Isle of Bondage

by Mark Andrews

  She didn’t turn a hair. The moment we arrived on the beach, she removed her clothes without a shred of embarrassment and then trotted alongside Preston’s gig, assisting his two slavegirls to pull Father’s added weight.

  Anyway, we accepted the baroness’ invitation although I couldn’t get another word out of Miriam as to why she was so frightened of the German aristocrat. The invitation had been for a ‘tennis party’ and had suggested that if we (Father and me, that is) played we should bring our tennis shorts and shoes. She had plenty of racquets, it said.

  Miriam was still nervous about the visit. I could see she was skittish, even as she and Phil galloped us along the dirt road to the baroness’ estate and the closer we got the more nervous she became.

  The house was beautiful. All John Everingham’s houses were Masterpieces of the stonemason’s art but this one was very big and it was surrounded by gardens that must take a small army of slaves to maintain, I thought.

  Miriam steered us up the long yellow gravel drive to the front of the house where Father and I alighted and then a slave-groom took hold of her bridle and led her away to the stables where she and Phil would be unharnessed and permitted to join us, kneeling on the lawns at the back of the house between it and the tennis court.

  It wasn’t until I saw the court that I realised what Miriam had been so frightened of. It wasn’t a real tennis court at all, or at least not a whole one. It was actually one end of a court, say from the net to the back wall, which was made of stone. The wall faced us while our end was quite open. This court was not for the playing of your regular tennis!

  At the serving line there were two pairs of posts. The outermost of these were situated on the doubles line of the court and each of their partners were about ten feet inside them, leaving a wide space between the two pairs of posts. In the middle of this space was a tennis ball serving machine whose basket was full of tennis balls.

  The two pairs of posts were occupied by a girl and boy slaves, twins, I later discovered. Their wrists were manacled and held up and out to the tops of the posts while their ankles were similarly accoutred and spread very wide apart, exposing their naked genitals perfectly. The only protection their bodies had was a sort of grille over their faces, such as a fencer wears but with the wires much wider apart so we could see their faces quite easily.

  They were blond and being twins were very similar, even in physical build, both being extraordinarily athletic and with muscles that were much more than merely apparent. They weren’t over-developed but their muscles were clean-cut and sharply defined, indicating months or perhaps years of dedicated slog at their exercises.

  The penny dropped with me and Father at the same time and now we understood Miriam’s fear. I saw Preston in the distance and made my way over to him, asking if this was legal under their code. “Oh yes, James. That pair over yonder absolutely delight in pain. They have trained their bodies to take what is coming and if I, or say Lord Grey intervened now, they would be very upset.”

  “Good God,” I said weakly. “Well, I don’t think I can take part, Preston. I mean, I just couldn’t,” I added weakly.

  He grinned. “It’s your first time, James. Just watch and see what you think after the first few rounds.”

  The owners who had come to the ‘tennis party’ sat near the open end of the court. They didn’t have much risk of being hit by the balls delivered by the machine for it was set at a fairly low power. The slaves we had all brought with us knelt in two rows on either side of us. They could see the macabre scene perfectly well and I now understood Miriam had been here before.

  We were supplied with drinks and canapés and were invited to stroll up the court to inspect the pair of beauties about to be tortured. What else could you call it, even if it was with their own connivance. As Father and I moved up to the boy we could see how handsome he was under the grille of his mask and just how perfect his fine muscles and skin really were. I felt a strange urge to reach out and stroke his velvet-smooth flesh but I angrily repressed it. Father didn’t though and he muttered under his breath that the boy’s skin was as smooth as any girl’s.

  We moved over to his sister then and this time I had no compunction in feeling her down. Everyone else was doing it and she seemed to enjoy the shame of being inspected like an animal. The owners and residents present had their fill of the handsome couple and then we all returned to our chairs. I studiously ignored my wife and Miriam as we sat down.

  And then the baroness invited the first ‘player’ up to the line. It was a lady, the wife of an owner and I understood she had been somewhat of a dab hand at tennis back in the USA whence she and her husband had come. She was a real Amazon, this one, tall and powerfully built, and wore a miniscule halter which only half covered her large but very firm breasts, a tiny white mini-skirt which sat low on her hips, revealing a muscular belly and powerful thighs, and a pair of short socks and sandshoes so that her shapely calves were also on full display. She was obviously proud of her powerful body and displayed it to us almost obscenely.

  She moved to the centre of the line where the net should have been and nodded to the slave operating the machine. He switched it on and then stepped back. It would deliver four balls to her, each separated by a minimum of fifteen seconds. Actually it was fifteen seconds after the victim stopped screaming since the machine had an audio sensor that held up its action while the slave who had just been hit recovered somewhat.

  There was an electronic scoreboard set up near us and her name now appeared on its left side. Preston explained to me that a hit to the genitals was worth five points and anywhere else on the body one.

  Father and I stared at him. “You mean she will actually aim for their genitals, his penis and testicles and her vagina?” I stuttered.

  Preston grinned. “That boy has one aim in life, James. He wants to be castrated. He wants it to be total. The baroness told him this is the only way he may achieve it and since he and his sister delight in what we would call agonising pain, he eagerly accepted.”

