Isle of Bondage

by Mark Andrews

  “This ceremony will be performed by our current president, Lord Grey, assisted by you and me.”

  “What will I have to do?”

  “Only answer his questions. The answers will be obvious to you.”

  “What about Phil? Will she have anything to do?”

  “One thing only. She will have to give her public consent to slavery and then it is done. At least on the island, she will be a legal slave, owned by you and subject to any whim. You may even sell her if you wish, although that may have repercussions back in your own country,” he added grinning broadly as he said the final words.

  I grinned back at him but I had a serious question for him: “Can slaves actually be sold, really?”

  “Oh yes. Our owners come from all over the world, including the Middle East where slavery still exists, at least under the covers. Their slaves are regularly sold and some are bought by people such as you, sir.”

  Just about then the cruiser slowed on its final approach to the pier and the two naked deckhands were out ready to slip the ropes over the small bollards. They did so expertly and then the boat was still, its engine now silent. I thanked Lorenzo for the journey and he told me to ask him for a trip around the island any time.

  Phil now appeared up out of the focsle and her thumbs were cuffed behind her back and a sisal rope halter such as might be used on a cow, was around her slender neck. The sheriff was leading her out onto the deck and thence down onto the pier.

  At the end stood a light gig but I wasn’t looking at it. I stared at the two ‘ponies’ harnessed to it. Yes, you’ve guessed it, they were human. Two tall and quite muscular girl-slaves had a belt around their hips that were in turn locked to a pole that came forward from under the gig’s seat. This pole divided into three so that lugs on the sides of their belts could be snapped onto similar lugs on the poles. They were standing with their hands clasped up behind their heads - which I noted had been shaved or depilated or something so that only a pony tail grew out of a four-inch-round area on the top and back of their heads. This was held vertical for a few inches by an arrangements of rings but then their hair flowed back and down.

  They also had another tail. These looked identical to the hair on the tops of their heads and they too poked up and out from between their buttocks cheeks and then flowed back down behind, matching the other ponytails perfectly.

  Their bodies looked superb. One was black, the other white but both were nicely muscled, their naked breasts were full but very firm and they looked to be in a state of near ecstasy. Preston first tied Phil’s tether to the side of the gig and then took me up to the two slaves. I now saw why they looked so pleased with themselves. He showed me how the dildo that went into their rectums to support the lower tail was connected to another one that went into their quims, yes, right into their so naked vaginas and it was battery-powered. They were actually orgasming as we walked around them!

  “Go on, Mr Fenwick. Feel them down. They are only slaves. Any free man or owner may feel a slave any time as long as he seeks its owner’s permission - if he is there to give it that is. If not, you may demand that a slave present his or her body for your inspection at your own whim. This is another of our laws...”

  I grinned and happily reached out to fondle the black girl’s beautiful breasts and then her whole body. What a sensation! I glanced back at Phil, wondering what she was thinking as her husband of only twelve months was openly fondling another girl before her eyes.

  Preston saw my glance and grinned again. “Pay no mind to her, Mr Fenwick. She will have to get used to you using the other slaves for your pleasure - even the male slaves if the mood takes you...”

  I grinned. “Thanks, Preston. I’m not gay, as far as I know anyway, but perhaps I might indulge with some of the other girl slaves, at least if they’re as pretty as these two.”

  “Okay, if you’ve finished feeling them down, let’s mount up and ride to the village.”

  Once we were seated, he took up the reins that led forward to the bridle on the black girl’s head and flicked them lightly. The pair of them took off in complete unison, left legs rising high and their beautiful buttocks rising and falling alternately, again in perfect unison. I glanced at Phil from time to find and was pleased to see she was in a state of utter euphoria over what had happened to her so far. I was relieved. It would have been dreadful if we had come this far, and spent a great deal of money on our stake in the island, only for her to have second thoughts at the eleventh hour.

  Mostly however, my eyes were drawn to the backs of the two girls up in front of me. They had to keep their hands up behind their heads and this made running rather difficult. They had to twist their torsos to compensate from the motion of their legs and this made them present to us so much better.

  The two ponytails on each of their heads and tails swung from side to side wonderfully but every now and then, I saw that one or the other of them gave a little jump. “She’s orgasming again, Mr Lynch,” Preston explained.

  “Do you have to call me Mister, Preston?” I complained. “After all, I am much younger than you...”

  “Not if you’d prefer it otherwise. Alright, James it is, then.”

  On the mile and a half trip to the village, well inland and hidden from air surveillance by wonderful old trees that had been retained when the jungle had been cleared around them, Preston pointed out the estates of some of the landowners on this road, told me who they were and how many slaves they owned.

  “And every one of them is here voluntarily?” I asked, just wanting to make sure I wasn’t getting involved in illegal kidnapping or some such.

  “Oh yes. And we have dozens of applications from new slaves all being processed right now. You’d be surprised how many people thirst to be permanent slaves, no longer responsible for any part of their lives, craving to be dependent on their Master or mistress for every aspect of their lives.”

