Throughout most of the Caribbean, life is very distinctly divided into separate and unrelated halves. On the one hand, the tourists come and go, gibbering, giggling, hoping and despairing. And the money they shed like dandruff supports and entire tinsel world of hotels, clubs, gambling complexes and diversionary outlets. On the other hand, beneath all the gaiety, music and untaxable income statements stashed in foreign banks, the Caribbean suffers. And its people--those who have not become head waiters, blackjack dealers, maids and pimps--shamble through their compressed life-cycle, taking time only to beg, recover from diseases, and starve.
The island of San Dozes was no exception to this rule. What was once an underdeveloped but perfectly happy little kingdom, had been converted to an 'island paradise.' The age of development had come to San Dozes, mostly under the supervision of Time-of-Your-Life Vacations, Inc.
Time-of-Your-Life, or 'los tiempos,' as its personnel referred to, owned the people, the beaches, the buildings, and, of course, the air and water rights on San Dozes. Time-of-Your-Life, in turn, was just one small company belonging to a giant holding combine.
There were many managers in this operation. One such manager was Mr. Boulo--no one seemed to know his first name. He was a hotel manager.
He managed one of the largest hotels for the holding company on the island. He was one of the important functionaries in the Time-of-Your-Life Tours. He knew the hotel business and the system of the corporation.
The first half of Mr. Boulo's day was spent on the role of appearances. This meant gliding into his office early in the morning and checking guest lists, expenditures, contingencies and emergencies. Then there was the tour of the dining rooms, wishing everyone good morning, and perhaps presenting a selected guest with an island flower, for the hair or buttonhole. Then into the kitchen, tasting the food, checking the menus, joking in a slightly aloof manner with the chefs and their staff. And from there, he walked the winding course through the hotel complex, its suites, lounges, bars, pools and recreational facilities. And, finally, a long stroll on the beach, wearing a slightly harassed and tired look behind sunglasses and muted silk ascot, nodding to the guests, patting the heads of small wretched dogs and possibly, with a great show of world-weariness, plucking a beer can or Kleenex from the shining white sand.
So much for appearance. In anybody's book, Mr. Boulo was the hotel manager par excellence. But it was dull work, petty work, and more than that, as Boulo frequently smiled to himself, completely unnecessary. For the SandOzes Hotel, in fact, ran itself. The guests arrived and departed in scheduled groups, filling every room. His assistants saw to it that the hotel functioned without missing a beat. There was no one to hire, no one to fire, no changes, additions, or crises to contemplate. The SandOzes, like every other unit in the vast, sea-straddling holding company, ran according to a master-plan which seemed faultless.
The island of San Dozes, and the enormous, luxurious SandOzes Hotel, were geared to package tours of young school teachers from the Midwest, unmarried clerks from big city department stores, lonely bachelors of modest means--only the cream of the unsophisticated, unassuming, un-affluent and unmarried American crop came to Mr. Boulo's 'vacation dreamland,' where 'life forgets time and the world you left behind.' After lunch Mr. Boulo would stride briskly into his office. Now came a more important part of his job. On his desk would be stacks of folders. These folders were each a research folder--one for each guest. The agency back home--in the guest's area--which to all appearance is a travel service--has filled each folder with the information Boulo needs.
Through a masterful system of perfunctory investigation and research techniques, it has filled out a form which tells Boulo each guest's history, how much he or she makes, who his or her closest friends and family are, and what the future conceivably holds--in short, a complete and concise blueprint which could resemble anything from a credit application to a blueprint for blackmail.
Added to these folders are hotel records, in which the activities, attitudes and general behavior of each guest are recorded by the diligent and omnipresent staff. At the bottom of each guest's form are remarks which the guest has made in the presence of a maid, bartender or bellhop--remarks which tell Mr. Boulo why the guest came to San Dozes and what he or she really wants from the vacation.