  “And the girl?”

  “Her too. The pair of them wish to be quite sexless, both smooth at their groins without any evidence he ever possessed a manly set of genitals and she the same. They are like twins, James. Their minds are almost as one...”

  “And what happens to them in ten years time when they want to marry and so on?”

  “Our doctor is also a psychologist, as you know. He has carefully probed them. It truly is what they want, James. Oh and as to their future. They happen to be millionaires in their own right. I think you will find them ensconced in a house of their own in a few years time. They have no need of spouses. They love each other and that is that,” he finished.

  Father and I stared at him but we couldn’t fault his logic. It seemed the pair of handsome and beautiful slaveboy and girl stretched taut out there in front of us was actually hoping one of us players would smash his testicles and perhaps his penis to bits and so bruise her vagina that Doctor Swindon would perform the necessary operations on them both to remove their sexual organs in their entirety.

  I tried to imagine what a human being would look like without sexual organs. Even in a girl, whose vagina is much less prominent (in most cases, anyway) than a man’s, I couldn’t. To see a groin quite smooth and without a penis and dangling testicles below its root was beyond my powers of imagination and it was the same with the girl.

  Both were, as I’ve already said, paragons of human perfection, their bodies not overly muscled but quite definitely athletic to the point I don’t think either of them could have been bettered.

  I marvelled then at the power of the force that was driving them to realise their life-long aim, to be even more alike, for once their genitals were gone, it would only be her breasts, those truly beautiful orbs of firm softness, that would mark them as brother and sister. I suspected that she would then tr
y to have them removed as well, asking that the doctor mould her chest muscles to match those of her brother.

  My reverie was cut short just then by the first ball. It sprang from the mouth of the machine, bounced once on the court and then the player, Anita Strachan was her name, drew back her arm and then the racquet whirled forward.

  The ball was accurate, hitting the girl fair on her vagina. She screamed of course. Even as a dedicated masochist, that blow must have knocked the stuffing out of her and her body now writhed in her agony as the ball dropped to the court. Her scream soon abated however and now the fifteen second countdown to the next ball began. In the meantime, the figure five appeared as the score (and also as Anita’s aggregate for the day).

  The next ball popped out of the machine, bounced and then she sent it slamming into the boy. She missed his groin however and was clearly angry with herself. She wouldn’t be making a perfect score this day. It hit him in his lower belly however and was quite painful enough to elicit a low scream from him and to cause his body to writhe in agony for a few seconds.

  The thing was though, this pair delighted in pain. His cock had grown to its full majestic ten inches the moment his mistress had selected Anita Strachan as his first torturer and it stayed that way now, even as his splendid body writhed in agony.

  He too quickly recovered and then there was the fifteen second delay after which the third ball popped out. It too missed its target but hit the girl on her left breast - hard!

  Of course she screamed again and her beautiful body again displayed itself in all its lithe splendour. Here, I have to say I delight in a female body that shows at least a modicum of muscle. I don’t like huge muscles on either males or female and the bodybuilders one sees in the magazines and newspapers really turn me off. Phil is the same and so we both of us strive to keep our own bodies slim and supple with our muscles nicely defined without being gross. Miriam’s body is the same although her muscles are a trifle more cut than Phil’s, that is, they stand out a little more without being too big.

  This time the victim’s screams went on for longer and I wondered that if they felt the blows this hard for the first two strokes each, how would they be after hours of it? What I didn’t realise was that none of the other guests was either as strong or as accurate as Anita and more missed the targets altogether than found them and, they were considerably less powerful.

  Anita’s last stroke found its mark and now the boy really performed. His cock was still erect and the ball caught his testicles fair between them. Every muscle in his magnificent body went into strictures of agonised strain, almost popping out of his skin as he fought to come to terms with the appalling agony that now gripped his whole body.

  Anita stood watching him for a few moments, pleased she had achieved a score of twelve and pretty certain no-one else would match it. I decided then that I would take my turn if called to play. She was too smug by halves, that one, I thought.

  We all moved up to inspect the boy and girl then and congratulated Anita on her good score. It wasn’t perfect of course. That would have earned her twenty points but she had two bullseyes and two outers, you might say and that wasn’t at all bad.

  We had arrived at noon and partaken of a light lunch. The festivities had then begun at one. It was now half-past and time for the next player. I had noted the two bruises on each of the two slaves’ bodies. Her vagina and left breast were already showing the signs as were his testicles, now swollen markedly and the circular mark on his belly was also very prominent. The doctor examined them both and while he clearly had doubts about the boy’s fitness, he pleaded with him not to stop the ‘match’. Dr Swindon somewhat reluctantly agreed.

  The next player only managed to score one point, and that a feeble (compared to Anita, anyway) stroke to the girl’s thigh. It didn’t even bruise as we all strolled up to look them over once more.

  The doctor examined both of them carefully once more and Preston told me he would quickly order the game over if either showed any serious debility. “It isn’t likely now though, James,” and he paused and grinned at me, “unless of course you’re a dark horse and may top Anita’s score?”

