Treasure Island

Part one

I was born under a lucky star, had a fairy for a godmother, whatever. Anyway, for some reason I'm a winner. And now you expect me boasting about my successful career, how I surged to the top in no time, the power I hold, the fabulous amounts of money I earn. Sorry to disappoint you. I never entered the rat race, actually I'm unemployed, permanently, never in my life had a proper job. Aha, you think, spoiled son of a wealthy family. Nope. My old man was a truck driver, who died of a heart attack when I was eighteen. My mum ran away with another guy a couple of years before that.

No, I literally mean what I say. I'm a winner. I gamble and I win. Or I did. Aha, you think again, a shark. No way. I don't play poker or pool or whatever. I bought a lottery ticket, in all innocence, like a good citizen. The difference between you and me is that my number always came up, every single time. That doesn't mean that I bought all the tickets I could lay my hands on. Four or five times a year I got a hunch and did what it told me. Only then and it never failed. I won. Always money, eventually summing up towards the three numbers range, in millions that is. Quite enough to ensure me a very comfortable life. Unjust and unfair? Don't blame me, I'm just an average guy. Name's John.

Well, perhaps not that average. I do have a vice. I'm a sadist. Not a bloodthirsty, murderous beast or a mad sex maniac, but I do get a kick out of tormenting other people. So do you, I guess, since you're reading this story, or perhaps you're just dreaming about it. That's what I did, mostly, dreamt, looked at pictures, read stories. Masochists are hard to find, even for a lucky guy like me. You can't win them in a lottery. Well, you can, and I have, but I wouldn't play with those guys if I were you, not unless you're a hardcore masochist, and even then I'd prefer to find my own master or mistress.

Those guys, that's the Treasure Island Company Inc. Perhaps you've heard about them. No? They begun by producing BDSM pictures and films, expanded to selling dungeon equipment and from there went into escort business. That's risky, bordering on pimping, and willing girls, and boys, are hard to find, especially if you want them young and attractive. Then some genius found a way to make it perfectly legal and secure a limitless supply of staff. The initial investment must have been fairly high, but once established, the money came rolling in.

Actually it's so simple that one does wonder that no one thought about it before. What they did was renting a tropical island. Nothing new, but what's special is that it belongs one of those tiny island nations in the Pacific, who may be independent but doesn't have a dime and few chances of earning any. It wasn't hard to persuade them to find a suitable atoll, relocate the few families living there, and pass some new legislation. The company transformed the atoll to a very special holiday paradise, built a hotel with casino in the nation's capital city, and was ready for business. Well, almost. There was the small problem of getting the necessary staff of willing victims.

Aha, you think, here come the kidnappings. No they don't. I told you that this business is perfectly legal and even a remote third world country couldn't get away with turning a blind eye if people from other nations were abducted and enslaved. No, the slaves of Treasure Island come openly and out of their own absolutely free will to be used and abused by anyone who can afford a holiday there. It isn't cheap, but not that expensive either, because the costs of running the place are kept fairly low. And how do they do that? Well, that's what's so ingenious about the whole scheme. The staff, slaves, don't get paid. You won't believe that, but they don't. And not because they're a bunch of hardcore masochists. That would cheat the sadistic guests of half the fun. No, they hate what they have to do, but they do it, willingly. Confused? Well, it's so simple. They gamble.

Once a year the company runs its own very special version of Russian roulette. The stakes are high: A year of your life against one chance of winning 10 million dollars. It's open to everyone, world wide, but you have to apply, and must be of legal age, between eighteen and twentyone, depending on the laws of your country, but not older than twentyfive, and fairly goodlooking. If granted a stake you have to sign a statement to confirm that you know what you're doing and are ready to face the consequences. Only one hundred a year get in, half female and half male. It sounds crazy, with those odds, 100:1, but there's absolutely no lack of applicants. When the time comes, you put your affairs in order, preparing to stay away for a year, and are then flown to the hotel on the main island for a week's vacation in the sun. As part of the deal with the local government, the company runs a quite popular holiday business for ordinary tourists. The main event takes place on the last night. Firstly the participants pick one of 100 numbers out of a hat and then they run the roulette, once. The winner takes all, with a three months holiday on the island thrown in. The remaining 99 guys and girls lose their freedom and have to serve as sex slaves for a year.