A buzzer sounded. Mr. Buolo told his secretary to let the visitor in. Into his office strides a strikingly lovely dark-skinned girl, dressed in a variation of the hotel's non-uniform--a simple smock, cut very low in the back and slit high up the legs, way up to nearly the top of her luscious thighs. She casually crossed the office as Boulo sat there at his desk, studying a file. With a flickering smile, the girl locked his office, stepping away from the door. Then, throwing her hair back, she glided to the side of his desk.
"Don't tell me we have a tough nut on our hands?" she smiled. She got no response from Boulo. He continued to stare fixedly at the dossier in front of him on his desk. "C'mon, Boo--don't work so hard, you'll get a headache, or go blind, and sweetheart, where will I be if that happens?"
He still didn't reply. She came around in back of his chair. Then she slid her bare arms forward along the sides of his neck and pressed her body down against his back.
But Boulo still didn't acknowledge her. His eyes were still vacantly studying the name on the folder--a young school teacher named Robin Wead, one of those on the group-tour that would be leaving tomorrow.
This girl Robin is anything but a tough nut, Mr. Boulo thinks to himself in response to the girl's statement. She's the kind of person San Dozes was created for. A push-over. Boulo knows. He's seen her himself. A delicious girl with a luscious body--beautiful in every way. But, obviously a virgin--she seemed the self-conscious, virginal type, the kind to steer clear of. But he wasn't sure. And that bothered him.
As Mr. Boulo sat there thinking about Robin, his mind far away from his office, he was brought out of his trance as a pair of lips and sharp teeth began to nibble at his ears. Two slender hands worked their way down the buttons of his shirt.
"Is Boo got a crush on the little yanqui school marm name Robin Wead?" teased the girl's voice.
"Don't get smart," he half snarled, slamming the folder down. He thrust himself back in the chair, tilting it so that his head caught the girl right in the stomach.
"That's my baby," she laughed.
She seized the opportunity to spread his shirt open and run her hands over his well-stuffed stomach. She squirmed her hips against his head as he reached back to squeeze her thighs and buttocks through the thin flaps of the seductive smock.
"You just keep your mind on me and forget that little bitch," she said as she leered down at him, pushing her hands down to undress him further. "I'm going to give that little yanqui a night to remember."
She backed away from Boulo's chair, pulling it farther and farther over, until suddenly the casters on the executive chair shot forward and spilled Boulo out of the chair, collapsing them both to the floor. She took advantage of the fall to pull his shirt back and off and then, with a wild yelp of glee, rolled free from him as he struggled to get to his feet.
He scrambled up and jumped for her as she dodged around the office.
"Come on, Boo," she taunted, laughing. "Come and get your bad girl. Me--big, bad, beautiful Alya."
Circling to the desk, she kept it between them as they squared off around it. The fervid excitement of the game glowed in her eyes, matching the heavy-lidded look of punishing desire that was transforming Mr. Boulo's face. The office was filled with the sounds of their tense breathing as they circled the desk with increasing deliberation.
As if she were physically taking her cue from Boulo's expression, Alya's manner started to change. The wild playfulness ebbed away, and was replaced by a hurt and guilty look. It was what she wanted, what made the afternoons so complete for her.
"Alya's bad--a bad, mean thing," she said of herself in a kind of blank voice. "Tell me I'm bad. Yes, say it! Please say it, Boo!" She pleaded, at the same time crossing her arms over her head and in one swift motion pulling the smock clear of her flawlessly voluptuous body. She was all curves, firm and beguiling.
Boulo still made no reply. But, circling to the back of the desk, he opened a drawer and took out a long, thick, brutal-looking leather strap. He crossed the office to the nearly naked girl, who lifted her face to receive a stinging slap from his open hand.
"No, no--" she whimpered.
"Bitch!"
Boulo cursed her. Violently he grabbed hold of her flimsy nylon panties and tore them from her hips. A little smile came to her lips as he continued to swear at her, reviling her in the basest manner.
"You bitch! You whore! You worthless slut!"
"Oh, Boo--"
"Shut your fucking face!"
"Such language."
