender as she stood on her toes before me. I was soon inside her, sliding two fingers deep between the folds of her tight wet pussy, teasing her clitoris, and she smiled back at me. She remained standing this way, submissively accepting my fondling of her cunt, even as the bare-breasted bartender returned with my second vodka tonic. With a hint of an approving smile, the barmaid turned to resume her other activities; Anya gently took hold of my right forearm to steady herself and stared intently into my eyes while I continued my assault upon her unprotected womanhood.
I withdrew my fingers from her pussy and turned to take a sip of my drink. A look of disappointment flashed across her face as she assumed I had rejected her as my overnight amusement toy. The young girl looked down and started to turn, but by then I figured I had teased her enough and reached out and grabbed her exposed left breast. She glanced hopefully over her shoulder and smiled again.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked. “You’re in session for the night.” She answered by hugging me, pressing her bare breast to my forearm. Only as an afterthought did she remember to touch the amulet around her neck, signaling that she was now unavailable to others. I finished my drink and escorted my pretty little bedroom playmate across the lobby and up to my room.
Greg had warned me that Alexis was on a “pretty tight schedule,” and so the next morning, after having only fucked the cute little fourteen-year-old a couple of more times, I dismissed Anya from my quarters, showered, and arrived at Alexis’ apartment – actually a pair of rooms much like the Guests’ quarters – promptly at 10:00 a.m. Alexis greeted me pleasantly, dressed in a standard light blue robe, but I could see the man was still suffering somewhat from jet lag.
He invited me inside and led me to a small round table stocked with a teapot, a few cups, some breads and a large bowl of assorted fresh fruit. As I was setting up my recording equipment I commented that he still looked a bit tired and offered to reschedule the interview for another time. Suddenly Alexis raised his hand and cut me off in mid-sentence.
“Let’s wait a bit, shall we?” he said softly. Then, much louder: “Inga!”
A tall beautiful blonde with large, luscious breasts and long shapely legs, wearing nothing but a short pleated skirt, emerged quietly from the adjacent bedroom and strolled to Alexis’ side. With a wink to me, he lifted her skirt and exposed her sex, hairless but for a small cream-colored tuft just above her slit. Holding the hem of her skirt with his right hand, Alexis plunged his left middle finger deep into Inga’s pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from the girl as she staggered slightly. He continued to finger-fuck the young woman for a couple of more minutes while she obediently stood there before us, her arm resting on his shoulder as she gazed silently out the window, but then he suddenly withdrew his hand and ordered her from his suite.
“Thank You, Master,” Inga responded politely and, with a slight nod of her head, she turned and left the apartment. “I didn’t want the gash to overhear us,” explained Alexis after the door had closed. “We’d only have confused the hell out of her.
“Would you like some tea?”
Alexis has been associated with Island Royale for many years, and had become a partner long before the brothel had relocated to the South Seas. A Russian by birth – as I had suspected from his accent – Alexis had been a highly successful slave trafficker operating principally in the Balkans, supplying abducted nubile European women to numerous bordellos and private harems in Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and other Arab states, when John-Boy first met and had offered for sale to him a number of women the West African resort had decided to discard.
In the course of their discussions John-Boy outlined the needs of the Nursery and, although Alexis generally marketed much older females than those of interest to the resort, the Russian nonetheless soon delivered over two dozen very young and attractive European girls, age 4-5 years, along with the promise of more to follow upon request. With his vast knowledge of the white slavery business and his established connections to countless other “wholesale” and “retail” merchants of female flesh, it did not take the other Partners long to recognize Alexis’ value to their organization, and when John-Boy grew weary of the travel associated with supplying the resort young girls from both Asia and Europe, Alexis was brought in as a full partner to oversee European operations. He has been a prolific contributor: Well over two-thirds of the sexually mature females available for use in the Island Royale Compound are Caucasian, a testament to the Russian’s cunning, acumen, and enthusiasm for the sex slave industry.
Alexis indeed appears to thoroughly enjoy in particular the excitement and challenges of acquiring young girls for assignment to Island Royale, and he assured me he has no desire to adopt Greg’s decidedly more sedentary lifestyle. As Alexis put it: “Running this place would drive me crazy. What’s the American cliché? [Island Royale] is a great place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here.”
Smuggling young female children out of their native lands involves many risks, of course. Over the years Alexis has been severely beaten on several occasions and has even been shot once. He has also been arrested numerous times by law enforcement agencies in various countries – including twice in the United States – but thus far he has never been detained by the authorities for more than five days. Island Royale Management possesses exceptionally powerful friends and allies, and a well-placed telephone call to a high-ranking government official will usually secure Alexis’ release within but a few hours of his arrest, although occasionally – most notably about eight years ago when the Russian had been detained in Denmark on human trafficking charges – it may take a bit longer. Despite his many arrests, however, Alexis has never been formally charged with any crime and he says with a mischievous grin: “You’d be hard pressed to even find a police report with my name on it.”
After setting up my recording equipment and over a cup of strong English breakfast tea I began my interview with an inquiry concerning the logistics involved in procuring young females to serve as sex slaves at Island Royale.
* * * * * * * *
Question: You still look pretty tired. Is it because of Inga, or just the jet lag?
Answer: (Laughing) Probably a combination of both. But let’s see. At this time yesterday I was just getting in to Costa Rica. A week ago I was in Odessa, and two weeks before that, Budapest and Prague.
I do get around quite a bit.
Q: Which leads me to my question: Where do you find these young girls?
A: It’s not really all that hard for me anymore.
Years ago, before I joined the organization, John-Boy would often have to either steal the kids himself or deal directly with their kidnappers, negotiating a girl’s purchase price and so on. But now, actual acquisition for the both of us is largely left up to our wide network of brokers.
These brokers will collect the girls for us and pay the abductors themselves. We in turn will swap some sexually mature, fully trained female culls from the resort for the broker’s stash of baby pussy. The brokers make their profit when they later sell those women to whoever wants them.
Q: Brothel owners?
A: Yeah, most of ‘em wind up in a whorehouse somewhere. But a surprising number of men, especially in the Arab countries, buy the women for their own personal use and for the use of their friends. Frankly, I’d get bored fucking the same bitch every day, but some of these guys keep a harem of eighty or more women to choose from, so I guess that’s not a problem for them.
Q: So you’re saying no money is actually exchanged between you and the slave brokers?
A: Certainly not when we simply trade in a couple or more of our culled females for a new crop of baby pussy. But as the Nursery girls take their place in the Compound, we’re constantly having to make room for them by getting rid of the older staff. We’re the ones receiving money from the brokers. I’ll ship back a couple of dozen cunts, maybe swap a few for a bunch of little girls, and receive cash for the rest of ‘em.
(Smiling) It more than covers my travel expenses.
You must understand, our women are highly prized in the sex slave industry. Think about it: They’re spayed, well trained, in good physical condition, and immediately available for service. Even the girls we don’t consider good looking enough to keep at the resort will still usually command a high price because the brokers know they’ll get top dollar for them when they go to sell them later.
Q: Even the – shall we say – less attractive girls?
A: Look, our standards here at Island Royale are pretty high. They’re far less… “choosey,” if you know what I mean, at most of the whorehouses in Istanbul or Saigon. So, yeah, even our “rejects” are usually worth quite a bit.
Q: Greg told me a teenage European girl will usually sell for about $60,000 US. Is that what these girls sell for?
A: Oh, no. Caucasian girls from Island Royale bring a lot more than the average. I try to attend as many of these auctions as I can, just to keep track of the market.
A good-looking virgin teen will still command the highest price, but of course Island Royale doesn’t market virgins. Nonetheless, our white women will still retail for anywhere from $70,000 - $75,000 US each. An average-looking 13-year-old cast-off cunt from our resort might sell for around $72,500 US, and one of our good-looking white women in her late twenties will easily fetch more than that. Of course, our Asian and South American bitches don’t usually bring quite that much, and Black pussy rarely sells for anywhere near that.
And that’s retail, you understand. We don’t get that much when we sell off one of our culls to a wholesaler.
Q: If you could make so much more money selling the women directly, why don’t you…
A: Cut out the middleman? Too much hassle. Too time consuming. We’d have to warehouse the bitches, coordinate the auctions, collect the money, you know. Besides, we don’t want to go into competition with the wholesalers. We like the fact that we can just stop in, unload our excess inventory of pussy, and get out.
Occasionally over the years we’ve had guests who have taken a real liking to one of our slaves and will want to buy her from us here, but we don’t really like doing that. It’s awkward for us to have to negotiate with a Guest a fair price for the cunt, and it pisses off the brokers when we sell pussy direct. But we’ve done it a few times.
Q: What is the highest price a woman has sold for?
A: At retail? Hmm. Well, I remember this one French girl – a gorgeous little blonde sixteen-year-old virgin – selling for about €63,000 Euros. Let me think…. That would be over $92,000 US, I guess. But that was unusual; even virgins don’t usually bring quite that much.
The most money I can recall offhand anyone ever spending for slave pussy in one transaction was by a couple of oil ministers from Yemen who bought a Portuguese mother and her two daughters who were all auctioned off together as a “matched set.” Those guys paid almost $200,000 US for the three of them. Actually, I didn’t think the mother bitch was all that good looking, although she did have some really nice big tits. The daughters, though, more than justified the price. They were real “hotties” – fourteen and eleven and both virgins – and I figure the guys really just wanted to buy the untried snatches; the mother was simply an added bonus, thrown in to complete the set. I suspect the boys sold off the mother separately later on, but I don’t really know for sure.
Q: You said before that you try to sit in on a lot of these slave auctions. Just how are they conducted?
A: It varies somewhat from broker to broker, but usually he’ll send the word out that he’s got some pussy to auction off on a certain day and the buyers will all come in to look over what he’s got to sell.
Most auctions will be in the evening, and during the afternoon the girls will all be brought out and lined up, stripped, and chained to a wall or a post or something to give the buyers a good chance to inspect them – you know, to check out their teeth, their ears, their tits, their pussy and so forth. Let the buyers get their hands on the bitches and feel ‘em up a bit. Usually the auctioneer will have had the girl’s lot number painted on her belly or thigh or somewhere to let the buyers keep track of which cunts they’ll be wanting to bid on later. And he’ll have printed up a little “fact sheet” or something giving information about each girl – her age, where she’s from, whether she’s been spayed, whether anyone’s fucked her yet. You know, the usual stuff a buyer might want to know about the merchandise. Nowadays, all that information is typically available to the buyers from their laptops so there’s really no need for a printed flyer or anything, but most of the brokers still hand ‘em out anyway. Tradition, I guess.
Wait a minute – I think I might have here some of those forms they use. (Alexis rises, reaches for his bag and soon produces a small wrinkled sheet of paper.) Well, I thought I had a bunch of ‘em, but I’ve only got the one. Here, you can have it. I don’t need it.
Then, after everyone there has had a good chance to look the gashes over, they’ll have a break. (Chuckling) If he’s clever, the broker will serve the buyers some booze ‘cause it increases their bidding – and then he’ll have the girls brought back out, one by one, to be auctioned off and sold.
Hell, you’ve been to a cattle auction, haven’t you? Or a horse sale, maybe? A slave auction works the same way. Sometimes the auctioneer will have the bitch’s hands tied behind her back during the bidding so that her lot number will show and so she can’t, you know, try to cover herself as she’s being paraded around on her leash, but if the cunt’s already used to being naked around men that’s usually not necessary – it certainly isn’t when one of our girls is put up for sale, anyway.
The actual sale of the girl doesn’t take all that long – a good auctioneer can typically sell well over a couple of dozen pussies in the course of an evening. Once the sale has been made, the buyer will square up with the broker and take his new slave away that same night or maybe the next morning. Getting the bitch home is usually the buyer’s responsibility, although sometimes – say, if he’s a particularly frequent customer or if he’s paid a rather high price for the cunt – the broker might help make the necessary transportation arrangements for him.
Q: Getting the girls out is a problem?
A: I suppose it could be if you don’t know what you’re doing. But most of these guys buy slave pussy on a regular basis and have a routine all worked out. Usually they’ll just drug the bitch and stuff her in a crate or something to haul her away. Once you’ve done it a few times, it’s not really all that complicated.