Back to my story. I got the familiar hunch, applied and was accepted. Well, I'm twentythree, six feet four, pretty fit, blonde, and rather handsome, or so the girls usually tell me. The first week was great, for me that is. The others pretended to enjoy it too, but all they could think about was the final day and most of them were nervous wrecks when it finally dawned. I had my fun looking them over and plan what to do when they were in my clutches. They really were a fine bunch of delicious babes and handsome hulks from about thirty different countries. The idea that I might not win never entered my mind, I'm that sure of my luck, and of course it didn't fail me. I had a hard time keeping a straight face when looking at the gaping mouths and teary eyes around me.

Yep, there I was, ten million good old American dollars richer and a prospective slaveowner. We guests stayed for another week in our luxury suites. The losers were whisked away as soon as the affair was over and kept someplace else, rather less comfortable I guess, while they went through a week of introduction and initial training for their new lives. The main issue hammered into them was that they had to submit, humbly and obediently, to whatever a guest might demand of them or want to do to them. To be a bit feisty was OK, but any real resistance or worse, attempts to defend yourself, strike back, would be considered a breach of contract and reported to the local authorities. Out there a crime that carries a mandatory sentence of ten years of hard labour. Ingenious, isn't it? You sign an agreement, you gamble, you lose, and you have no choice but to face the consequences. The whole scheme is legal and above board. You can't expect any help from your own country or even sue the company if released as a physical and mental wreck after a year of heavy abuse.

Some other guests at the hotel, who'd come down to watch the show, were on their way to the same place as I, but had to pay for their fun. Most of them were men, sixteen singles, four were there with their wives and another two with a male partner. In addition to the four wives, there were seven single women and a lesbian couple, 37 in all. The youngest was a lad of sixteen, but most of them were in their thirties, two of the married couples a bit older. They didn't appear to be monsters, though one of the gay couples looked as if they belonged to the leather crowd. Apart from myself, the young lad, who was there with his dad, one of the couples and two of the single men, all of them had been on the island before, some of them several times. A holiday package was four weeks plus transport and stopovers on the main island, and could be extended for further periods of four weeks. This particular period was considered special and very much in demand among the regular customers, who booked it years in advance and willingly paid double for the opportunity of breaking in fresh slaves.

Most of them knew each other from previous holidays and gladly shared their experiences with us novices. I was teased a bit with remarks about what a shame it was that they couldn't have some fun with me, but otherwise welcomed like the other new members of the clan. The regulars showed photos and videos from the island and of their 'fun', and explained the layout of the place. It was the classic dream of a tropical island. A mountain rising out of the deep blue sea, steep on one side and on the other sloping gently down towards a glittering beach and a lagoon, enclosed by a coral reef. Landing was only possible at a jetty protected by a cove at the western end of the island. On a piece of flat ground behind the cove were a couple of long, low buildings, whitewashed and thatched. They housed offices and restaurant, kitchen, utility rooms, and quarters for the permanent staff: The island master, his secretary, a physician and a nurse, radioman, two cooks and twenty security officers, former commandos. The latter did keep an eye on the slaves, but were mainly there to prevent unauthorised landings. Escape was impossible, there were no boats and the nearest island was more than fifty miles away across a shark filled sea. A ship called once a week with supplies and a passenger liner once a month to bring in and fetch guests away. In an emergency a seaplane could be there within an hour. There'd never been a rebellion among the slaves. It was fruitless since they couldn't get away and would only land them with a prison sentence, but it did occasionally happen that one of the male slaves couldn't stand the constant abuse and humiliation and had to be put firmly in his place.