But she let him seize her by the hair viciously. He yanked, and she screamed in pain. It felt as if he were going to tear her hair out by the roots. Her head snapped painfully. He dragged her by the hair, leading her to the couch, where she flopped limply over its padded arm.
As she lay limply over the chair, her lush, naked buttocks jutted up, offering themselves. She buried her face in the thick cushion and spread her legs wide apart and hunched her body. She was clad in only a wispy bra, that was as if nothing.
Boulo's arm rose and the strap whistled through the air. The smack of the impact of the brutal leather strap against the cheeks of her naked buttocks made a loud, ugly report. She let out a cry that was muffled by the cushion.
"Bad, bad, oh hurt me bad, Boo, harder, darling, oh I want to hurt so badly," she babbled as the strap began to rise and fall. The strap crashed over her buttocks, leaving deep red welts across the coppery globes of her proffered buttocks.
Boulo's frenzy increased. He cursed her as he flogged her. He was like a madman, his face distorted with sadistic hatred. He walloped the strap across her buttocks again and again, turning her perfect cheeks into a mass of ridging, angry welts. She cried out, sobbed, screamed.
Outside of Mr. Boulo's office, his secretary noted the time and turned away all persons with the polite news that Mr. Boulo was in a conference and would not be receiving callers for at least a half hour.
Slam! Wallop! Crash! Bam!
Again and again the belt landed on Alya's gyrating buttocks, flogging them nearly raw. Alya was whining. It was a whine of passion, not pain. Pain and pleasure merged for her as the sadistic man beat her brutally.
The final slash of the belt nearly tore the flesh from her buttock cheeks. She let out a blood-chilling scream and went limp. Boulo tossed aside the strap. He dropped his pants. His hard-on reared out like an elephant's trunk.
With one vicious rush he rammed home, driving his monstrous cock up into her cringing asshole. She wailed as he impaled her back there, stuffing her rectal tunnel with his huge, hard shaft of meat.
He jerked and lunged his hips, plowing his cock in and out and round and round in her rectum. Her anal ring was stretched to the painful limit. But she revolved her ass and backed toward the punishing cock, wanting the awful pain. He jackhammered her asshole with his cock, rubbing his thighs against her wounded, welted buttock cheeks.
Alya took everything he could give with his mighty cock, swirling her rump in circles, shoving it back at the stiff impaling prick as it sawed in and out of her rectum. He tore away her flimsy bra and took her firm tits in his hands and squeezed so hard that he crushed the juicy cones out of shape.
Alya screeched as he tormented her tits and asshole at the same time. His fingers captured her long, hard nipples and pinched them brutally.
"You're killing me!" Alya cried.
"Move your beautiful ass," he grunted in reply.
He mauled her tits viciously as he drove his cock ruthlessly at her asshole. And then he stiffened. As he did, Alya began to wail as a weird, masochistic orgasm took hold of her. His sperm spat into her rectal tunnel, filling it with hot white creamy goo. He squeezed her tits so hard that Alya thought he was going to tear them off.
And then it was over. It was an ordinary afternoon interlude for the two of them.
It wasn't much later that Alya, her appetite sated momentarily resumed her role as hotel staffer and sought out the young school teacher whose folder Mr. Boulo had been studying. She knew Robin. Robin was one of the guests it was her job to keep happy.
Robin trusted Alya implicitly; the seemingly cultivated girl, Alya, had made Robin's stay a pleasure. And, Robin had listened carefully when, earlier in her stay, Alya had told her that while the island really did have a spectacle worth seeing before one left, the hotel could not assume responsibility for its guests behavior.
"Oh yes," Robin had said in response to Alya's query, "I've had such a good time here--only, only--I had wished--you know--I had wished at some time to get out away from the hotel to see the island a bit more--to see its real life--" To which Alya had replied, according to the formula: "Well, Miss Robin, there is the festival of propagation celebrated here by our people. But the hotel's of the opinion that it's rather strong stuff for our guests... and we can never tell how people will react."