Q: Is that what you do when you transport the women?
A: I don’t need to do that very often. Most of the time, I’m dealing with secure places where I can fly in and out as I want to. But yeah, on occasion, I might need to resort to drugging the little cunts a bit to keep them quiet during transit. Rarely do I need to do that when I bring pussy in, though; our culled bitches are so used to following commands they hardly ever cause me any problems.
Q: Dr. George tells me a female coming from here probably won’t survive more than about three years after she leaves the resort. Is that true?
A: Yeah, for the most part. Maybe five, tops. Unless she’s sold into a private harem or bought as a personal slave or something. The girls tend to get better care if they’re bought as private stash. (He snickers.) Even then, she might not last all that long, though, if her owner decides to use her as a fuck toy.
Q: A “fuck toy?”
A: (Alexis pauses, smiling mischievously.) I remember this party I was at some years ago at a villa a few kilometers outside Montenegro. Big party. Lots of guests. Nonstop fun and games for a week.
My broker had just had an auction, and one of the Arab boys there had shelled out a ton of money – almost one and a half million bucks, as I recall – buying a whole bunch of our Island Royale girls to re-stock his club in Oman. One of the pussies on the auction block had been this rather homely-looking 12-year old Laotian gash from the resort that we didn’t want and had just thrown in as part of the shipment to my broker along with the others he had ordered. Nobody at the auction seemed to want to bid much for her – as I said, she wasn’t much to look at – and since my broker didn’t want to keep her he just decided to give her to the Arab boy as sort of a bonus, I guess, because the guy had spent so much money with him.
Well, anyway, just for the hell of it the guy brought her to the party, naked except for this tight black leather hood with only one hole in it so she could breathe through her mouth. He had some sort of weird-looking tubular metal frame set up in this little room at the villa and they had the little twat bent over and tied up real tight, with her legs spread wide and her ass stuck up in the air. They even kept her mouth propped open with some sort of thing dentists use, and the sides of the hood had been chained to the frame so she couldn’t move her head. Hell, they had her bound so tight she could hardly move at all!
And then all the guys took turns fucking the little bitch – in the face, in her snatch and up her ass – one right after the other, usually two guys at once, with a guy working each end of her at the same time. As soon as one guy was done with her they’d wash her down a bit and the next guy would start in. Hell, they didn’t even take time out to feed her and the only thing the little cunt got to drink was cum! (Laughing) Over the course of the week the guys literally fucked that little bitch to death!
Now that was a party!
But, yeah, most of our cast-off gashes will be sold into a brothel, and usually they’ll all get sick and die after a few years or so of use. Still, a girl from Island Royale is a pretty good bargain for a guy running a whorehouse because her overhead will be so little.
A: Overhead. You know – the cost of maintenance.
A buyer of one of our trade-ins gets a spayed cunt, fully trained and more than willing to fuck any man who wants her. No “down time” each month for her period, and certainly no expensive visits to an abortionist! The guy who buys one of our girls knows she’s good for twelve, maybe even fifteen or more fucks every day. (Chuckling) Assuming he has enough customers for her!
She’ll make a lot of money for him while he has her, believe me.
Q: Dr. George also told me that if a girl doesn’t succumb to illness or disease, she’s apt to try to escape at some point.
A: That’s true, I guess. But because they have no friends on the outside, escape is virtually impossible.
Q: He also told me the girls are subjected to rather brutal treatment if they’re caught, especially if it’s their second escape attempt.
A: He told you about the guys who record the girls being tortured, did he?
Q: Yes. I watched a part of one….
A: Yeah, well, it happens. Not often, though. Most of the bitches will die from disease long before they try to escape.
Q: Does it ever bother you, knowing that when you sell or trade in a slave, that you are basically signing her death warrant?
A: No, not at all. I’m only interested in getting as many good-looking young females as possible into the Nursery and disposing of our excess inventory of pussy. I really don’t care what happens to a bitch once I’ve unloaded her.
Besides, while these women may not live a long life, they certainly are treated well while they’re here. They have a far better life here on the island than most of ‘em would have had back home in some dirty little village, battling hunger while popping out babies.
Q: I gathered from yesterday you recently traded two women for the nine little girls you delivered here last night. How do you know when they’re only four and five years old that they will be….
A: Acceptable? Well, of course we really don’t know when they’re that young. That’s why we maintain such a large Nursery, and why we’re constantly on the lookout for new acquisitions.
Usually, by the time she starts growing some tits, or maybe just after, we’ll have a pretty good idea whether a girl will be able to “make the cut.” We’ll continue to train a young cunt, of course, even if she looks like she’s going to grow up to be rather plain-looking. As I said before, even an average-looking girl, properly trained, will usually still fetch a good price in the slave markets of Asia and the Middle East since her buyer knows she’ll be spayed, free of disease, and ready to be mounted immediately – and repeatedly. Our culled girls, unless they’re really ugly, are almost always in high demand. And that’s especially true if the gash has some European blood running through her.
And that’s a big reason why we’re sometimes able to get up to five or six, maybe even seven young females in an “even trade” for one of our trained culls.
Q: You didn’t do so well, then, on this last haul.
A: Well, the bitches I’m taking back with me are all getting up in years – they’re all in their late twenties and their pussies are starting to get kind of loose – but all of these little ones look like they’ve got great potential. I’ve dealt with the broker before, and he’s been pretty good about providing females who turn out to be suitable for us.
Q: I got the impression from Greg that your arrival was on short notice. How often do you normally visit the island?
A: Umm, it’s hard to say. I guess I drop off a bunch of young girls maybe two or three times a year, and I’ll make a few more trips back here just to pick up the bitches we want to sell. John-Boy tends to get back more often, ‘cause he can pick up baby Asian pussy a lot faster than I can get Europeans, and there’s an even bigger demand for our culled females in the eastern markets. But I really think I get better quality baby pussy – most of his girls wind up being shipped back out once their tits have popped out.
But back to your question. As far as bringing in baby cunts, I’m really more at the mercy of my brokers. They deal directly with the slavers and pick up the young females as they can – usually only one or two at a time, but sometimes they can get ‘em in a bunch – and the broker will then just warehouse his catch until he has enough little snatches to make a deal with us. That’s when I’ll call Greg and let him know I’m coming in. The brokers all know the going rate: Five or so young girls per trade-in, and cash for the rest of the bitches he’s ordered. I’ll come in, pick up his stash of baby pussy, confirm which women I’ll be bringing back for him, and then while I’m gone he’ll start setting up his auction or whatever. We don’t really need to spend much time haggling price with him.
Q: Why two trips? Why don’t you just bring in the women and take the little girls back with you?
A: We do sometimes, but generally the logistics don’t work out for us. Our brokers will be keeping the little ones stashed somewhere until I get there, but until he unloads the kids he usually doesn’t have enough room to park our culls, and we certainly don’t want the older bitches coming into contact with the baby twats. They start asking questions. So, although it is a bit of expense, it’s usually better for us to make the two trips.
Besides, as I said, typically the broker wants the extra time it takes for me to come back in order to set up his auction. He obviously doesn’t want to have to feed and house the bitches any longer than he has to – it cuts into his profit – and so he usually wants a couple of weeks or so of lead-time to, you know, send the word out about his upcoming sale and prepare to receive his customers.
Q: Just how do the slavers actually acquire these little girls?
A: In a variety of ways.
Most are simply kidnapped from a playground or somewhere and taken away. We get a lot of our European baby pussy that way. Some of them are sold to the slavers by a family friend or perhaps even a family member looking to make a quick buck.
Some, especially Asian and Mid-East girls, are simply given away.
Q: They’re given away?
A: Oh, yes, quite a few.
Asian and Arab cultures don’t put a very high value on female flesh. John-Boy has had dirt-poor Indian farmers begging him to take their daughters. From their standpoint, they barely have enough to feed everybody in the family, and female children won’t grow up to do much of anything except produce more mouths to feed. The farmers would much rather have sons who can help them work the fields some day. The “Little Woman” can always pop out more babies. Shedding themselves of their unwanted female children simply means they can go back, fuck the wife some more, and hope she produces more sons.
Q: And do these men know that, in sending their daughters away, they are condemning them to a life of sexual slavery?
A: In their hearts, they probably do.
Oh, the slaver might give them some song-and-dance about hiring the girl as a “child model” or maybe knowing some rich American couple who want to adopt her or something, but they probably don’t believe it. All they’re really interested in is ridding themselves of their unwanted daughters, and if they can get a few bucks for her, so much the better. They really don’t care what we do with them once they’re gone.
Q: I have a difficult time imagining that a father would actually sell -- let alone give away – his own daughter, knowing that she was to be used as a sex slave.
A: Ah, well, you’re thinking like a Westerner again. Asian and Middle Eastern societies don’t have a problem with that.
Q: What about your European “acquisitions?”
A: Most of the females sold to the slavers in Europe are by a neighbor, or a family friend or “trusted uncle” or someone. Rarely do European fathers sell their daughters, though.
Even so, in Europe a family friend or neighbor – rather than a family member – sells the vast majority of the girls that wind up here.
I suddenly remembered again the beginnings of my investigation into the sex slave industry. I had interviewed dozens of Russian and Ukrainian villagers, all of whom had expressed outrage, sorrow, and concern for the welfare of the poor little girls who had been so savagely kidnapped. I now wondered how many of those villagers I had talked with had actually arranged for and secretly profited from the children’s abductions.
Q: How much can a “family friend” expect to receive for selling a little girl to a sex trafficker?
A: It depends a lot on the girl, of course. Young Polynesian females can usually be bought for around six hundred bucks or so, for example, but a cute little four-year-old blonde from the Czech Republic might fetch close to two thousand dollars. A slaver might pay even more for a good-looking young Australian gash with European bloodlines, but he certainly wouldn’t pay anywhere near that much for Australian aborigine baby pussy or, say, a kid from Nicaragua or China.
But again, the slavers don’t actually buy most of the little beavers they sell to a broker; they simply kidnap the twats. And, as I said before, often baby Asian cunts are free for the taking.
Q: And then the slaver sells the girl to a broker. How much does the broker pay?
A: Again, it depends a lot on the girl and where she’s from. A broker will pay as much for a stolen gash as he would one the slaver has had to purchase – so obviously, the slavers try to get as much baby pussy on their own as they can, rather than have to shell out money to a “family friend” or something. But in general terms, the slaver can figure on making a very good profit on the sale. That’s what keeps him in business.
Q: You mentioned earlier that a broker will “warehouse” the little girls he has acquired until he has enough to make a deal with you. Where does he keep them?
A: It varies from broker to broker. One guy I know in Belarus has a large farm way out in the middle of nowhere. Another guy I know keeps ‘em locked up in an abandoned factory building he owns in Germany. Most, though, usually just keep the girls in cages in a basement somewhere. That’s where John-Boy picks up most of his baby pussy, anyway. When they’re that young, they don’t really take up all that much room.
For obvious reasons a broker will want to dispose of his catch as quickly as possible, but for the most part he’ll take pretty good care of the little kids while he has them. He might not spend a lot of money on their clothing, but he’ll keep the girls clean and reasonably well fed. The brokers can’t have ‘em getting sick because they know we won’t take ‘em if they are. And if he can’t keep ‘em healthy long enough to sell to us, well, then he’s more-or-less stuck with housing the little cunts until they’re old enough to be sold elsewhere. He certainly can’t release them!
(Chuckling) Years ago, John-Boy once dealt with some stupid Indonesian bastard who just couldn’t keep his hands off the little snatches. The asshole had fucked every single one of the girls by the time John-Boy arrived to pick them up. Naturally we discovered that they weren’t “intact” as soon as they got to Costa Rica and were being screened for disease.
They never made it to the island. We sent the whole bunch of them back to the clown and told him we’d never do business with him again. (Snickering) Who knows how long it took him to get rid of all that spoiled baby pussy.
Q: I gather you spend your time dealing with your European contacts, while John-Boy operates in Asia. Who handles acquiring girls from North and South America?
