by Paul Blades
Our landing was smooth, and as soon as it came to a halt the door was opened from the outside. A large, black man outfitted in a black and red uniform, a huge sidearm and a baton that would have delighted Harmon Killebrew, came aboard. His red and black striped, short sleeve shirt was starched and pressed to razor sharp creases. The uniform pants carried a red stripe down the sides. His cap was peaked and had a wide, plastic brim. He motioned me to sit while he unstrapped the two women from their seats. He dragged them unceremoniously to the door where they were led out by another dark, heavy fellow. I was then invited off the plane.
As I went through the doorway, the heat and humidity hit me like a wet sponge in the face. We were in Africa all right. It was nighttime and the whole place was lit up like a ballpark. I could make out a cyclone fence behind the lights, but no other identifying features. There was a small hut about 200' from where we were with two vehicles standing outside. The first was a small van standing closest to the hut. Next to the van was one of those limos you saw taking movie stars to Hollywood or Atlantic City. As we walked to the hut, I saw the two naked and hooded women being trundled into the back door of the van. The door shut and it sped away. I was led into the hut.
"Please undress and place all of your clothes in the bags,” spoke the guard who had led me in. "You will then please put on this robe and sandals." I complied in silence. The robe was made of light cotton and wrapped around my front. It was tied shut with a belt of similar material that wrapped around my body twice. The robe was a bright yellow color, which kind of made me feel like an overstuffed banana. My little suitcase, whatever it contained, was taken from me. I had never opened it.
I walked out to the waiting limo. As soon as I got in, it moved off. The limo exited the tarmac after crossing through a well-guarded gate. We then rode for about a half hour before we came to another gate. There were more armed guards there and they had me get out of the van and examined me with their flashlights. One of them was carrying a picture that I assumed was me. The men all looked at it and then at me and we were then waived through the gate.
About ten minutes later we pulled up to another gate. The limo was admitted and then stopped so that I could get out. When got out I could see that I was between two steel fences, both topped with barbed wire and, I guessed, electrified. There was a small hut that sat between the two fences. The driver motioned me to follow him. I entered the small hut and stood in front of a large, heavy footed, colonial style desk. The driver handed what I took to be some form of pass to another guard sitting at the desk and walked back outside. I could hear the limo pulling away. The guard behind the desk looked at the pass and at me and shrugged. He handed it back to me. "Walk through that door,” he said, “and follow the path to the next building. You will be welcomed there and your processing will begin".
I did as I was told. I felt like I was trying to get into Fort Knox. The path was about four feet wide and lined by 12' high steel fencing on each side. It was about 20 yards long and led to a large white stone building, two stories, built in a modern style with sleek, low lines and nestled into the hillside. I walked in through a large steel door. A small, dark Caucasian man was standing there, waiting for me. He had short, black hair and was about forty and in good shape. He reached out his right hand in greeting. "My name is Anthony,” he said. “I'll be handling your orientation session here tonight. Tomorrow morning you'll be allowed inside, but tonight, we're going to take some medical tests, get you filled in on the rules and get you some rest. Please come with me."
I followed Anthony through the foyer and through another steel door, which led into the interior of the building. He led me to a series of small rooms, and instructed me to wait inside one of them. I entered the third door and sat down on a small examination table that was set against the wall, the only furniture in the room. After about a half hour, the door opened and a slight, middle-aged Asian man, also wearing a red robe, came in pushing a small cart. “I am going to take some blood, a urine specimen and your fingerprints, sir. Then you will wait here until Anthony comes back for you." I permitted him to take the blood sample and fingerprints and then pissed into a small jar he gave me.
Obviously, the club took no chances on a man's health or his identity. The technician left the room and about a half hour later the door reopened. It was Anthony. "Come on, let’s go on upstairs," he said. "A nice meal, some conversation and then beddie bye."
"Listen, what is this crap. I'm no tourist here and I'm about..." I was trying to assert myself.
"Whoa, relax Mr. Wiggins,” Anthony interrupted patiently. “You'll be taken care of. Everybody’s got to go through this when they come in from the outside. SOP, you know."