"Oh, you don't have to worry about me, Alya," Robin assured her. "I'd love to see the... what-ever-it-is... "
"Well, in that case, if you just sign this disclaimer that the hotel is in no way responsible and didn't solicit your interest--that's a matter of legal form you know--we've learned our lesson from some of our guests in the past--I'll be able to arrange something for tonight."
"Thanks so much," Robin said, signing the papers attached to what was a copy of her tour contract. "Will it cost anything?"
"Don't worry about that," Alya answered. "Any expenses will just be entered here, under 'Other,' with your agreement. See you at 11:30 tonight? Okay?"
"Absolutely," nodded Robin. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. At least now I'll have something to take home besides a suntan!"
If you only knew, honey, Alya thought to herself, but she kept her face a mask.
* * *
If Robin had had any inkling of the organization behind her 'night out 'on the island, she might not have been so curious about her big night out seeing the native festival. She wasn't even curious about the odd, late hour at which Alya had arranged to pick her up to take her to the festival.
But Robin was ready and burning, bursting with interest. At 11:30 sharp Alya picked Robin up and they started over an unfamiliar island road in Alya's car.
Robin really hadn't known what to wear to the celebration, but she had wanted to appear casual. So, that afternoon she had bought herself a simple sort of a dress which was half-way between the sexy smock Alya wore and the loose mu-mus all the island woman clad themselves in.
In Alya's car, Robin now regretted that she had bothered to wear undies. They felt strange and constricting and unnecessary under her loose-fit-ting outfit. And, it was very warm, even in the car, with the wind rushing as they drove along.
When the car stopped, it seemed to Robin that they were in the middle of nowhere. But Alya grabbed Robin's hand and led her off the road into the lush undergrowth. They seemed to be pacing along a well-defined trail, although Robin couldn't see a thing in any direction. Her ears were filled with the night sounds of the tropical world, and, with mounting anticipation, she stumbled along after Alya's energetic pace.
After several minutes, like a B-movie scene, Robin heard the sounds of human voices and an exceptionally musical sort of drumming. And then, in a split second, Alya pulled her from the darkness of the surrounding jungle into a torch-lighted clearing.
Robin instinctively tried to shrink back into the shadows, somehow sensing that she was a trespasser here--the only white person. Her eyes darted around the shadows, noting the dark bodies seated in a circle around a mat-covered area that resembled a make-shift arena, which in turn, was bounded by torches on poles.
"Come Robin," Alya said.
She pulled Robin forward, and, as if on signal, all the natives interrupted their noises to turn their gaudily painted faces toward Robin. Then a steel band struck up--several natives were beating out an intricate melody on brightly colored petroleum drums.
"It's all right. They've accepted you being here, Robin," Alya said.
She lead the frightened, nervous Robin to the other side of the clearing. Here there was a small bamboo lean-to, something like an oversized sedan-chair, and it was into this three-sided structure that Alya led Robin.
From inside this shelter, Alya and Robin had a direct line of sight to the matted circle. There were two huge pillows, sewn together. Robin and Alya sat down, side-by-side.
As the music swelled, a young boy in his midteens, but looking younger, ran up to where they were sitting. The boy was practically naked. All he wore was a slender loincloth which boldly outlined his cock and balls. He thrust a mug at her. It was filled to the brim with some kind of liquid. The moment Robin took the mug, the boy bounded off.
She sniffed at it. It smelled delicious, almost heady.
"Why didn't he bring you a drink?"
"Because you're a guest of honor."
"Oh--" Without farther thought Robin began sipping the drink as her eyes followed the spectacle unfolding before her. The music swelled and throbbed, becoming almost a ferocious din. The natives sitting around in a circle began chanting. It was a weird sound that resembled barking and droning.
The sound began to take hold of Robin as she sipped nervously at the drink. She didn't know if it was the drink or the music or the chanting--something was getting to her--her mind was growing fuzzy; a strange vibration seemed to go through her body, making her feel flushed and warm all over. She shuddered.
She felt as if she were melting inside--as if, weirdly, the soft center of her being was growing hot with a strange fire. She trembled and took a big gulp.