Guests were housed in thirty cottages, spread throughout the lush greenery bordering the lagoon and up the mountainside. They were allotted a personal slave to wash and clean, serve their meals, if they preferred not to eat at the restaurant, and generally ensure their comfort. First and foremost by fulfilling any sexual needs they might have, however twisted. The remainder of the slave contingent maintained the main house and the grounds. When they had the time for it, that is, guests could anytime request an extra slave or more. They worked or served guests from early morning to late at night, sometimes all night. If not, they were locked up in a mountain cave. Another cave had been transformed into a comfortable shelter for the use of guests and staff in case of hurricanes and a third hid a power plant.

I spent a good part of the week sunning myself beside the pool, improving the tan I'd already caught, preparing for my three months under the tropical sun, but used some time roaming the cute little capital and parts of the main island. A beautiful place with a no less beautiful and extremely open and friendly population. I'm sure you agree that Polynesian girls, and boys too for that matter, are among the most delicious in the world. Downright mouth-watering, like the splendid specimens I'd spotted among the losers. A couple of nights we six novices had our after dinner coffee in my suite and watched some of the regulars' videos. I dare say that it was hot and very inspiring stuff, which gave us quite a few ideas about how to use a slave. The lad's father came along with him. We were of course a bit curious, to say the least, that he brought such a young boy to a place like this, but as it turned out, the lad was no stranger to sex slavery. His parents had a 24/7 BDSM relationship. Ordinary professionals when at work, he as an accountant, she as a gynaecologist, but at home she was kept naked and chained, serving the family as a houseslave, eating her meals off dog bowls on the kitchen floor and punished for any infraction. From he was just a toddler, he'd seen his mum hanging from the ceiling by wrists or ankles, locked into a set of stocks, or tied up in painful positions to be used as a footstool. Later on he often witnessed the canings and whippings she suffered almost daily. Four years ago, when she turned fifteen, his elder sister joined her. Out of her own free will, their parents never pressed her into this kind of life, but she'd seen how happy they were together, unlike those of some of her friends, who quarrelled and fought all the time and ended up divorced. So the lad was used to having two naked and chained slavegirls around, who served him hand and foot, but only that. He was not allowed to punish them, just watch, and of course not to use them for sex. It sounds weird, but he and his father convinced us that theirs was a very happy and close family. The sister had just got married to a boy she'd known most of her life, son of friends of her parents who had the same sort of relationship, and entered a happy life of slavery. "It's about time he gains some personal experience about how to handle a slave", the father explained as if it were the most natural thing on Earth, "He'll get a crash course at the island. I've been there quite a few times, doing things I like, but neither to the woman I love, nor to our daughter".

The two single guys were there to learn too. One of them had been through the usual succession of girlfriends, dropping them or being dropped because they didn't share his passion for bondage until he finally found a girl who did. "The problem now is that I just want to tie her up for a fucking, but she likes it a bit more rough, clamps and whips and canes, you know, and I don't know how to use those properly. So we thought that both of us would benefit if I had some serious training". The other guy wasn't really into BDSM, but uncertain about his sexual preferences. "I date girls, but think some guys just as hot, so I grabbed the opportunity to try out both when I heard about this place. And I do have a fetish, for feet". He grinned sheepishly. "Which you share with thousands of people, me for one", the male part of the married couple answered, "I know nothing better than fucking a pair of hot and blistered feet". We looked at his wife's dainty toes in high heel sandals and she grinned. "Not mine. Our problem is that we're both dominant. We met at a swingers' club and fell in love". "Head over heels". Her husband kissed her hand. "But it's not easy to find two submissives at the same time, so we're really looking forward to this holiday".

I guess the new slaves had a worse week, but as my anticipation grew it seemed endless. At long last dawned the day when we boarded a small luxury liner to begin the adventure. We'd only just cleared the harbour when asked to come on deck. With all the new slaves on board, we'd get our own right away instead of at the island, and as an extra treat could pick and choose. They were lined up on either side of the swimmingpool and it was a sight to take away your breath, I tell you. Fifty girls to one side, fortynine boys on the other. They were of course completely naked and their tanned bodies seemed to glow in the sunshine. I think all of us, even those who'd been to a similar event before, just stood there, gaping, for long minutes, before shaking out of our stupor and start picking.