"Yeah, well I don't like this shit, you understand, all this barbed wire and guards make me feel like I'm back at the joint.”
"Believe me, Mr. Wiggins," Anthony continued, "prison was never like this. Just wait until tomorrow."
“Okay, okay,” I said. “I’ve been on the road it seems forever. And I haven’t had a good meal since I got locked up."
"Sure, that's where we're going now."
"Just do me a favor?"
“If I can,” Anthony replied.
"Don't call me Mr. Wiggins, only judges, cops and prosecutors call me that."
"Sure, Harry, sure,” he responded, smiling.
We dined in a small room, elegantly appointed. Dinner was a spicy chowder made from local seafood and a sixteen-ounce N.Y. cut sirloin. Anthony served the dishes after getting them from a dumbwaiter located in the wall. The wine was a delightful red Bordeaux. We ate in silence and, after we were done, I was led down a short corridor to a series of doors that led to bedrooms.
“Normally, we have more than one guest arriving,” Anthony told me. “But tonight it’s just you. Make yourself comfortable and I’ll see you in the morning.”
I stepped into the room indicated by Anthony for me, took a short but delightful shower and then spread myself out on the full size bed located against the wall opposite the door. I was asleep in seconds.
The next morning I woke suddenly and with a start. Anxiously, for about 10 seconds, I wondered where I was. As my head cleared, I realized that the meal the night before must have been doctored with a mild sedative. I looked around the room. There was no window and the door had no handle. There was a small table next to the door, which had a telephone on it. I walked over and picked up the receiver. A voice responded, "Yes, Mr. Wiggins?"
"When do I get out of here?"
"Shortly, sir. First, I'll have breakfast sent in.”
The door opened about ten minutes later and a beauteous young woman stood there holding a tray. On it was a melon, some toast and a thermos of coffee. As a black robed guard held the door open, she entered my room and set the tray down on the nightstand. The guard closed the door and the two of us were left standing there.
The girl was young, about 21 or 22 years old. Her hair was long and black. It was flat and straight and descended halfway down her back. She was not slender, but seemed properly proportioned for her height, about 5’6”. She was utterly naked except for the leather collar that she wore around her neck and the leather bracelets around her wrists and ankles. She was barefooted.
She looked down at the floor, her head bowed. Her hands were placed behind her, her feet were set wide apart. A well-trimmed bush, just big enough to be bikini sized, framed her pussy.
Breakfast seemed a dull proposition after seeing this girl in my room. My cock had taken a life of its own and peeked out from my robe. I didn’t know what to say to this girl. I started out the normal way.
“What’s your name?”
She replied in a low, almost whispered voice. “My name, if it pleases the master, is Adriana.”
Her voice was thickly accented. Judging by her black hair and the dark tones of her skin, I guessed that she was Italian or Greek.
“And what am I to do with you, Adriana?” I asked her.
“Whate
ver the master desires,” she answered.
I longed to touch her generous breasts and to put my lips on her skin. “Come closer to me, Adriana,”
The girl stepped closer so that she stood about six inches from my body. I reached out my hand and stroked her gleaming black hair. She had been lightly perfumed, a kind of jasmine scent. I breathed her in with passionate delight. I realized that she was looking directly down at my cock, the head of which had sprung free from my robe.
“May I pleasure you, master?” she asked timidly.
“I would like that, Adriana,” I said.
The girl fell to her knees and parted my robe. She took my cock in her hands and gently covered its head with her lips. I felt a tingling in my flesh as her kiss of my prick went directly to my brain. I leaned back so that I was resting on the nightstand. Adriana opened her mouth and swallowed my cock.
I closed my eyes and let the young girl pleasure me. She stroked my balls as she glided her tongue up and down my shaft. I groaned with pleasure.
In spite of the exquisite oral attention to my manhood, I could not but think that in spite of this girl’s apparent eagerness to pleasure me, she was a slave, a sexual slave. Nothing that she did was of her own free will. The grounds for her energetic administrations to my cock had been laid at some time before, enforced by the crack of a whip.