A: We both do I guess, but John-Boy probably works those markets more than I do ‘cause he gets back to the resort far more often. We’ll dump the culled bitches destined for the American markets and pick up the little beavers during the shuttle’s regular turnaround time in Costa Rica. The logistics are relatively easy.
Over the years Greg has even handled some of these transactions, but that hasn’t happened now in a long time. Frankly, I don’t think Greg likes dealing directly with the brokers all that much. (Chuckling) He likes to keep his skirts clean.
Q: I’ve noticed that there aren’t many African girls in the Compound. Is it because you don’t have any brokers there?
A: We have a few, but we generally call them if we want to get a little black African pussy, and then we’ll just buy her outright. There’s not really all that much of a market for ripe European or Asian bitches there, except maybe for South Africa.
And it’s funny, but most of our Guests don’t really like fucking a black bitch all that much, although (chuckling again) they do give great head. Something about their tongues.
Q: What about their tongues?
A: I don’t know. They just seem to have exceptionally long and flexible tongues. Have you been sucked off here by a black chick yet?
A: Well, you really should get a blow job from one of the African girls before you leave. Believe me, it’s incredible.
Q: So how long will you be on the island this time?
A: (Sighs) Only briefly this time. I’m going to rest up a bit, dip my pecker in some more pussy, of course, but then I need to take some bitches back to my broker in Odessa to complete our deal, so I’ll be leaving on the shuttle Saturday morning.
Q: That’s when I will be leaving.
A: Terrific. Maybe we can play some gin rummy or something on the way back to pass the time.
Q: You’re on. But that won’t be as much fun as being here, though. Only two days. That doesn’t give you much time to rest up, does it?
A: No, it really doesn’t. Normally I can hang out and “charge the batteries” here a bit longer, but a deal’s a deal, and I know my broker wants these women delivered to him as soon as possible. Some of ‘em are going to the auction block, I would guess, but I think he’s already got most of ‘em sold privately. He’s probably already even gotten his money for ‘em. So obviously he’s anxious to receive delivery as soon as possible so his customers will be happy.
Q: And after your delivery is made in Odessa?
A: Well, I’ve got a line on a guy in Holland who’s interested in buying some of our girls, and he says he may be able to get his hands on some baby pussy for me. I’d kind of like to get some young Dutch cunts brought in – we haven’t had any here now for quite awhile – so I’m going to meet with him in a few weeks and see what we can work out.
He says he doesn’t have any baby pussy yet, and he probably won’t be able to get me any. Harvesting white baby pussy takes some skill. Although all these guys say they can deliver some little bald twats to me, when the time comes most of the brokers get kind of skittish about warehousing stolen kids. But who knows – maybe this guy can get me some. At any rate, though, I gather he’s been in business now for awhile and so I’m sure I can at least sell him some of our older snatches while I’m there, even if he can’t get me anything to replenish the Nursery.
* * * * * * * *
It was mid-Thursday afternoon now – my fourth full day at Island Royale – and I was back in my suite, staring across the table in the main room at my scribbled note pads and the random assortment of my audio cassettes. It had been my intention to use this time to start collating my thoughts, but the task seemed overwhelming, my mind kept drifting, and I found myself repeatedly gravitating toward the lanai overlooking the seemingly endless poolside sex orgy below. Oddly, as I stood on the balcony feeling the warm ocean breeze across my face and watching as dozens of nude or half-naked girls frolicked in the Compound below, I did not feel exceptionally aroused. I blamed Ketrin, the sweet little 16-year-old long-haired Lithuanian brunette I had summoned to my room following my morning interview with Alexis, for the temporary absence of any significant sexual interest on my part. The way she had gripped my cock in her tight little pussy had been marvelous….
Glancing again to the table, I sighed and resolved to return to my work.
The telephone rang. It was Greg, advising me that Dr. George had indeed authorized a new girl, Alyssa, to enter the Graduate School that morning, and he wondered if I would like to assist in her training. I of course accepted his invitation immediately.
“Fine. I’ll pencil you in for, say, eight-fifteen tonight, then, will that be OK? Oh, and wait a minute…” Greg paused as I heard some papers shuffling. “Yeah, listen. If you wouldn’t mind – if it’s not too much trouble for you – would you try at some point to screw her with her ankles parked up on your shoulders? She’ll need the practice.”
And so, just like that, I was scheduled to fuck a very young girl later that evening. Along with a request, no less, as to how I should do so.
Curious, I turned to my computer terminal to learn what I could of Alyssa. To my surprise, the resort had two girls by that name – with different name spellings – on the current roster of available sex slaves.
I clicked the first thumbnail and the monitor displayed the image of an attractive Eurasian brunette in her early twenties with long hair and large thick nipples. Clearly this was not the girl recently assigned to the Graduate School, for she had obviously been in full service in the Compound for well over a decade.
I returned to the main page and selected the other girl. This time, the monitor displayed the picture of a little Russian girl with medium-length brown hair and dark brown eyes. She was rather skinny and perhaps somewhat attractive, but she could hardly be considered beautiful. Her image suggested Alyssa to be a child far too young to be a candidate for Dr. George’s Graduate School, but from her “vital statistics” I determined her present age to be 11-12 years and concluded that her website photograph must have been taken quite some time ago. I tried to picture what the girl might look like now and found myself becoming extremely aroused as I contemplated my upcoming tryst with her later in the evening.
It occurred to me that, if indeed this was the little girl that Dr. George had recently “enrolled” in the Island Royale Graduate School, she would not be available to be summoned by the resort’s patrons like the others. I clicked the button at the bottom of the screen:
Alyssa is currently available by Scheduled Appointment Only.
Please contact the Concierge for further details.
I could take it no longer. I arose from my chair and left the room to go wandering through the resort. In time, I found myself leaning on the counter of one of the outdoor bars in the Compound, watching as a hairy muscular man sat naked on the edge of the pool, arms behind him for support, while a full-figured woman splashed in the water, servicing him with her tits. Farther down the edge of the pool a young Asian woman with small breasts was slowly giving head to a thin gray-haired man with an amazingly long dick. Behind them, out near the middle of the pool, three little naked girls playfully wrestled for control of a large inflatable plastic raft that bobbed up and down in the water. In turn, each would spread her legs to briefly straddle the raft before the others would topple her. At one point one of the little girls climbed up to lie spread-eagle on top of the raft, her bright red cherry ornament shimmering in the sunlight as it rested on her thigh beneath the smooth wet lips of her gloriously displayed prepubescent pussy, but she too was quickly dethroned by the others amid a chorus of wild childish squeals.
I suddenly became aware of three figures approaching quickly from the far corner of the Compound. The middle figure, a Caucasian female in her late teens wearing a long black robe with matching hood, walked just ahead of two large muscular men costumed – somewhat comically, in my opinion – in the garb of Roman Centurions. As they walked, the young woman’s robe would occasionally catch the breeze and fly open, revealing briefly her soft white naked body, but she would make no effort to cover herself and remained focused upon maintaining the swift pace of her travel.
The threesome skirted the outer perimeter of the pool area and crossed the large grassy lawn leading to the main entrance of the hotel facility. As they marched past me I noticed that the girl’s wrists had been loosely shackled in back, and I decided to follow them as they quickly made their way into and across the wide expanse of the lobby. Upon reaching the concierge the trio briskly turned left and ducked out of sight down the south hall of the complex, and by the time I had reached the front desk the Centurions had already escorted their prisoner well down the corridor. They stopped outside the Dungeon, the door opened, and I caught a glimpse of a tall bearded man of Middle Eastern ancestry dressed in a long white robe and holding a whip, gesturing to the trio to enter. I felt sorry for the poor young girl as she vanished from my view, for I knew she would shortly be subjected to this Guest’s idea of sexual fun, but I also knew I was powerless to intervene and, with a sigh, retraced my steps across the lobby and back outside to the pool area. I smiled as an attractive nude redhead raced past me and into the lobby, cupping her large freckled breasts in her hands as she ran. The girl had probably been summoned for a session, I thought, and was late in responding.
Two of the little naked girls I had seen earlier continued to amuse themselves with their water toy; the third – an amusement toy herself, I suppose – I could see over on the far side, kneeling between the legs of a short middle-aged Japanese man with thick black-rimmed glasses, busily parting his robe as he stretched back in his beach recliner to receive a blow job from the tiny prepubescent female.
After a brief dip in the pool I retrieved my robe and selected a chaise longue located well beyond the din of the poolside orgy, still contemplating a nap before my scheduled “lesson” with Alyssa later that evening. I had just begun to drift off to sleep when I became aware of a naked girl in her mid-teens, water still dripping from her smallish tits and shaved pussy, standing to my side. I looked up to her face and she smiled.
“May I be of service to you, Master?” she asked.
I looked down, noting again her slight chest and smooth hairless vulva, and reached out to stroke the lips of her vagina. She moved closer, spreading her legs slightly, and thrust her pelvis forward to offer for me an easier examination of her gender. She was an attractive young blonde, I thought, well tanned and with a smooth complexion, and as I fondled her labia I felt a stirring once again in my groin.
I opened my robe and my little water nymph immediately straddled the lounging chair and began massaging my cock with her hands. Soon I was rock hard and the girl sought guidance as to whether I wished to fuck her mouth, ass, or pussy. I declined to choose and she returned to her hand job, occasionally bending down to kiss the tip of my knob. As the girl sensed my climax approaching she repositioned herself to take my cock fully into her mouth, and I ejaculated soon thereafter – not a major explosion but an enjoyable one nonetheless – and the little sex slave expertly accepted my cum and swallowed before rising from the chair. Smiling politely, she asked me if she could be of any further service but I waved her off. I again drifted off to sleep as I watched the young nude blonde stroll back across the pool area, heading toward the Boudoir. As an afterthought, I moved my robe back over my now flaccid penis.
* * * * * * * *
Management had made it quite clear that I was not to attempt to interview any of the sex staff during my stay at the resort, but earlier in the week I had asked Greg if I could be allowed to speak privately with some of the male Island Royale employees, provided of course I would not use their real names, and he said he would “think about” my request. I had heard no more from him on the subject and frankly had assumed my request had been denied, so I was a bit surprised then when he called upon my return from the Compound to inform me that Pelle, an electrical power plant technician, had agreed to meet with me in my suite following the conclusion of his work shift at five o’clock. I had little time to gather up my notes and audio cassettes from the table – let alone to prepare for this interview – before Greg and Pelle arrived at my door shortly after the hour.
Greg provided the introductions, emphasized to Pelle that he was free to speak candidly with me, and then promptly departed. I asked him where he wished to have our discussions and Pelle suggested the lanai, explaining that he had already spent most of the day inside the power plant and wished to get some air before dinner.
Pelle is a tall, thin, lanky man in his late twenties, with horn-rimmed glasses and short light brown hair, and when he moves it is slowly and with careful deliberation. Despite Greg’s earlier words of encouragement, Pelle still seemed somewhat reticent about meeting with me, and I worried privately to myself whether I would be able to coax him to “open up” during our discussions. I searched for some topic of conversation that would put him more at ease.
“Boy, the view from here is quite magnificent, isn’t it?” Looking down upon a group of young nude women catching some late afternoon sun, Pelle replied simply, “Yeah, it’s nice.”
“Thank you for agreeing to meet with me.”
“Well, Greg asked all of us, but nobody volunteered. We drew straws. I lost.”
“Nah, I don’t mind,” he shrugged. “What do you want to talk about?”
Pelle has worked at Island Royale for almost six years. He had received his training in electrical power generation at a private technical college located on the outskirts of København, and had been recruited by the resort only fourteen months after he had begun work at a power plant near Hässleholm. He told me that at first he had been hesitant to leave his homeland – and year-old marriage – to essentially become a “non-person” to the world, but the pay he had been promised was quite good, he said, and he was intrigued with the idea of living and working in the South Seas surrounded by beautiful naked women, so after some further thought he had agreed to accept the resort’s offer of employment. Since he has been at the resort he has “vacationed” off the island only a few times: Once, to Rio de Janeiro during the Mardi Gras season and twice to the western coast of the United States, and he at least claimed to me that his only real regret in having accepted his position with Island Royale had been that, as a practical matter, he would never be able to return to his beloved Denmark or ever see his family again.