  I just smiled and said nothing.

  The third player was a bit better but still only scored two, one each to both slaves and now I saw that this ‘game’ was harder than it seemed. Anita was close to Davis Cup standards. None of us could match her for power or accuracy, she thought and it was clear that while the two slaves would be in severe pain for the next day or so, it was unlikely their aim would be met this day. For that to have happened, everyone said, Anita would have to have scored two powerful strokes to each of their sexual organs for the doctor positively refused to perform the operations unless he was forced into it by their prior destruction. I thought his attitude a bit strange considering the apparent yearning desire of the twins, but there you are.

  One by one, the baroness called on those who had appeared in tennis gear to take their turn but none scored a five and some missed altogether. No-one scorned them however. It was all good fun, even for the slaves who hung there all afternoon, wondering if the next stroke was going to be a fluke and destroy their genitals, and quite prepared to take the pain if that was the result.

  I marvelled yet again at the human mind. The very idea of allowing myself to be strung up there to have my body attacked in this bizarre way was totally beyond anything I could have imagined. I said so to my father. “It seems incredible, James, but I saw something similar during the war. Men would place themselves in quite unbelievable situations, either to rescue a mate or to achieve some military purpose. I knew I couldn’t have done it, each time... I think that’s the way of it with this pair... Aren’t they a pair of beauties, though?”

  “I doubt I have seen a couple of human being as perfect as they are, Dad...”

  He turned and looked at me fondly for a moment. “You haven’t called me that for years... I like it.”

  I grinned. “Alright, you’ve got it - Dad.”

  Just then the baroness called me out. “Your turn, James,” she said in her throaty accent.

  I took the proffered racquet from her and strode out onto the court, facing up to the machine and marking the girl’s well stretched and open vagina in my mind’s eye.

  Out popped the ball, bounced and then I swung the racquet, smoothly, knowing I was right on target. I didn’t hit it hard. Not too hard anyway. No matter what the girl and boy wanted, I wasn’t going to be the means of them losing their genital organs.

  Whack!’ It hit her vagina fair and square and there was a cheer from the crowd, a gasp and then a scream from the girl whose body writhed and twisted in her bonds as she had when Anita’s ball had hit her.

  I stood there, waiting for her scream to die down and for the machine to initialise itself once more for the next ball. This time I had to aim for his balls or cock. Either would suffice as a score of five. I hit the tip of his penis squarely but again not with a power that would have damaged it, at least I hoped not. I had now reached ten points and was pleased with myself.

  The next ball also struck her vagina. I now had a score of fifteen and was inordinately pleased with myself. Probably too pleased for the last ball only hit the boy’s thigh. Still, I had a score of sixteen and as I glanced at Anita, was pleased to note her too cocky smirk was now gone. She wasn’t angry however and quickly came up to congratulate me, which I accepted gracefully.

  We were invited to stay for dinner, as were Anita and her husband and I was shocked to see her slaves, no not the twins, they were being treated by the doctor, but the ones that were waiting on us were arrayed in little bells that hung from hooks that had pierced their noses, ears, nipples and genitals, and tinkled merrily as they moved around.

  Once more the food was excellent and the service by the slaves’ quite impeccable.

  It was an extraordinary d
ay and the sight of my two slaves’ naked bodies in the glare of the headlights on the gig’s wheel guards lit up their bodies wonderfully as they trotted us back to the hotel.

  Chapter 6

  The time had come to move into our new house.

  It wasn’t big like Cranwell, but it was quite beautiful, the warm stone a palish pink and the gardens around it, while brand new, had the promise of great beauty in a few years.

  They had been established by an army of slaves donated by owners and residents alike to get me started, while the furniture had been (and still was being) crafted by the island’s resident cabinetmaker (and his slave assistants) from trees specially selected by him. He really was a craftsman and could make anything from antique to modern style pieces, depending on what was desired. We had settled on comfort for our home and since teak trees grew in abundance on the island, we had agreed that beautiful timber would be used for all the articles.

  His task for us hadn’t finished. Indeed, it would probably go on for years, as it did for many of the other owners and residents. His workshop was always busy and I loved to go into the village and watch as he trained his slaves to prepare the fine timber, shape it into the desired form and then fit it seamlessly to the next.

  The gardeners were the same.

  By now I had purchased my own, a male slave by the name of Otondo. Like all the slaves there, he was epitome of lithe athleticism and was of course a very handsome young man. He had heard of the island from one of our Japanese owners for whom he had been an apprentice gardener, the owner sensing the boy was a natural slave. He had jumped at the chance to become a real life bondservant and had been on the island a few months by the time I needed a gardener. Tadashiro offered him to me when I had been outlining my ideas for my as yet unstarted garden.

  As I said he was assisted in the mammoth task of creating a finished garden out of a bare hillside but he quickly developed plans which I then approved. Anthony informed me a new owner’s landscaping was always accomplished by a team of slaves working under his gardener’s direction and I now had reason to marvel at how well Otondo marshalled his temporary troops to achieve wonders in only a few weeks.