  “Are they all masochistic?” I asked then.

  “Oh no... well, to some degree they have to be. Yes, many are, but some hate the pain of our disciplines.”

  “And yet they accept them?”

  “It sounds weird, I know. I think they expect the pain as part of their slavery, even if they derive no sexual pleasure from it. For those who are masochistic, I have to be very careful indeed. I could whip a masochistic slave senseless and do some real damage to him or her, even while he or she was screaming in pleasure still.”

  “What do you do in their cases then?”

  “We don’t punish them in a physical or corporal sense at all, but allocate them extra duty of a particularly horrible type. For example, the village has a waste digester that processes the sewage as well as the mess from the pig farm nearby. It has a primary tank with a paddle in it that is used to break up the solids before passing into the anaerobic tank where the methane is produced. Incidentally, this is used to drive the gas turbine that powers the village buildings.

  “As a punishment, instead of the slaves working the paddle from outside the tank, we order him or her into it so he has to wade through raw sewage up to his chest...”

  I shuddered in horror and he grinned at my expression. “It sounds awful and it is, but I could batter their buttocks till Hell froze over and achieve nothing. Give them something nasty like this and the punishment works well.”

  About then we approached the outskirts of the village and I was startled but pleased to see it was as neat as a pin and laid out as if by a town planner. There was a grassed square in the middle and along the four streets that bordered it were the few shops and houses in the village. There were some more behind the first row but not too many.

  In the middle of the park was a small dais, like a bandstand and on it waited the current president, Lord Grey. The sheriff invited me to accompany him up to the dais and he led Phil by her tether. There were a few hund
red or so people either sitting in chairs or standing on the grass around the dais. I presumed (correctly) that those sitting were the owners while the dressed standing people were residents, and those who were naked were obviously slaves.

  I did notice the slaves were uniformly good looking and all had fine bodies. Not all as muscular as the two girls who had so powerfully trotted us from the beach to the village but none could be accused of being slouches in the physical sense and all seemed to me to be paragons of male or female beauty, the males athletic and handsome; the girls more womanly but also obviously fit enough to work at hard physical labour all day.

  The sheriff led Phil up the steps of the dais and placed her to one side while I went straight up to the president, Lord Grey. He was a peer of Great Britain but that isn’t his real name nor will I reveal his title. Anonymity is the hallmark of the island’s security and so none of the names I have used in this account are real, including my own.

  He was a tall and most distinguished-looking gentleman and he now greeted me warmly. “Welcome, James Fenwick, to the Isle of Bondage. We, the owners and residents here trust you will stay with us for a long time and that you and your slave derive the fulfilment you seek from slavery here.

  “The formalities are few but they must be observed. Before all present here today, do you declare that you are the owner of the slave Phillida Fenwick and that both you and she desire to become owner and slave respectively on the Isle of Bondage?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you further declare that you, and she, will obey the laws of the island and subject yourselves to them?”

  “I do.”

  He now turned to Phil. “Do you, Phillida Fenwick declare that you are the slave of James Fenwick and that you will submit yourself to him in all things?”

  “I do,” she said, clearly and loudly.

  “Do you also declare that you will obey the laws of the Isle of Bondage without reservation and submit your body to the rigours of its punishments when ordered?”

  “I do.”

  “Then by the power vested in me as president of the Isle, I formally declare you to be a slave from henceforward on. Strip the slut!”

  This last was uttered in a louder and slightly higher tone than before and now the sheriff moved forward, bringing Phil to the centre of the dais while the president and I moved to one side.

  She had been wearing a smart two-piece linen suit for the journey and now Preston placed his hands in the lapels of the jacket and simply ripped them apart. There was no question of him undoing the buttons. Her clothing was to be ripped from her bodily.

  Under it she wore a silk blouse. This too was torn off - literally. Neither it nor her jacket would be much use except as rags from now on. Her skirt was fastened with a Velcro strip and this was torn open and the seam of the skirt ripped apart.

  “Shoes!” he barked, and Phil, red-faced now, lifted first one foot and then the other, slipping off each shoe in turn and allowing Preston to drag her stockings down off her thighs and legs. She now stood up in nothing but her bra and panties. We had been warned she was to wear no jewellery and so those were the only things that now covered her breasts -her so lovely breasts, and her vagina.

  The sheriff now approached her with a large, terrifying-looking knife in his hand. He leered at her and slipped the knife’s blade in under the strap holding the two cups together, sharp side out, and merely slid it upwards. The strap parted easily and the bra simply fell off.

  That left her panties. She favoured a bikini style and all it took was another insertion of the knife blade either side of her hips and then it too was wafting down to join the rest of her clothes on the floor of the dais.

  “Pick them up, one by one, and tear each item into rags, slave,” said Preston slowly.

  I watched her carefully. She was still blushing all over her face and even down her neck and upper chest, but she seemed still to be engrossed in the scene. She did as he ordered and tore both items of her expensive suit followed by the other bits and pieces to shreds and then placed the resulting rags into a bag held out to her by a slave below the front of the dais. He scuttled off and now she stood up stark naked before the owners and residents of the island, not to mention her fellow naked slaves, owning not even her clothes to her name.