We sat facing one another across the small table on the lanai for our discussions. I had offered Pelle a cocktail but he declined in favor of a bottle of chilled still water; I however, had already mixed up a batch of vodka tonics shortly before Greg had called and threw some more ice into my tumbler before we began the interview.
* * * * * * *
Question: So tell me, what is it really like living here with all of these naked girls running around all the time?
Answer: (Smiling) Believe it or not, it’s just a job. It has some nice fringe benefits, I suppose, but at the end of the day, the work must still get done.
Q: Still, there’s a lot to be said for those “fringe benefits,” don’t you think?
A: Yeah, I guess. But all the girls do here is fuck. You can’t have any meaningful conversation with any of them. You can’t really just talk to them as people. They’ve got nothing to say. I find that somewhat frustrating at times.
Q: How so?
A: Well, around here all they think about is how they can please your pecker. They’re nothing but toys to play with. After awhile you want some real companionship.
Q: And do your fellow co-workers feel that way, too?
A: Most do, I think. At least the ones that have been here as long as I have. The new guys don’t. When a new guy gets here, he’s like a kid in a candy store. I’m sure I was the same at first.
(Laughing now.) You can always tell a rookie ‘cause he walks around with a hard-on all day.
Q: You say you miss the opportunity to have a “meaningful” relationship with a woman here. Do you regret having left your wife to come here?
A: Yeah, maybe a little. We hadn’t been married very long – and we didn’t have any children yet. I wouldn’t have taken this job if we had had a kid. Anyway, though, she and I weren’t really getting along all that well at the time I left. I don’t know, though; we may have been able to patch things up if I had stayed put.
The resort offered to advance me some pay, so before I left I paid off her car and the other bills. I didn’t want to leave her with a bunch of debts. But all I could do was leave her this little note telling her that I had “insatiable Wanderlust” or something and just couldn’t take living there anymore. I don’t know if she bought that; she knew I wasn’t really much interested in traveling back in those days. I hope she wasn’t hurt all that much by my leaving so suddenly.
I’m sure she divorced me pretty quick and by now I imagine she’s hooked up with some other guy. May even have had a kid or two. I wish her a good life.
Actually, I don’t really think about her all that much anymore. When I do get to feeling homesick, it’s usually more for a couple of friends of mine – guys – I used to hang out with. And for my Dad and younger brother. My Mom died when I was seven. Dad remarried when I was a teenager, but neither me nor my little brother ever cared all that much for our step-mother.
Still, I think it would be nice to see Dad again. Obviously, that isn’t possible.
Q: You can never go back to Denmark?
A: It wouldn’t be safe for me. Management doesn’t prohibit us from going back home, but there’s too much risk I’d run into someone who knew me years ago. How would I explain where I’ve been all this time?
Q: Tell me about a typical day for you here.
A: Nothing special, really. I get up, go to work in the morning, and then get off. I’ve got some seniority and don’t have to work the night shift much anymore, so my evenings are generally free.
Q: You really do make your work here sound just like any other job.
A: Well, really it is. I’m doing essentially the same work I did back in Hässleholm. Actually, it is a bit more challenging here, since we’re so isolated. We need to anticipate a lot more when repairs will be needed, and we have to be a bit more clever in working out problems when they do arise.
Every so often – about once or twice a year – our department will need to make a run back to the mainland for parts and such. After all, things wear out. We’ve got to anticipate this and have back-up parts ready when we need ‘em.
Q: Do you make those “mainland” runs?
A: I’ve made a few, and they’ve asked me to go on some others. But it’s a hassle and I don’t really like making the long trip. Usually we’ll buy parts and such in the US, and I think it works out better for us to send an American or two. The language problem, I guess.
Q: You speak English exceptionally well, though.
A: Thanks. Most of the guys in my department are from the States, and I guess I just picked it up from them. I only took a couple of years of English when I was in school. Enough for me to get by with when I first started working here, though.
Q: I’d still like to know what you do during your off-duty hours.
A: Oh, I don’t know. It varies. Sometimes I just watch TV or play pool. We’ve got a pretty nice lounge down on the second floor – I don’t like to venture down into the lobby too often and mingle with the guests – and of course we have some girls up there all the time, serving as bartenders and such. Nobody actually likes to fuck ‘em up there, though. Maybe get a blow job or something, but that’s about all. It’s all pretty low key.
On my day off, I’ll sometimes get with another guy and a couple of gashes and we’ll go check out one of the sailboats. The wind on the western side of the island can be tricky at times. That’s always fun. And – well, I guess it’s all right for me to tell you – there’s a nice beach over there, just for the use of the staff. No guests are allowed there. We’ll sometimes all pile into one of the buses and go over there for the day. The surf’s pretty good and some of the guys are really good at surfing. I’m not, though. A body board – we call ‘em “boogie boards” – is about all I can handle.
I’m not much of a golfer like a lot of the others, but I do play some tennis. And I really like the sauna. I’ll probably be heading that way when we’re through here.
Q: Will you go there alone?
A: (Smiling) Oh, no. I’ll grab some little bitch to suck me off while I’m sitting in there. If she does a good job, I may even take her back with me to my room. Usually, though, I’ll just have her blow me and then boot her out. After dinner, if I still want to get laid I’ll check to see what girls are assigned to maintenance and make my selection. That’s what I do when I’m going to have a day off.
Q: And when is your day off?
A: It rotates. I’ll be on duty, usually 8-5, for five days straight; then I get a day off. I’m working tomorrow and the next couple of days, but then I’ll have this coming Monday off and won’t report back for work until Tuesday morning.
Q: Does the sex staff treat you any differently than they do the Guests?
A: I don’t think so. Maybe a little less formal, because they see us more often and get to know us a bit more. But not really. They’re all very submissive and respectful. All of these girls are trained to sexually service men. It doesn’t matter to ‘em whether the guy is a guest of the resort or lives here. They’re here to be used by all of the guys. That’s all they understand. I just pick out the bitch I want to use.
Q: What kind of girls do you go for?
A: (Smiling again.) Well, I kind of like the young Asian chicks. You know, around twelve or thirteen, just after they’ve started growing some tits. Just old enough to fuck. But they’re so popular with the Guests they don’t get assigned to maintenance very much, so I don’t get to fuck ‘em very often.
Now, for a blow job, I like the really young ones. White, Black, Asian. I don’t care. They’re always so excited about sticking a dick in their mouth. On my day off, I’ll usually visit the Nursery once or twice for some head.
Q: I suppose then that you are also a frequent volunteer for the Graduate School program too, aren’t you?
A: Not really. At least not any more. Years ago I did a lot of “volunteer” work there, but I got tired of having to deal with all of those inexperienced little cunts who didn’t always know what they were doing. I kind of lost my patience with ‘em.
But I don’t know, though. I saw earlier today on the board that they parked another new pussy up there this morning and were wanting volunteers. I may go ahead and sign up to fuck her once or twice if she’s good looking.
Q: Yes, I’m aware of that. Greg has invited me to serve later this evening as a “Visiting Professor” for the girl. Her name is Alyssa, and I think she’s about twelve years old.
A: Is she good looking?
Q: I thought she looked all right when I saw her website photo, but it appeared to have been taken some time ago.
A: Well, I’ll check her out then and maybe sign up to fuck her on my day off.
The trouble usually is that if she is a real “hottie” it might be hard for me to get an appointment to fuck her. My job comes first, after all. They tend to want to have these girls getting laid continuously throughout the day and evening, and only put her down for the night around midnight, after she’s been mounted over a dozen times or so and is completely exhausted. But I usually want to get to bed long before midnight. I can’t take time off to fuck her during the day, obviously, and the evening bookings seem to fill up rather quickly.
On the other hand, if she isn’t a “looker” I usually wouldn’t have much trouble getting an appointment to mount her, but if this Alyssa bitch you’re talking about isn’t all that cute I probably won’t bother trying. I’ve screwed enough little bald pre-teen pussies in my life. Let some other hard dick do the work. I’ll get around to fucking her later on, after she learns how to do it right.
Actually, between you and me, I think the best time to screw one of these little cunts is early in the morning, before she’s been fed breakfast – you know, while her pussy is still fresh and tight. But it’s tough for me to get up early, go in and fuck the little bitch, shower and then still make it to work on time. So I can’t do it except on my day off.
Q: Getting laid really isn’t a major issue for you anymore, is it?
A: (Bristling somewhat.) Hey, I’m no queer, if that’s what you’re implying.
Q: No, no, not at all. It’s just that I would have thought you’d be lining up for the chance to have sex with a very young girl.
A: (Smiling again.) Been there. Done that.
Look, I can fuck little girls anytime I want around here. After the novelty has worn off a bit, though, a guy tends to be more selective. I don’t want just any pussy anymore; I want a bitch who really makes my pecker stand up.
Q: Can you summon a girl while you’re on duty at work?
A: Yeah, I suppose I could if I wanted to. But my job keeps me on the go a lot. It’s hard to get the work done while you’ve got some little beaver sucking you off.
Some of the other guys – the guys that work back at the hotel building itself – now they have an easier time taking a break to get laid or maybe get a quick blow job or whatever. And that’s where all the girls hang out, so they can grab one a lot easier. But usually even those guys wait until after they get off work to get laid.
Q: Do you think you’ve had sex with all of the women on the island?
A: I doubt it. It’s hard to know, really, since after awhile all of the cunts tend to look alike, and they’re always bringing out new ones to use. But I figure I’ve fucked most of them here at one time or another. And there’s a few of the bitches I like to fuck a lot, so I’ll look for them whenever they’re rotated into maintenance.
There was this one Japanese cunt I remember, Mayuko, who I really liked to fuck, but she got sold off, oh, about eight months ago. I don’t know why, really; she was only about 15 or so and I thought she still had a pretty nice tight little pussy. But they got rid of her anyway. That’s what happens to all of the bitches around here eventually. I don’t know how they decide who to keep and who to sell. I guess that’s Greg’s decision. They certainly don’t ask me!
One day the bitch will be here, sucking your dick, and the next day she’s gone for good.
Q: How long do you think you’ll remain employed here at Island Royale?
A: Really don’t know. I still enjoy the work – and the sex is great too, of course. But I don’t see myself “retiring” here. I’ve got a good savings account and I really like the scenery in Northern California. I’ll probably buy a place and move there when I’ve had enough of this.
It would be kind of nice, I guess, to go back to Europe for a visit, but I really don’t have any interest in returning to live there anymore. I guess I’ve become too “Americanized” over the years. I’ll definitely do some traveling, though. You tend to get a bit claustrophobic being here on the island all the time. But I think after living here all these years, it might be kind of weird to go visit, say, the Far East and see all those Asian women – women with clothing on – who go around living as people rather than as play toys.
(Laughing) Don’t know how I’ll handle not being able to just go up to one of ‘em and order her to give me some head.
* * * * * * * *
Shortly after eight that evening, wrapped in a long white terry cloth robe, I reported to the front desk in the lobby and was soon led to the Graduate School “classroom” by a woman in her mid-twenties dressed in a green jumpsuit and carrying a small, neatly folded white towel. We did not speak.
Upon our arrival my escort dutifully handed me the towel, bowed slightly in my direction, and quickly walked away. I turned and opened the door and there was Alyssa, sitting patiently on the edge of the bed with her arms resting on her thighs, and as I entered the room the young girl leapt from her perch to stand naked and at attention before me.
She looked tired. There was a glazed look to her eyes and her smile seemed a bit strained, but despite this she appeared neither frightened nor even apprehensive about her impending sexual obligation.
Her weariness was quite understandable, I thought, since I figured that before my arrival the girl had already vaginally serviced at least ten different men, starting early in the morning when she had been summoned to the infirmary to have Dr. George permanently remove her childhood pussy charm and be mounted for the first time. From there, I knew, she had been taken to this sparsely furnished room and left here to satisfy throughout the day and evening hours the steady stream of lust-filled males Management had invited to use her. I did not know how many more men Alyssa would be required to fuck this evening before she would finally be permitted to rest for the night, and I did not want to even contemplate the number of hard dicks the young girl would be called upon to accept into her tight little pussy – almost two hundred separate mountings, according to Dr. George – during the course of her final exhausting days of “Graduate School” training and before she would be released back into the Island Royale Compound as a “fully serviceable” female sex slave. All I could really think about at that moment was the fact that I was to be the next man to have her, and I could feel my cock swelling in anticipation.