It did not take long for me to deliver a load of my thick, white cum into the girl’s mouth. She swallowed it dutifully as she coaxed the last drop out with her lips. My mind reeled from the pleasurable sensations sent to it by my throbbing cock. It had been a long time.
I pulled my cock back from her mouth and went to sit on the bed, my body still reverberating with the tremors of my orgasm. She knelt before me, head down, hands behind her. I was astounded at my first encounter with one of Klitzman’s slaves. The way she carried herself, held her body open to my gaze, knelt poised in anticipation of an order or command from me, reignited my desire. I wanted to fuck her.
“Get up on the bed,” I ordered.
She scrambled on top of the bed and turned to face me. Her eyes were wide apart, a deep brown, almost black. She had full lips that seemed poised for use. I took a breast in my hand and squeezed it softly. As I kneaded the nipple with my fingers, I felt it getting hard. I pushed the girl over onto her back and slid myself next to her. I seized her left breast with my lips and sucked at it gently. My cock was stirring once again. I ran my hand down the girl’s taut, firm stomach and covered her sex, grasping it, cupping it in my palm. As I slid my fingers into her crevasse, I felt that she was lubricated, her lips parting easily. I rubbed her clit with my thumb, she sighed, her eyes closing. I insinuated myself between her thighs and presented my hard cock to her moist lower lips. She spread her legs and thrust her hips forwards invitingly. Slowly, languidly, I eased my cock into her passage, relishing the warmth and softness I found there.
It had been over three and a half years since I had penetrated a pussy with my cock. I had almost forgotten the intensity of the pleasure of having my manhood surrounded by warm, tender flesh. As I reached deep into her, the girl began to move her hips. I could feel her cunt tighten around me and I sighed heavily.
Slowly, but surely, the tempo of my thrusts increased. The girl was now uttering little cries each time I dragged my cock against her engorged bud of pleasure. I felt her arms around my back, her legs intertwining mine as she tried to pull me deeper inside her. Suddenly, my cock began to throb, spurting my second discharge of the day into her deep recesses. The girl pushed against me with her hips and cried out. Her shudders and moans indicated to me that she too had reached climax.
After a few moments of afterglow, I disentangled myself from the slave girl and sat back and stared at her. Her expression had not changed. It was still a neutral, emotionless demeanor. But I could see from the listlessness of her body that she was relishing the sense of relaxation that an orgasm brings.
After a moment, there was a knock on the door. I answered, “Yes. Come in.”
The door opened and Anthony stuck in his head.
“Ready to go?” he asked. Then, seeing my naked form and the girl’s splayed body he added, “I see you favored sex over breakfast this morning. Adriana is a delightful slave; I’m not surprised.”
Still looking intently at the slave girl’s face, I acknowledged his estimation of the girl. “She’s a good fuck,” I said. “Is she yours?”
“Oh, no, she belongs to the club, at least for now. Later she might be sold, but right now there’s too many who like her. I get her assigned down here whenever I can. In fact…,” his voice raised an octave, his tone became stern. “Adriana, get up and go tell the duty supervisor that I want to have you tonight.”
“Yes, master,” Adriana replied as she shimmied off of the bed. As she passed me, I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to me once more. I placed my lips on her nipples and kissed them, one after the other.
“Thank you, Adriana,” I said.
She looked up at me strangely. “Y-yes, Master,” she replied. And then she scooted from the room.
I was sitting there buck naked, my banana robe on a hook behind the door. My flaccid cock pointed to the floor. “There’s a red robe for you in the closet,” Anthony said.
I donned the red robe and let Anthony lead me down the hall.
“What’s with the colored robes,” I asked.
“It’s so we can keep track of who’s who. Red robes are for supervisors, like me, and now you. Blue is for guests. Black is for security. The service staff, cooks, cleaners, slave tenders, they wear white uniforms. The girl’s, of course, wear nothing.”
“And banana?” I asked.