  Chapter 2

  Her initiation as a slave was not yet over, however.

  The island’s resident physician now stepped up onto the stage carrying his bag with him. Lord Grey introduced him to me - his name was Dr Arnold Swindon and he now proceeded to depilate Phil. They had all the latest equipment on the island and that included the newest thing in removing unwanted hair from the human body, it was a sort of gun-thing that looked like an electric drill - but wasn’t.

  Preston now fixed Phil to manacles dangling from a gibbet that was set up on the dais. These left her spreadeagled in a long St Andrew’s cross. The doctor plugged the device into a permanent outlet on the side of the dais and then proceeded to wave its business end over her armpits, vulva, anal area and legs. It didn’t take long and when he was finished, every part of her was totally naked. Of course, like most women these days she kept her armpits and legs shaved and her vulva trimmed. Now however, it was quite nude and her vagina was openly on display to the hundreds of people sitting or standing below us.

  Dr Swindon then asked me if I required my property ringed.

  I had noted of course that all the slaves wore rings in one place or another. Most in their noses - through the septums; but many of the females also wore rings in their labia and the males had them either through the foreskin ofs their penis or, if they were circumcised, wore Prince Albert rings.

  If you don’t know what these are, they are normal rings except they are hinged or can be bent out of shape. The urethra is pierced a half inch or so back from the urethral opening and then the ring is passed into it and out through the new hole on the underside of the penis. If it is hinged, the two ends are brought together and clicked shut. If it is a lighter model that can be bent, and works with a screw connection, the two ends are merely brought in line and the ball screwed shut.

  Some had nipple rings, male and female both. Others still had them through the tips of their tongues. None of them however were for decoration. They were clearly not jewellery. Each was made of iron or in some cases, stainless steel and they were large and thick. Their purpose was either to identify their wearer as a slave or to tether him or her, probably both!

  “I think a large iron ring in her left labium, Doctor,” I said loudly enough for all the people there to hear.

  Preston had warned me this would be one of the questions but both Phil and I already knew the procedure. It was all part of a slave’s introduction to the island and she also knew there would be more to come after she had been pierced and ringed.

  Of course there was no question of an anaesthetic. Slaves were supposed to suffer. It was part of the ethos of slavery. You gave slaves no consideration. Pain, humiliation and degradation were to be an integral part of their lives and Phil well knew that. She was no more masochistic than I was. I had tried spanking her once: pulled her down over my knees and waled into her beautiful buttocks with my bare hand but she had squealed so loudly I was worried the servants would come running and I had had to desist while she had looked at me reproachfully, rubbing her backside before grinning at me. She had said she didn’t like it and yet she craved to be a slave. I was hard put to understand it but at that point I hadn’t yet been able to differentiate between the desire for humiliation - and simple pain. She wanted the first, not the last although she would take pain as part of her slavery.

  It is very complicated and I had said so, asking if she was really sure she was prepared to accept all that would happen to her on the island. She said, very firmly, that she was and so I had shrugged my shoulders and went on with the preparations.
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  Now though, she was facing very real pain.

  The doctor was going to punch a quite large hole in her labium with a laser and then immediately place the heavy ring into it, locking it shut. There would be no blood since the laser would cauterise any bleeders as it shot through the flesh, but it would still hurt like hell!

  It did. She was still spreadeagled of course but Preston now checked on her bonds, tightening them so that she was as taut as he could get her while the doctor replaced the depilating gun into its part of his bag and took out the laser. It was a much smaller unit, looking more like a propelling pencil on the end of a wire than anything else. He plugged the power unit into the same electrical socket and then, while Preston held her waist firmly against his own body, Dr Swindon raised her left vaginal lip into a small hillock with a pair of forceps, carefully placed the business end of the laser against the fold of flesh and then pressed the button on the side of the machine.

  “Aaagheeeaaaghooowwwghaaagh!” she screamed, although the sound went on much longer than that. It was a blood-curdling howl of pure anguish and as I watched, every muscle in her beautiful body tensed and strained, beads of perspiration formed all over her skin and her eyes widened in a shock of disbelief at the pain.

  I made no move to help her, though. She knew what she was getting into in pleading with me to bring her here and she now had to wear the consequences.

  It only took a second and then the doctor stepped back, leaving me to move forward and examine the hole. It was perfect. Absolutely clean and smooth, as if drilled with a high speed tungsten bit through steel and then polished. I marvelled at its perfection but now the doctor, having replaced the laser gun in its receptacle in the bag and picked up the iron ring, brought it forward to show me.

  It had been crafted beautifully. Iron it may have been, but its two halves had been tooled so that when it was closed you could see neither the hinge nor the clasp. Yes, it could be removed, but only by inserting a specially shaped key into a tiny hole that was quite difficult to find, even if you knew where to look - and impossible if you didn’t.