The girl was still rather skinny, especially in her thighs and legs, and for the most part retained the boyish trim she had exhibited in her website photo. When her picture had been taken she had still been completely flat-chested, but now Alyssa sprouted two small, almost conically shaped breasts, the puffy tip of each seemingly to have been dipped in light pink paint, and her tiny hint of nipples did little to disrupt the smoothness of her pale aureoles. Despite the slimness of her lower limbs, the slight curve of her hips promised that she would someday blossom into the finely shaped figure of a young woman, but as she stood there, hands to her side, innocently displaying before me the swollen lips of her bald pussy, she remained far more a child than an adult.
Her hair had been tied loosely in back with a bow, but as I watched her Alyssa reached up and untied that bow, shaking her head slightly as her soft glistening hair was sent showering down past her shoulders and across her chest.
I stepped to her and brushed my finger to her cheek. Alyssa gazed up into my eyes as I slowly slid my opened hand down her neck, across her shoulder, and down to her small budding breast. I lightly stroked her right nipple with my thumb, coaxing it to stiffen, before returning my hand to her side. I continued to carefully work my way downward, pausing to feel the gentle curve of her hip, before kneading the cheeks of her taut bare buttocks.
With the young girl still watching me intently, I sat down along the edge of the bed and moved my hand to explore the creamy smooth skin of her inner thigh. Alyssa responded by spreading her legs and turning her feet slightly outward, allowing me full access to her blossoming womanhood. Slowly I caressed her thighs, sliding upward and downward, with each pass inching ever closer to the juncture of her lower limbs, and when my thumb had finally reached her pussy I paused to savor the feel of her silky nether lips. At first my fingers gently explored the contours of her labia, but soon I was tracing the thin line of her vaginal opening, spreading those luscious swollen lips as I began to pierce her velvety moist slit.
Sensing my goal, Alyssa took my hand in hers and, drawing my fingers to her mouth, began sucking them – lubricating them – in anticipation of what was to come. Smiling, she withdrew my fingers and gently guided my hand back downward, and I easily slipped my middle finger into the soft recesses of her vagina. The child gasped as my finger probed ever deeper into her gender, and soon I added my index finger as well, massaging the young girl’s petite clitoris as I rhythmically worked my fingers in and out of her tight little wet pussy.
I stood back up. Alyssa brought her arms to my waist and, with her left hand, swiftly parted my robe to cradle my erect penis in her palm. She began stroking my member, gently caressing my shaft but avoiding the sensitive tip as I continued to explore her young body. In time, she untied my robe completely and I let it slip silently from my shoulders to the floor.
We were both naked now, standing face to face by the bed, with little Alyssa raising herself on tip toe to meet the thrust of my fingers into her snatch, then swooning as I retreated from the folds of her smooth, hairless pussy. She was still gently kneading my rock-hard cock, now adding an occasional touch of the tip with her thumb, when I withdrew my fingers to sniff the sweet aroma of the little girl’s cunt. Alyssa immediately began to lower her head and position herself to suck my dick, but by now I wanted much more of the child than simply her mouth. Lifting her chin, I guided her toward the bed, where she crawled in to lie on her left side as I reclined on my back. Again Alyssa leaned forward to take my penis into her mouth, and this time I permitted her to do so.
The little girl licked my shaft and then slowly traced my throbbing knob with her tongue. Suddenly she buried my cock in her mouth and skillfully began working her tongue all over my rod as she retreated. With her lips still holding my organ, she hesitated briefly and lightly dragged her tongue across the tip of my penis before again taking the full length of my manhood into her mouth.
Alyssa now knew I was ready for her and, perhaps a bit awkwardly, withdrew and positioned herself to straddle me, her long skinny legs spread wide, displaying before me the soft pink interior of her gender. Holding my cock in her hand, she lifted herself and guided me into her pussy, inhaling deeply as she slowly impaled herself on my shaft.
I closed my eyes and allowed the young girl to dictate the rhythm of our coupling. At first Alyssa would accept only a few inches of my penis before rising, but soon she became more confident, and as we continued to fuck she allowed me to penetrate her more and more deeply. She was breathing heavily now, and I opened my eyes and saw a slight glisten of perspiration on her budding breasts and knew she was enjoying her sexual “lesson.” I slipped my finger to her slit to tease her little button of a clitoris and she moaned with delight.
Her movements were becoming much more intense, and I could feel myself approaching a climax. But I did not want my session with the young girl to end so quickly, so I held her hips and forced her to subside. She settled atop me, gasping for breath, still fully impaled upon my throbbing cock.
With a slight press to her thighs, I bade her to withdraw and lie down on her back with her legs spread wide. I sat up and gazed upon her beautiful little bald pussy as she settled to the mattress and relaxed. Instinctively I leaned forward, initially intending to drag my tongue across those luscious little lips, but instead I simply drew near and rested my head on her upper thigh to study the gentle curve of her deliciously hairless mound.
Another faint whiff of sweet female aroma emanated from her slit. As I gently caressed Alyssa’s vagina I could feel only the slightest hint of soft sprouting pubic hair, and my mind drifted as I reflected upon how indeed privileged I was to be able to thoroughly enjoy the body of such a very young girl. Her clitoris was fully extended, and I playfully fingered her, eliciting repeated squeals of pleasure as she struggled to spread her legs even wider.
It was time now to finish my “lesson.” My cock was still rock-hard as I rolled on top of my young pupil and tucked her long skinny legs behind my ears. Alyssa took my penis in her hand and guided it into her body, but by this time my dick had become dry and she winced as I forcefully invaded her tender young flesh. Soon I was fucking her hard, knifing her slit with each violent thrust as I drew ever closer to my climax. I could feel the tip of my cock pushing against the girl’s cervix and Alyssa drew her legs up to lessen the assault, but to no avail. Again and again I would thrust while the girl remained helplessly captive beneath me, totally under my control, her body squirming in vain to avoid deeper impalement. I knew I was hurting her; even at the age of twelve the child’s little pussy was just not quite big enough yet to comfortably bear the savage attack I had launched against her, but I was consumed with desire, mad with lust, completely absorbed in my total domination of her fragile young body. This was not forcible rape, of course, for I knew that for years Alyssa had been instructed that her only function in life was to provide sexual services to men, and that she had longed for the day when she would finally be old enough to offer up to her Masters the full use of her pussy, but as I pounded away at her sweet little cunt I began to understand the intoxicating feelings of supremacy the rapist must get while in the act of sexually brutalizing a young woman. I rammed my dick even harder into the girl, causing her yet more pain, but I didn’t care! Alyssa was but a plaything to me – a mindless living toy for my use and entertainment. She had no feelings; she was not even human to me. Her pussy was all that mattered to me – a warm, wet little receptacle for my jism – and my only goal at that moment was to use the female to fully satisfy my carnal desire.
And then I exploded, flooding the interior of the young girl with my cum, sweating profusely and groaning in complete sexual ecstasy, before collapsing on top of her small frail body.
Alyssa had not expected such a sudden conclusion to our coupling and for a brief time she continued to thrust her pelvis, breathing heavily, not sure what she should do next as I lay on top of her with my dick still deeply buried in her cunt. With my erection diminishing, she slipped her finger to her slit and massaged her clitoris while in vain attempting to coax my penis back to attention.
In time, with my cock now almost flaccid, I rolled off and to her side. Calling upon all of the training she had received over the years, she slowly climbed to her knees and gently cradled my organ in her hand, using her tongue to lick off the remaining evidence of my orgasm. I would have protested her actions as unnecessary, but the exquisite sensations she was generating in my groin, as well as my sheer exhaustion, prevented me from attempting to intervene in her gentle oral massage of my cock. In a daze I watched as she rubbed her tender young pussy, her fingers slippery with the cum that still oozed from between the swollen lips of her cunt, while she worked her tongue all over my spent manhood, and I was ashamed of myself for my earlier callous indifference to the child’s suffering while I had been fucking her. I reached out and in my weak attempt to comfort her gently stroked the back of her head while she sucked my dick.
Alyssa methodically cleaned my organ with her tongue as I lay helpless on the Graduate School classroom bed. When she had finished, she sat up to face me, the slight swell of her small right breast pressed against her arm, and asked meekly “Did I do all right, Master?”
I gazed back deeply into her eyes. Although I knew she had fully given her body to me, I wondered to myself whether little Alyssa, for all of her obvious zeal and eagerness to please, would still be deemed “worthy” of extended assignment to Island Royale. For her sake I hoped that she would, but I knew in my heart that, with the vast number of beautiful naked females available in the Compound, this child’s relatively ordinary physical appearance made it doubtful she would remain in service at the resort for long. I recalled Dr. George telling me that almost all of the girls would remain on the island until they had completed their Graduate School training in vaginal intercourse, but that most would be sold soon afterward and spend their brief few remaining years of life serving in the squalid brothels and bordellos of the world. I suspected little Alyssa would be condemned to that fate as well, and as I ran my hand over her shoulder and small budding breast, I felt sorry for her.
“You did fine, Alyssa,” I said.
Cynthia had encouraged me to return to the Nursery and assist in the “tutoring” of a particular group of young girls who had only recently serviced male genitalia for the first time. At her suggestion I skipped breakfast the next morning, anxious that I not be too late to sign up for an early morning opportunity to visit this class, and proceeded directly from my suite to the front desk on the main level.
The chance to participate in the training of some of Island Royale’s youngest student sex slaves appeared to have been even more popular among the Guests than had been my previous visit, for although I had arrived quite early a number of men, each clad in their light blue or white robes, had already gathered in the lobby to volunteer their time in the schooling of Cynthia’s young charges. I waited with the others until a young man, armed with a clipboard, confirmed that all of the volunteers had arrived and could be escorted through the hotel and out to the back. We boarded the waiting train of open buggies for the short ride across the playground field and were soon standing before an open door leading into the Nursery.
Not all of our entourage was to visit these very young girls, I discovered, and upon our arrival we were split up into three groups. A male administrative aide led my group past the classroom I had earlier visited and we entered another similarly furnished room. Fourteen giggling little naked Asian girls sat at their desks as we filed in and took our seats, and a stern-looking man stood silently watching them from behind his desk in the front of the room. Once we had settled in, he encouraged his pupils to express their appreciation for our help with their lesson and then instructed the girls to take their required positions before us.
A shy little Japanese girl named Hiroko walked tentatively to me clutching a small white towel to her chest. The child was not particularly attractive, but her soft dark eyes and short black hair, coupled with her pale complexion and timid demeanor, gave her an endearingly fragile appearance as she stood before me, bashfully darting her eyes back and forth between my face and groin.
Upon the instructor’s signal, the little girl knelt down before me, carefully placed the towel to her side, and then began parting my robe. I was charmed by her clumsiness in clearing my penis from the garment and assisted her in exposing myself. My cock had been flaccid but stirred at the touch of her tiny fingers, and as she gingerly caressed the tip of my dick I could feel myself noticeably beginning to swell and harden. Soon her gentle fondling of my shaft had me fully erect and longing for action.
Except for an occasional kiss to the tip of my knob, the little girl made no effort to service me orally but instead used her right hand to methodically stroke my cock. I smiled with pleasure as she massaged my organ, her tongue sticking out of her mouth in focused concentration, seemingly oblivious to everything but the task before her. At one point her pumping became a bit intense and I reached down, took her gently by the wrist, and slowed her action. She looked up at me, her face filled with concern, but I smiled back and, relieved, she returned to her hand job.
I was well on my way toward a climax when the little girl again hastened the pace of her strokes. She released her cradle hold of my testicles and wiped the tip of my cock with her palm, bringing me even closer to orgasm.