Anthony laughed. “Yellow is for newcomers who haven’t been processed. No one gets in without a full medical checkup. We wouldn’t want anyone coming down with anything nasty.”
“So, where do we go from here?” I asked.
“Well, you have to meet with Rukimo. He’s the head honcho around here, second only to Mr. Klitzman. But first, I want to show you around a little.”
When we got to the end of the hallway, we passed through a doorway and into another hall. There was a black robed guard standing there at attention at the end. Anthony pulled out a small card, showed it to the guard who then opened the door with a key that was fastened to a leather thong attached to his belt. We walked through and stepped out onto a large terrace. Strewn about the terrace were a number of tables and chairs, some of them occupied by blue and red clad figures. We walked past the tables and I noticed that on the ground next to one or two of them were kneeling women, naked, their arms crossed behind them, their eyes downcast. Slaves. "Staff and guests mix pretty freely,” Anthony commented. “When you talk to them you can tell them about your life of crime, I’m sure it will fascinate them. But we are on a first name only basis here. Don't give your last name or how you got here. And never get soused in the guest areas. It doesn't look good and you never know what might happen." This was like having a big brother.
I could feel a moderately cool breeze blowing from the ocean, which was overlooked by the terrace. On the beach I could see various figures, some swimming, some on the strand. I saw one guy who looked like he was humping a girl right out in the open. He was.
Anthony took me through a set of double doors that led into a large area containing a bar, some couches and chairs and a stage in the middle. The air conditioning felt good, even with the breeze outside. This tropical weather was going to take some getting used to. On the stage was a brown skinned girl dangling from a chain that hung from the ceiling. Several naked women were kneeling along the walls of the room, their hands held palms up, resting on their thighs. Anthony led me over to a dark haired girl, pale, with large, rounded breasts. Her head was bent over, eyes cast downwards. Her posture was perfect, shoulders back, back straight, thighs apart. "This is one of my favorite slaves, Maria. A little Italian girl. I just want you to see how the girls are outfitted."
The girl had a leather collar around her neck, which was attached to the wall by a thin chain. Her wrists were enclosed by leather bracelets, as were her ankles. Her black hair was cut short with large ringlets of curls. She wore light makeup around her eyes and a dark red lipstick. She was gorgeous. "As you can see, the chain is attached to the collar with a small lock. Guests are all given keys which fit the collars and bracelets, as well as most of the chains and body locks used in the guest area." Anthony lifted up the chin of the Italian girl and squeezed her face tightly. A look of pain crossed it. And fear. "There is still a punishment owed to this slave. Perhaps I will tend to it this evening." The girl visibly shuddered.
Anthony led me past the bar and through a doorway that led to a hall lined with doors. Each one was marked with a small card with the occupant's first name and last name initial. Several guests passed us in the hallway, each saying hello to me and Anthony. Quite jolly. One fellow was leading a tall, slender girl with a hood over her head. The chain was affixed to a ring under her chin. Her hands were bound to her sides to a wide belt around her middle. I could see welts across her thighs. The guest stopped in front of us.
"I want to report an infraction," the guest said to Anthony. "This girl was slow to obey and she attempted to resist when being whipped." The guest was about 6'2", 220 pounds. It was hard to imagine this girl resisting him for a minute. "Well, Paul, do you want us to report her or should we take her for discipline now?" Anthony asked.
"Take her now," Paul said, "I'd like to have her back tonight."
"Fine. Harry, would you mind taking this slave’s leash and bringing her along."
I grabbed the leash from Paul the moose and followed Anthony down the hall. The girl stumbled behind me. It was quite a new sensation to have such power over a woman. All of these women. I felt like I was in some kind of movie or dream. “This can’t be real,” I thought. Not only were all of the women young and pleasing to the eye, but their subservience was apparent by their very demeanor. Their eyes were uniformly downcast, their bodies were posed lasciviously, breasts held high and proud, thighs open. My cock was a stiff as a board as I led the comely slave down the hall. I presumed that having me tow the girl along was Anthony’s way of getting me into the swing of things. I have to say that I needed little encouragement.