The slaves had been prepared well. Black leather collars encircled their necks and similar bands their wrists and ankles. I learned later that they were reinforced with steel and locked on. With the attached D-rings and simple snaphooks you could restrain a slave in any conceivable position, if you didn't prefer using good old fashioned ropes. Just now their hands were chained above their heads, their feet spread and shackled to the deck. Pubes and armpits were shaven clean and the boys given a buzz cut. Nipples were pierced with stainless steel rings and the girls further adorned with four rings in their cunt lips. A number was tattooed on their left buttocks. I'd learned that a slave was usually known by her number, no need to bother remembering their names, except perhaps that of a personal slave. They stood quietly in their strained positions, had no other choice, but some of them, especially the youngest girls looked very frightened, with tears in their eyes and quivering mouths. Others seemed resigned, staring passively into space. Some of the boys looked defiantly at their future masters and mistresses, while a few girls were openly flirting.

Guests were milling around this imposing display of young flesh. Hands slid up and down naked bodies, felt up muscles, fondled breasts, pinched nipples, hefted ballsacks and stroked cocks. Fingers probed mouths, spread cuntlips and arsecheeks and went up tempting holes, feeling around. No one spoke to the slaves or took any notice of their feelings when handling them and loudly discussing their charms or lack of them. Only curt orders to stand still or open their legs wider, followed by a slap to their exposed buttocks, were directed at them. I made a round, appraising the offers, but didn't inspect any of them closely until I came to the Polynesian girl I already had my eyes on, no. 34. She looked calmly at me and I thought to detect the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. Her breasts were fairly large, but firm, hardly bounced when I slapped them. She flinched, but didn't utter a sound. "Hmm", I mumbled and moved to her cunt, parting the lips and crouching to see a fine rosy hole. She responded by rising on tiptoe, trying to spread her thighs further. Her clit was the largest I've ever seen and stood out, stiff and erect like a miniature cock. A drop of moisture glistened at her opening. The humiliation seemed to turn her on. 'A natural submissive?' I asked myself and went round to open her arsecrack and ram two fingers op the brown hole. She jumped in her chains, but still didn't cry out. The tunnel was narrow, but her sphincter gave way easily. Her finely rounded brown arse was marked by a faint pattern of faded stripes and a closer look revealed some across her straight back as well. She'd been whipped, but not recently, not as part of her training. I went back in front of her again and presented my soiled fingers to her mouth. They were licked and sucked clean without any hesitation, but her eyes were fixed on something behind my back. I turned quickly and saw a tall and muscular young man, whose hide was a shade darker than hers, staring at us. 'Boyfriend? Brother?' I guessed, but dismissed the idea. The company would hardly invite potential disaster if a boy lost his head when watching his girl abused. On the other hand, if they did know each other, it opened some interesting possibilities.

I strolled over to stop in front of the brown boy. 'Magnificent!' I thought with a pang of envy. I consider myself something of a stud, as I've already said, but this guy beat me by several lengths. Perhaps as much as six inches taller than me, with a handsome face, perhaps his nose was a bit too broad, upper arms almost as thick as my thighs, a bulging chest, flat stomach and legs like telegraph poles. Between his sturdy thighs dangled a cock, which even flaccid had to be six or seven inches, and behind it a bulging low hanging ballsack. No wonder that one of the gay couples was busy checking out this outstanding specimen. One of the guys had a hand buried between the two firm mounds of his arse, the other was slowly stroking the long cock. The slave stood passively, looking into the middle distance, but with a spark of anger in his brown eyes. "Tight as a glove". The guy behind him straightened. "I don't think he's ever had anything up there". Two soiled finger touched the slave's tightly sealed lips. "Open up, boy!" His eyes flashed angrily, but he accepted the probing fingers. "A real hot mouth". "Yeah, but...". The other guest looked at the now stiff cock. "I'm not sure that I'd like that monster up my bum". It had grown to about twelve inches and so thick that he could hardly get his hand around it. "And why should you? Is mine not good enough?" "Of course". "And just imagine him over a sawhorse, arse whipped raw, he can take a lot, I'm sure, and then sliding it in". "Yeah".