Now she was stroking my member with both hands, and when she kissed the underside of my dick I knew I could hold back no longer. I exploded, shooting a thick blast of jism into the air that arced and settled on top of the little girl’s head. Hiroko quickly tilted my cock toward her and my next shots splattered over her chin and bare chest as she stared in fascination at my swollen, erupting manhood.
My last spurt barely escaped my dick and pooled in a lather as the little girl, her tiny hands now slippery with cum, continued to masturbate me. I began to lose my erection but the girl remained massaging my member until I slid my hand down and again took her gently by the wrist, signaling her to release me. She cleaned my groin with her moist towel, now slightly cool to the touch, before using it to wipe the semen from her face, chest and head. She then kissed the tip of my cock again and, crossing her legs, sat down on the floor at my feet. Her little red ornament dragged beneath her as she settled, and she casually played with it while staring at my semi-flaccid penis.
To each side I could see a few of the other little girls still busily masturbating their visitors while the rest of the students, like Hiroko, sat quietly in front of their “teachers,” patiently awaiting further orders. Within a few minutes the remaining Guests had climaxed and the instructor told the children they could take their seats.
“Now, girls,” he intoned as they stood, “let’s not forget to thank our Guests for their help.” In unison, the little ones answered “Thank you, Master!”
* * * * * * * *
It was mid-morning when I returned from the Nursery. Breakfast was still available to me in the dining room, but despite the fact that I had not eaten since the previous evening I still did not feel exceptionally hungry.
Nor did I feel horny. Little Hiroko had seen to that.
So here I found myself, aimlessly wandering through the wide expanse of the Island Royale Compound and feeling … bored! I stood around for awhile as some Guests dressed in jogging shorts played volleyball in the sand with a number of bare-breasted sex slaves, but I soon tired of watching the girls’ tits flop around wildly as they maneuvered themselves beneath the ball. A week earlier I would not have thought it possible for me – for any normal man, for that matter – to be surrounded by beautiful naked women, each dedicated to providing supreme pleasure, and yet still lack interest in having sex.
I reminded myself that, although Island Royale was first and foremost a sex palace, Management also provided other services commonly associated with more “traditional” vacation resorts, and it occurred to me that during my stay I had not availed myself of many of these other amenities. I decided therefore to visit the spa for a drink or two and a massage.
Dressed still in my loose-fitting ankle length white robe, I ventured around the southern edge of the hotel and down the curving concrete path leading to the Clubhouse. Upon entering the building I noticed that most of the scattering of patrons in the lounge were similarly attired, and I casually ordered a Bloody Mary from one of the topless attendants before taking a seat at the bar.
The place was not at all crowded, but as I sat two middle-aged men carrying tennis rackets, each dressed in shorts and short-sleeved shirts, entered from the side and fell into bar stools immediately to my left. Both spoke in French, but in time I joined the conversation and they obligingly shifted into flawless English for my benefit. We exchanged some innocuous pleasantries and a few anecdotes of our recent sexual conquests, and in time we gravitated to a table where, as the alcohol flowed, our discussions became much more open and candid.
The gentlemen, I learned, were both extremely wealthy European industrialists – one French, the other Belgian – and had met one another several years earlier during a previous visit to the resort. Although they maintained minimal contact with each other “back home,” as a result of the friendship they had developed while at the resort they had been mutually scheduling their periodic visits to Island Royale ever since. They asked me what I did for a living; I could not of course tell them I was a reporter researching the white slavery business and merely left them with the indefinite impression that I was somehow associated with “the communications business.”
Both men had arrived on the Wednesday afternoon shuttle, and I jokingly commented that they appeared to have become a bit “jaded” with the resort, as already they had passed on some of the more delightful attractions readily available to them on the island and had opted instead to play tennis. They both laughed heartily at this and Maurice leaned back in his chair. “This is obviously your first visit here,” he replied. “After awhile you will learn you must pace yourself. Otherwise, you will burn yourself out!” I laughed and shook my head, but privately realized that he was probably right.
The Frenchman, Pierre, had been a guest of the resort twice before Maurice had first visited. Following the successful completion of a multi-billion dollar construction project – he remained quite vague regarding both the nature of the project and the specific location of the Middle Eastern construction site – Pierre had been quietly informed by his local host of the existence of Island Royale. He confessed to me that he had initially dismissed the description of the resort as nothing more than a far-fetched tale, but within weeks of his return to his office in Paris he learned Management had been contacted and that the Frenchman had been nominated to join the “special circle” of Island Royale patrons. Still unsure of what to make of this highly unusual offer, he contacted his Middle Eastern business associate and, at his urging, agreed to accompany him to the resort. Since then, Pierre has become a regular visitor.
Maurice had learned of the resort quite differently. He recalled with a smile the day the short stocky stranger with a thick Russian accent had visited his office near Brussels, stubbornly insisting to speak privately with the industrialist despite his adamant refusal to disclose in advance to the female appointments secretary the nature of his business. Maurice said he had initially sought to dismiss the man in the dirty overcoat, but as it was clear the Russian would not be rebuffed, granted him some time late in the afternoon. Once in Maurice’s private office, the unidentified Russian – possibly Alexis, who I had met earlier, I wondered – “spun a most extraordinary yarn,” as the Belgian put it. Amused by, but still rather intrigued with the stranger’s description of the resort, Maurice told me he politely accepted the Russian’s invitation to visit Island Royale, escorted the visitor from his office, and headed home. He had thought little more of the encounter, he said, until a few days later when a private courier delivered to him a sealed envelope which contained a letter providing further instructions and the name of a trusted business associate Maurice was encouraged to call to confirm the legitimacy of the invitation. Maurice said he immediately placed that call and, “Well, the rest is history,” he concluded with a robust smile.
The gentlemen then invited me to relate to them how I had become aware of the existence of the resort. Naturally I could not tell them the truth, so I simply advised that I had received a visit quite similar to the one Maurice had described, although – to make my story sound a bit more plausible – I recalled my recent visitor in Cairo and identified the messenger as British rather than Russian. Both men seemed eager to learn whether I had found Island Royale to be all that I had imagined it to be, and both seemed to take great satisfaction from my assurances that I had indeed been quite pleased with my “discovery” of the resort. In retrospect, I think the two Europeans might have been seeking tactful reassurances that the clandestine nature of the sex resort would remain with me a closely guarded secret, but at the time I attributed our discussions as nothing more than the gentle reminiscences of fellow vacation travelers.
In all the three of us spent a few very pleasant hours over lunch before Pierre announced that he had booked himself into one of the “themed” suites at four o’clock and would be “off to the Old West” after a shower. Maurice arose as well, indicating vaguely that he too would be returning to his quarters for a hot bath and “some young female entertainment,” and we parted company. The Clubhouse was beginning to fill with Guests completing their rounds of golf and I wandered over to the spa to receive some further attention from the topless Argentinean masseuse standing there waiting by the door. I figured I would sit awhile in the steam room, then get a good massage and maybe a hand job before heading back to my room for a nap. I was scheduled, after all, to return to the Graduate School at 10:45 that evening and fuck Alyssa again, so I wanted to be fully rested for her “lesson.”
This time, I thought, I should try to mount her “doggy style,” and I smiled to myself in anticipation.
* * * * * * * *
Saturday morning had arrived way too soon as far as I was concerned.
I awoke to find my comely fifteen-year-old Norwegian bedmate asleep at my side and my little eight-year-old sex toy, nude as well of course, curled up near my feet. I playfully peeled down the sheet, revealing the blonde’s firm young breasts, before rising to use the bathroom. By the time I returned, Nicole had already awakened and was sitting up in bed, her pert pink nipples peeking out from beneath her long flaxen Scandinavian hair. She was smiling, eagerly offering her body to me, while Jennifer remained fast asleep at the foot of the bed and oblivious to the world.
I had acquired the lovely Nicole late the previous evening following my “lesson” with Alyssa and had decided to keep her overnight for my amusement. I had first spotted her as she lie on her side in the grass near the pool, methodically sucking the dick of some massive hairy European, but had lost sight of her beneath his huge robe when he abruptly shoved her to the ground and rolled on top to mount her. I recall wondering briefly whether she might be crushed beneath the weight of this incredibly large man, and my thoughts had turned more to pity for the young female as I imagined how uncomfortable she must have been pinned beneath him while he fucked her.
Mercifully, the Elephant Man did not remain on top of her for very long. With a couple of grunts he climaxed and rolled off, leaving the young girl gasping for breath to his side. She remained very still, with her legs spread wide and her flawlessly smooth wet pussy glistening in the soft poolside light, as her transitory Master stretched out on the grass.
Several more minutes passed before the vulgar Neanderthal stirred again. Sliding his thick paw roughly over her belly, he moved upward and began squeezing the young woman’s small breasts, kneading them like bread dough, twisting and pulling at her nipples as the poor girl winced in silent discomfort. But he soon tired of this activity and, mumbling something to the girl I could not make out, she nodded and stood, rubbed her swollen pussy, and then headed toward the Boudoir cupping her tender breasts in her hands.
I followed and we reached the entrance to the Boudoir simultaneously. “I’m sorry, Master,” she said politely, “but I’m still in session. Please allow me to serve you later.” “I’ll wait,” I replied, and she smiled.
I followed Nicole into the Boudoir and took a seat opposite her shower stall to study her body as she cleaned herself. She was a charmingly attractive girl, with long flowing blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her hips were quite slender and she displayed a marvelously tight little round ass. Standing at only about 5’6’’, her thin legs and thighs presented a most delicious package.
Nicole was aware I was watching her, and she turned to allow me a better view of her face and naked body. We were alone in the room and I wanted to slip out of my toga and step into the shower with her, but I reminded myself that she was technically still “in session” and would not be available for me until she had finished her preparations.
She reached for a length of hose hanging from the wall and, for my benefit, stood facing me so I could watch as she washed her pussy. She spread her legs and squatted a bit as she inserted the nozzle head slightly into her vagina, and the water gushed from her tight little bald twat and flowed down between her legs. Nicole pulled the nozzle out of her cunt, a stream of water still shooting from the tip, and held it as she ran her hands repeatedly over the lips of her vulva. Parting her labia with her fingers, she again squatted slightly and plunged the nozzle head back into her pussy, and again water streamed from her womanhood. She repeated this process several times, obviously enjoying herself as the water shot over her clitoris and deep into her vagina, before finally concluding her shower.
I handed her a towel; she accepted it with a smile, and together we walked silently into the next room. On the far side the redhead with large freckled breasts I had seen scurrying past me in the Compound the previous afternoon sat calmly brushing her hair beneath a huge domed dryer, but the nude woman soon finished and left shortly after Nicole had settled into a chair beneath another hair dryer, and once again the girl and I were alone. The lovely young blonde sat brushing her hair as the machine roared, watching me as I gazed back at her. Nicole had to know I was becoming aroused and opened her thighs to allow me a clear view of her beautiful bald pussy.
Following her stint beneath the hair dryer, Nicole stood and turned to the mirrored wall to apply fresh mascara and lipstick. As she leaned over the counter, I stared at her tight little round ass and the thin lips of her exposed gender, and when we migrated to the dressing room I found myself repeatedly stroking the front of my robe. We were both still alone – not even a “clothing assignment” clerk was on duty at this hour – and it was very quiet. Nicole threw her towel into a hamper, walked over to where I was seated and placed her arm on my shoulder, her smooth bald pussy but inches from my face. I slipped two fingers into the soft, wet recesses of her womanhood and finger-fucked her; she closed her eyes and quietly purred. Nicole was now ready for her next session, and together we headed silently back toward my room for the night. The midnight breeze was cool, and as we walked Nicole crossed her arms to provide her naked body some warmth. I placed my arm around her as well and played with her ripe nipples which had hardened deliciously in the chilly night air.
I was well aware that I would be leaving Island Royale sometime the next morning and had therefore resolved to make my final night at the resort a memorable one indeed. As we passed through the main entrance I noticed an adorable young Caucasian girl with light brown hair, no more than eight years old, in deep slumber as she lie sprawled across one of the many large couches that dot the hotel lobby. The little girl wore a frilly pink sun dress, but as she had slept her garment had hiked up to her waist, exposing her small soft hairless slit and the bright red cherry ornament resting comfortably on her upper thigh. On a whim, I guided the young woman toward this delightful little creature and as Nicole stood to my side I awakened the charming little prepubescent sleeping beauty.
The child awoke with a start and rubbed her eyes. She seemed genuinely grateful to me for the opportunity to abandon her couch in favor of a real bed for the night, and Nicole smiled with approval my decision to include the young female in our impending tryst. Together the three of us strolled through the deserted hall and into an elevator. While the cabin ascended, the little girl silently slipped her tiny hand beneath my robe and began gently caressing my penis, but she abandoned her touch when we reached the fifth floor. Soon I was guiding our ménage á trois into Suite 516.
Nicole, who of course was already naked, moved directly into my bed while I assisted the younger girl in the removal of her modest garment. As she stood before me, her head barely higher than my crotch, I read the name displayed on her amulet.
“Well, Jennifer,” I said softly, “welcome to my room.” The child beamed with delight. “Thank you, Master,” she replied and carefully folded her dress across the back of a chair. From her voice I took her as American – or at least Canadian – as she lacked the distinctive European accent I had grown to expect from the young Caucasian sex slaves of Island Royale. I wondered how she had come to be at the resort. Kidnapped? Sold by a “trusted family friend” perhaps? I didn’t care. All that mattered was that she was here, with Nicole, to provide to me one final night of supreme carnal pleasure.
Little Jennifer crawled onto my bed and sat cross-legged to Nicole’s left, awaiting my instructions. By this time Nicole had slipped under the sheets and lie propped against the headboard, her firm young breasts fully exposed to view. My eyes shot back and forth between Nicole’s glorious twin globes and the sweet innocence of Jennifer’s tiny bald pussy as both females stared intently at me, seeking guidance as to how I wished them to pleasure me.
I casually flung open my robe, revealing to the two naked girls my fully erect penis. Tossing my clothing to the floor I crawled into bed and positioned myself on my back, wedged between my two invited sex partners, curious to find out which of the lovely young ladies would attempt the first assault upon my manhood.
Little Jennifer made the first move, crawling down to take my shaft in her hand as she began carefully licking my testicles. Nicole joined in shortly thereafter, kissing me about the face and shoulders, sliding her breasts across my chest as she inched methodically down my abdomen. She paused to lick my nipples while she kicked her legs out from beneath the soft white sheets, and I lay there, absorbing the pleasure of her caress as Jennifer continued to massage my balls with her lips and tongue.
In time Nicole reached my groin and she and Jennifer engaged in a brief pitched battle for control of my cock. Eventually Jennifer won out, and Nicole withdrew to straddle my chest, leaning forward to allow me to fondle her small smooth breasts and hard pink nipples, while Jennifer remained below to further tease with her tongue my already engorged penis.
The desire to plunge my cock deep into a tight wet pussy had by this time become overwhelming. I moved Nicole off to the right and positioned myself on top of her, leaving poor little Jennifer nothing to stick into her mouth. Nicole spread her thighs in anticipation and Jennifer, not to be excluded, seized my shaft and carefully guided it to Nicole’s sweet moist cunt for my initial penetration. The little girl continued to gently massage my testicles with her fingers even as I began pounding away at the soft flesh of my teenage sex slave.
I could feel myself approaching orgasm, but I wanted to extend my enjoyment even more. Pausing above Nicole, I turned and took Jennifer by her shoulder, guiding her upward to join us. While still impaling the young woman, I had the little girl spread her legs and straddle Nicole’s head and, cupping my hands under Jennifer’s small firm buttocks, I began to intensely lick the silky-smooth contours of her prepubescent pussy lips even as I resumed my thrusts into her sister slave.
Jennifer squealed with delight as I repeatedly dragged my tongue over her vulva, gently tugging at the thin gold chain emerging from her gender, venturing ever so slightly into the soft inner folds of the child’s bald nether lips. My tongue found her tiny clitoris and I tortured it mercilessly, and soon I tasted a sweet-smelling liquid oozing from the child’s twat as she twitched her thighs in rapid orgasmic contractions.
With Jennifer thus satisfied for the moment I turned my attention back to Nicole, who remained still lost in a trance of sexual pleasure beneath me. I pounded her even harder, sending the young woman’s tits dancing across her chest, and after several more minutes exploded in a massive series of ejaculations, flooding the interior of her womanhood with my seed. I was spent and collapsed, gasping for breath to her side while Jennifer, still straddling Nicole’s head, smiled at me from above.
I was exhausted but Jennifer sought to provide me yet further pleasure. She nimbly swung her leg to the side, crawled down on her knees to my groin, and began slowly licking my penis. My cock again hardened and the little girl took my shaft into her mouth as Nicole lay quietly to my side. I soon ejaculated again and, completely spent now, drifted off to sleep even as the little girl skillfully swallowed my cum and resumed her gentle tongue massage of my organ.
* * * * * * * *
The sight of the lovely Nicole in the early morning sunlight, beckoning to me with her firm young tits for yet another round of sexual games, was indeed quite tempting, but just as I reached the bed the telephone rang to remind me in a recorded voice that “check out time” was at 9:00 a.m. and that the short bus ride back to the airstrip was scheduled to leave at ten. Our return flight, the Voice emphasized, would depart promptly an hour thereafter.
I had of course very little to pack since most of my luggage remained securely stored back at the small airport in Costa Rica. I glanced at the clock and figured I had time for one more blow job before I would need to gather my notes and audio cassettes for the long journey home. My little eight-year-old bedmate, Jennifer, had begun to stir with the sound of the telephone and, although the beautiful blonde nubile was quite enticing, I chose instead to have the child suck me off for the very last time at Island Royale. With a kiss I discharged Nicole, sending her back to the Compound where I knew she would emerge from the Boudoir to undoubtedly be claimed by another Guest within minutes, and fully awakened Jennifer from her slumber.
The little girl sat up in bed, still half-asleep, but seeing me stroking my flaccid penis just inches from her face instinctively leaned forward and began performing fellatio. I looked down to her, watching her head move back and forth over my hardening shaft, and amid the splendid feelings of sexual arousal I reflected upon how easily I had demanded from this child that she awaken to give me a blow job – and just how well trained as a sex slave the prepubescent female had been to provide to me this service without even the slightest hint of reservation or protest. And yet here I stood, hands on hips, gazing out over the wide expanse of the Pacific Ocean on a glorious early Saturday morning, while this naked little girl squatted before me, hungrily sucking my dick.
Waves of pleasure were emanating from my groin. I longed to plunge my cock into some tight little pussy again and regretted having earlier dismissed Nicole. I again checked the clock but concluded I lacked the time to summon another female to my quarters before I would be required to report to the front desk, and so I returned to look down upon the young girl as she expertly worked her tongue over the tip of my penis.
Little Jennifer had grown uncomfortable sucking my dick in her awkward initial stance and withdrew to adjust herself to a kneeling position before me. She soon resumed fucking me with her mouth, rhythmically moving her head while simultaneously working her tongue all over my shaft. Her mouth seemed far too small to accommodate the full length of my member, yet somehow the young female managed to accept the entirety of my engorged cock without gagging, repeatedly burying her nose in the thick curly forest of my pubic hair with each impressive thrust of her head.
The little girl intensified her efforts as she detected the salty taste of my pre-cum. I glanced down to see her masturbating, rubbing her tiny hand over the smooth curves of her vagina, parting her nether lips and sliding her slender fingers into the soft wet interior of her sex. She playfully teased her clitoris using the thin golden chain in her slit, and her red cherry ornament bobbed feverishly between her legs as she repeatedly worked her fingers in and out of her tight little bald pussy.
The sight of the young child servicing herself propelled me even closer to my own climax, but I was determined to hold back as long as possible against Jennifer’s relentless oral assault upon my manhood. I felt her tongue drag once again over the tip of my penis, though, and could control myself no longer. Jennifer moved her hand to grip my throbbing shaft and with a thrust of my pelvis I erupted, filling the young girl’s mouth with semen. Jennifer was well prepared for this and had steadied her head to receive my ejaculate even as she continued to stroke my shaft. She made no effort to swallow and eagerly accepted my jism as I unloaded in a series of orgasmic spasms.
I was spent but still retained a full erection, and the little girl knelt calmly before me, the knob of my dick still lodged in her mouth as she gently caressed my shaft. When she was sure I had fully ejaculated she withdrew and, while still cradling my penis in her hand, tilted her head back, her open mouth filled with frothy milky-white liquid, to proudly show me the volume of my orgasm. I reached down and tenderly brushed her cheek; Jennifer accepted my gentle touch as she swallowed.
The little girl remained kneeling before me, caressing my now semi-erect penis while I ran my fingers through her soft light brown hair. I sighed, knowing that soon I would be leaving Island Royale to return to a world in which having sex with a young female child would be strictly forbidden. But yet, standing before this naked little eight-year-old girl crouched on the edge of the bed as she patiently massaged my cock, it all seemed so right – so natural – that females of all ages willingly perform sexual services upon demand.
I looked back down to my little toy. Jennifer certainly seemed quite happy with her existence as a sex slave. Undoubtedly within minutes of my departure she would be back in the Compound, ardently awaiting her next chance to give head to yet another of the endless stream of male Masters who would visit the resort in the months and years to come. And undoubtedly also the child yearned for the day when she, too, would be old enough to finally spread her legs and fully use her cunt to pleasure men.
She would spend the better part of her life in this beautiful South Pacific setting, I thought, cheerfully offering her body for the use and enjoyment of thousands upon thousands of resort patrons, blissfully unaware of a world beyond Island Royale. Greg had indeed been right after all: Little Jennifer did not perceive herself as a “sexually abused” child; rather, she fully embraced her existence as but a plaything devoted exclusively to providing to men the unique pleasures of her gender.
I spent the long flight back to Costa Rica sitting alone and in silence, as did most of my fellow passengers who also appeared equally exhausted following the week of extravagant debauchery. For the return trip I was granted a window seat, and I repeatedly found myself gazing hypnotically out over the vast blue waters of the Pacific Ocean, lost in thought as images of Island Royale flashed before me. My mind kept drifting back to sweet little Alyssa, picturing the young girl first as she sat naked on the edge of her bed awaiting the opportunity to provide me pleasure, and then later of her timidly asking me after our coupling whether she had performed to my satisfaction. And I would think of Mica, the lovely pre-teen with the big brown eyes, who earlier in the week had so exquisitely fellated me in the infirmary following her examination. Alyssa would of course still be in the Graduate School at this moment, servicing in turn dozens upon dozens of men as she completed her training as a sex slave; Mica, I thought, was probably on her knees in the Compound right now, sucking off yet another privileged visitor to the island resort while dreaming of the day when she, too, would be old enough to be received into the Graduate School.
I had wanted to have a few final words with Greg, but he was not in the lobby when I reported to the front desk. I had also wanted to stroll through the Compound one last time before departing, but upon the surrender of my room card I had been immediately directed below to the boarding platform for the short ride back out to the airstrip, and of course our transport bus had emerged from the tunnel far from the hotel complex and away from the resort’s bustling outdoor sexual playground. In retrospect it was probably just as well that I had been denied that final look, for seeing the Compound once more could only have amplified to me that my stay at Island Royale had officially ended, the delightful attractions of the resort were no longer at my command, and that I was returning to a world in which females did not all serve exclusively as lovely and obedient sex toys. I had thoroughly enjoyed my Island Royale experience, to be sure, and had I toured the Compound yet again I would undoubtedly have found it even that much more difficult to have left the carnal paradise.
Alexis was not among the passengers. Perhaps, I thought, he had decided to remain on the island awhile longer after all. Or maybe he had elected to sit with the flight crew during the trip back to the mainland in order to avoid having to have that marathon gin rummy tournament with me he had earlier suggested. I smiled to myself: No, I thought, Alexis probably was on board but seated in the rear of the aircraft along with the sex slaves Island Royale had selected to be sold, enjoying the use of their bodies once more before ownership of the females would be transferred to his broker in Odessa.