'Not what you bargained for when entering this game, was it, boy?' I thought, taking a closer look at his back. It sported the same faint lines as the brown girl's. 'But if not gay, who whipped you, then?' He was looking at her again and I saw her give a slight, encouraging nod. 'Lovers? Submissive, both of them? Interesting!' I mused and wandered off. The other guests were still busy, but by now concentrating on a selection of the displayed goods. There'd be no lack of available slaves to play with, but most guests found a favourite and wanted her or him as houseslave, which meant that the most attractive were very much in demand. That problem was solved by letting the guests draw lots about who got to choose first, second and so forth. As a special prize, lot no. 1 carried the right to take not one, but three private slaves. A blonde Swedish teenage beauty with large tits and incredibly long legs was apparently the most popular, judging by the crowd around her. I ambled closer and found the young lad among them. "Isn't she just gorgeous?" His eyes were shining. "And she's the spitting image of my sister. But I won't get her, I'm never that lucky".

He was right. I drew no. 1, of course. His father had no. 11 and he no. 29. "Shit", he mumbled, bitterly, "She'll be gone long before your turn, Dad". "But not before mine", I whispered in his ear. "Hey man, you'll let me borrow her?" "Well, I'm not sure it would be good for you, fucking your sister". "Aw!" He looked embarrassed. "I've never...". "Not even dreamt about it, beaten off with her on your mind?" "Of course he has", his father broke in, "Any boy would, if he saw her bent naked over a sawhorse, a plug in her thoroughly striped arse". "He's seen that?" Their kind of life still shocked me a bit. "Often, or hanging from the ceiling with widespread legs and a flogged pussy". I shuddered inwardly. "But then she likes that. This poor girl might not". "Her own choice, wasn't it, to end up here, and if Sonny doesn't do it, someone else will". Of course he was right. "OK then". "I can borrow her?" The lad looked pleadingly at me. "You can have her, I'll swap with you". He lit up in a beaming smile. "Gee, man! Thanks a million".

I got some envious looks and a few scowls when once again demonstrating my luck, but most of my fellow guests congratulated me. No one seemed disappointed when I chose no. 34 and the gay couple just shook their heads when her countryman joined her, but a collective sigh went through the assembly when I pointed at the blonde. The three were released, had their hands cuffed behind their backs, their ankles hobbled with a two foot chain, and a leash clipped to their collars. A staff member led them over and handed me the leashes. I indicated that the brown couple should kneel behind me and gave the blonde's leash to her new master. He looked at her in awe and solemnly shook my hand. "You can borrow her anytime you want". "Thanks". The girl looked relieved. 'Don't put your hopes to high, doll', I thought to myself, 'He's got lots of ideas and very few inhibitions'. The next slaves went briskly. I noticed that the gay couple chose a black boy from Brazil, with a very long, but slender cock and a normally endowed Scots redhead with strikingly white, almost transparent skin. 'Nice contrast, but don't put him in the sun'. The fellow with the masochistic girlfriend took a Russian girl, quite attractively, but solidly built, with prominent breasts and a no less imposing arse. "Good choice, she looks as if she can take a lot", I remarked. "That's what I thought, she won't break easily", he grinned. The sadistic couple had found two typical American college kids who already looked terrified. 'With good reason', I thought. The lad's father surprised me by claiming a handsome Arab boy. "Got my fill of ladies at home", he explained, "And I guess that Sonny will leave me a bit of his". The guy, who was uncertain about his sexuality and had seemed just as uncertain about his choice, finally settled for a British country rose. "I'll try some of the boys, but prefer a warm girl in my bed and she has nice feet". When it was the lad's turn, I told him to pick a petite little gamin from France for me. She wasn't my type of girl, I like them more voluptuous, especially in the chest region, but every time my eyes strayed past her, inspecting the display, I'd felt the familiar stab so I guessed that my fairy godmother was trying to send me a message. "I'll enjoy watching that pole splitting your arse", I whispered when handed her leash, nodding at my slaveboy's prominent organ. She shuddered, but with a strange gleam in her eyes. 'Three genuine submissives?' I asked myself.