Our return flight would take more than eight hours to complete, and we would arrive in Latin America under cover of darkness. Most of the passengers would disperse soon thereafter to return to their world of power and prestige; a few would wait until morning before continuing their journey homeward. I for one had absolutely no idea where I would be headed once the aircraft had touched down, but at that time I really did not care. My thoughts were only of Island Royale and of the dazzling array of delightful amusements secretly offered there to the fortunate few.
The monotonous drone of the jetliner’s engines, laboring to return us to “civilization,” did however allow me the opportunity to reflect upon my brief visit to the clandestine South Pacific resort.
Humans are of course social animals, and ever since our ancestors abandoned life as solitary hunters to form discrete colonies of their own kind, people have adopted rules of conduct consciously or unconsciously designed to maintain social stability and order. As these early colonies grew, a basic set of rules regarding “appropriate” human behavior became ever more important, and as societies themselves became more complex, these rules evolved into an intricate system of cultural tenets, codes, rituals – and taboos – to which each member of the group was expected to accept and to obey without question.
The seemingly universal condemnation of certain practices by our society may seem obvious, such as the clearly defined prohibitions against premeditated murder and cannibalism. But yet even these activities are not viewed as absolutely repugnant in all societies: More than one primitive tribe on the planet still considers eating the flesh of their vanquished battle enemy a sacred obligation, and while world society may no longer approve of the ritual public sacrifice of young virgin females – a common religious practice of the Mayans, the Aztecs, and many other ancient civilizations – even today, government officials still plot the assassination of “undesirables,” radical elements still justify the premeditated killing of innocent people as a “political statement,” and rural Indian and Pakistani culture still quietly condones the smothering of new-born daughters by fathers desiring only male offspring.
Social customs and mores are not static, however, but change with the times, and attitudes regarding socially acceptable sexual practices in particular having changed dramatically over the centuries. In the days of the Roman Empire public brothels openly advertised their available services along the busy thoroughfares of Rome, Pompeii and other cities, and it was widely considered to be the Master’s duty to routinely bed his young female slaves and concubines. Within traditional Muslim culture a host could not be considered truly gracious unless he provided to his guest the use of one of his female servants for the night – a custom, it is to be noted, still observed today among certain Saharan Bedouin tribes and in other Arab and African societies. And through the ages many of the world’s civilizations have both encouraged and expected their children – both girls and boys – as a standard social obligation to engage in sexual activity with adults. Indeed, until relatively recently even homosexual activity was considered to be entirely acceptable behavior, with the practice not coming to be viewed as an “abomination against nature” in Europe until well into the Middle Ages.
And social attitudes concerning the expression of appropriate sexual behavior continue to change: Open displays of homosexuality, for example, are at least no longer criminally sanctioned in the West – even if such activities are not again as yet entirely socially condoned – and although in general the World may currently publicly condemn the use of early adolescent females for sexual purposes, privately society chooses not to censure significantly the men who patronize the hundreds of thousands of young girls who serve as child prostitutes in their cities every day. Pointedly, society determines what is morally tolerated and what is not; society defines – and periodically redefines – appropriate behavior, and conversely, society defines what behavior is to be considered forbidden. And what one culture views as highly proper human conduct may be considered intolerable behavior within another.
Whatever the rules of social behavior may be, however, these rules are instructed, and the process of indoctrination begins in the child’s infancy, is expanded upon during the child’s formative preadolescent years, and is reinforced throughout the child’s adult life. It is universally understood within the community – albeit perhaps at times on an unconscious level – that each member must accept without question the basic tenets of that society and behave accordingly, for social chaos and political disorder will inevitably follow a significant challenge to those rules. And it further follows that, in order to preserve that stability, every civilization will punish swiftly and harshly any individual or group of individuals who chooses to ignore or reject those rules.
“Modern Western Civilization,” embracing a vague but firmly held belief in the vast personal freedom and virtually unlimited social mobility of both men and women, represents but one current social model. In fact, personal freedom in “Modern Western Civilization” is severely restricted and social mobility quite limited, but so long as their people adhere to a belief in these principles, social order can and will be maintained. If, or perhaps more accurately, when the validity of these basic assumptions is ever seriously called into question, the very fabric of “Modern Western Civilization” will itself unravel, with the inevitable chaos associated with social instability to follow.
Classic Roman society embraced few of the cultural precepts so cherished in “Modern Western Civilization.” This was a civilization that unquestionably accepted massive human slavery, physical brutality, and a strict code of social ranking. Nevertheless, the Roman Empire flourished as a thriving and productive social model for well over a thousand years, spreading successfully the philosophy of that model throughout Europe and into the Asian and African continents, before finally succumbing to the social rot that inevitably developed once fundamental principles of Roman society were challenged and ultimately discarded.
In similar fashion, the medieval Japanese and Chinese feudal systems, based heavily upon deferential religious ritual and a strong code of personal and familial honor, did quite well in maintaining stability and productivity throughout the Oriental world for a significant period of time, and were in turn only rejected as viable social models following the unsuccessful attempts by the ruling elite to repel the disruptive invasion of Western ideas and values into their culture. The consequential demise of those highly efficient feudal systems continues to influence Far Eastern societies even today.
Traditional Islamic civilization, successfully based for centuries upon a strict obedience to religious, patriarchal authority, is currently experiencing challenges as more and more of its peoples, indoctrinated as infants to accept the absolute wisdom of that culture, have begun to question the validity of the fundamental principles upon which their society had been founded as they come into ever-increasing contact with the conflicting customs and values espoused by other “alien” societies.
I am reminded of an intriguing series of “Sword and Sorcery” fantasy stories and novels by Prof. John Frederick Lange, Jr., writing under the pen name John Norman, set in the mythical world of Gor, where males rule with absolute authority and females exist solely as their domestic servants and sex slaves. Political and social power in Gorean society rest exclusively within the domain of men; the women of Gor accept and embrace their subservient position without question, and social order is successfully maintained. The world of Island Royale is much like Gorean society in that each of the females of the island resort has been carefully indoctrinated as a child in the Nursery never to question her existence as but an instrument to be used for the sexual amusement of men. And importantly, just as Dr. George vigilantly protects these sex slaves from exposure to sources of “outside” physical disease, Island Royale administration scrupulously insulates them from exposure to sources of “poisonous” information of a world beyond the resort. And again, social order is successfully maintained.
How long will Island Royale survive? Human carnal desire will of course continue to exist so long as humans exist, and slavery – actual or analogous, sexual or otherwise – has existed in one form or another in every recorded human civilization. As an on-going and profitable commercial enterprise, Island Royale will presumably continue in business unless or until some outside authority demands that this particular establishment be dismantled. But given that those who are in a position to compel termination of the resort’s operations are the very same men who so willingly – and repeatedly – pay significant sums of money in order to enjoy the unique sexual pleasures the resort has to offer, I suspect Greg and his partners will continue to enjoy extremely healthy profits for many more years. And I further suspect that even were some outside authority to demand that Island Royale be closed, another – perhaps an even more imaginatively created and operated business – would undoubtedly emerge to take its place within a very short period of time.
I am haunted by Dr. George’s offhand comment to me that he often wonders whether the females of Island Royale actually realize that they are human beings, so effortlessly do they seem to accept their station in life as but mere sexual playthings. We raise cattle to be slaughtered and eaten, after all, but throughout their lives the cattle remain blithely oblivious to the purpose of their existence. The girls and women of Island Royale possess no understanding of life other than as delightful mindless pets – toys of amusement men keep on hand for the purpose of providing sexual entertainment – and they possess no source from which they may acquire any information about life beyond the island resort.
It may indeed be correct that people would still believe the Earth was flat if they had never been told otherwise. The sex slaves of Island Royale have never been told the world is round, and resort Management remains determined to keep this knowledge from them.
Whether they will ever learn remains to be seen.
Postscript by the Editors
Over a year ago, IN/SIGHT received this manuscript, in traditional “print” format only, by ordinary mail delivered in a plain manila envelope to our bureau offices in New York City. Except for the postmark indicating that the package had been dispatched from Helsinki, Finland, the envelope bore no other return address.
Careful laboratory analysis has yielded little additional information. The Report had been typewritten in the anonymous “Times New Roman” 12-point font available on most personal computers and had been printed, using a common model Hewlett-Packard laser printer, upon bond paper manufactured in Germany but readily available for purchase at any one of a thousand or more retail stationary and office supply outlets located throughout Western Europe. Although no useful evidence could be gleaned from the postage stamps, DNA analysis of saliva samples collected from the envelope did confirm that our Correspondent had personally sealed the package before it had been mailed, but as no postal tracking records exist, it is unknown whether our Correspondent or another person had actually initiated the shipment.
Our Correspondent, however, has vanished. He was last known to have been seen publicly fourteen months ago at a small branch office of a nation-wide bank in north suburban Chicago, at which time he produced a sizeable amount of money, all in cash, and purchased four certified checks. One of these checks he sent to a family member in Ohio; the others were mailed to pay off a credit card balance, satisfy a personal loan obligation, and retire the remaining debt owed on his automobile purchase. His vehicle, a late model Honda Civic, was subsequently found abandoned two weeks later in a K-Mart shopping center parking lot in the Milwaukee suburb of Waukesha, Wisconsin, with all personal effects having first been carefully removed. Nine days following his brief visit to the bank, someone – presumably our Correspondent – made a small purchase at
an isolated truck stop convenience store in central west Texas using a VISA credit card issued in his name, but the store possessed no security surveillance cameras and the clerk on duty at the time later told investigators she had no recollection of the transaction and could provide no physical description of her customer. The purchase remains unpaid to this day.
Whether our Correspondent has been murdered, remains purposely in hiding for whatever reason(s), or – as many have speculated based upon the hand-written note accompanying his manuscript* – while visiting the island he had been recruited by and subsequently retained as an administrative assistant to “Greg,” the man he identified as the Managing Partner of Island Royale, remains a mystery. Since the submission of his Report to IN/SIGHT, our Correspondent has initiated no further contact with family, friends or colleagues, and shortly before his visit to the Chicago bank he had made arrangements to have his cellular telephone account closed. He had formerly shared a modest apartment in New Jersey with a fellow journalist, but his mail has been neither collected nor forwarded for well over fourteen months now and all other efforts to reach him have been unsuccessful.
Ten months ago, having exhausted all internal investigatory resources, IN/SIGHT provided copies of this Report to senior members of several national and international intelligence and law enforcement agencies in an attempt to seek verification of the legitimacy of our Correspondent’s allegations. Although at that time assurances had been given that the matter would be “thoroughly investigated” and that “a full report would be issued in due course,” to date none of these organizations have released any public findings. Moreover, following recent inquiries by IN/SIGHT regarding the progress of the investigation, these same officials now uniformly deny ever even having been requested to conduct a serious examination into what one agency spokesman has termed “a somewhat imaginative but nonetheless rather crudely written piece of amateur pornographic fiction.”
Despite the decidedly adult language and content of this Report, after considerable debate among the editorial staff IN/SIGHT has elected to publish, without further editing or censorship, the full account of our Correspondent’s claimed experiences while visiting the exclusive but clandestine brothel known as Island Royale. What little facts are independently known tend to support the accuracy of our Correspondent’s reportings, but it is to be hoped that as a result of the world-wide circulation IN/SIGHT possesses, responsible governmental officials will be forced to launch a truly critical investigation into the troubling allegations so graphically described by our Correspondent, and thereby finally confirm once and for all whether his Report documents the appalling establishment of a large-scale commercial enterprise based upon the enslavement and sexual exploitation of women – or simply represents the warped and twisted fictional musings of a formerly respected member of this prestigious news organization.
* Our Correspondent’s brief note, unsigned and undated, in its entirety:
Heres [sic] the result of my investigation into the sex slave industry. What you decide you want to do with it is up to you. If you publish it, though, please do not identify me by name.
But I’m tired – I’m tired of running around all over the world, I’m tired of beating my head up against the wall, and I’m tired of meeting those damn deadlines – I’m tired of being a reporter.
I don’t regret what I’ve been doing all these years but now I really just want to kick back and enjoy myself like they do at Island Royale. They’ve read my report and really liked it – and I think I would like living there, too.
So I quit – Give whatever money you owe me to my sis in Cleveland or use it on one of your other projects. I don’t care.
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