Robin started to unconsciously sway to the music and chanting, as if in a stupor, automatically sipping more and more of the odd, sweet, delicious tasting potion.
She watched, not even blinking, when a naked black man sprang gracefully into the center of the area and started a graceful, leaping dance on the mats. Her eyes glued to his groin, watching his enormous black cock flail about, up and down, side to side, as he danced. But Robin's mind was atrophying. She was seeing the muscular, whirling figure with her senses; she was responding to his frenzied dance with her body.
And then a second figure sprang into the circle. Robin's eyes widened. It was a naked girl. She was brown, and her shiny skin contrasted with the black of the naked male. The girl, her sensuous body glistening under the torch light, entered into the frantic, but somehow formal ballet with the naked black man.
Robin had never dreamed in a fantasy what was actually taking place before her. The dancers circled each other, as if teasing. They came together, and their bodies rubbed slowly together, sliding, taunting. The brown naked girl slid behind the black naked man and circled her arms around him, her fingers tracing seductive caresses over his broad chest.
The man closed his eyes and swayed in rhythm to the beating drums. The girl's hands caressed slowly downward, over his ribcage, down over his flat, heavily muscled stomach, down down down, over his thighs, teasing, and then one of her hands captured his heavy sac of balls while her other hand encircled his stiffening prick and began to jerk on it with a slow, sliding motion.
It was too much for Robin. She responded heatedly to the sensuous dance. She began to rub her thighs together with excitement as she watched. She was in a turmoil of desire.
She had absently dropped the mug. She felt hands hitching up behind her, under her smock; and then she heard a snap as her bra was undone, freeing her heavy, firm tits. The hand began to fondle her tits, teasing the nipples, and Robin sighed, yielding without thought. She sagged back against Alya, without even realizing it was Alya who was caressing her... not really caring...
Her body seemed to absorb the beat and tempo of the music and the drums. The big black man now began to sag under the seducing brown girl's caresses. Slowly he sank to the mat, his teeth clenched, his eyes closed. The girl gracefully hovered over him, running her hands over his body. Strangely, as if it were a ritual; he remained passive, not even touching her fantastic body with his hands.
The brown girl leaned low, still swaying with the rhythm as the man writhed beneath her, and she licked her tongue slowly over the entire length of his enormous black boner. Her thick lips ovaled and she sucked the cock in, her lips surging down, taking his cock in, inch by slow, sensuous inch, and all the while her fingers played caressively over his body.
Now lips were nibbling at Robin's earlobes, and a tongue snaked into her ear and fluttered devastatingly. Robin moaned, surrendering completely, thoughtlessly, seduced by the music, the drums, the drink and Alya's artful caresses.
Robin felt as if she were sinking into a drumming, throbbing, intoxicating void of pleasure. She could not take her glazed eyes from the sight of the brown girl and the black man. As she watched, she felt her dress being removed, and then her panties, and she was naked.
Robin sank back on the huge twin pillows that were big enough, sewn together, to serve as a bed. As she sank back she continued to watch the erotic dance.
Now Alya was over her, teasing her throbbing nipples with her lips, tongue and teeth. Robin's sensual craving became an inferno. Her pussy was creamy and ready. Alya moved from one tit to the other, sucking, tongue-flogging, biting... and her hand was now buried between Robin's yawning thighs; her knowing fingers moved delicately, stroking the warm pussy lips, rousing Robin's passion until she was breathing raggedly through her teeth.
As Alya fingerfucked Robin's creamy twat, she sucked on Robin's nipples. And then she began to move, sliding down over Robin's surrendered, prostrate, naked body, her black body covering Robin's white body. Through glazed, slitted eyes Robin saw the brown girl rising up over the black man, parting her thighs and beginning to squat down, ready to impale herself on his long, thick, black pole.
At that moment Robin's body leaped up to receive the tender cunt kisses. One after another, delighted shivers danced along Robin's spine. Alya's tongue licked and laved, darted in and withdrew, teased over the clitoris bud, licked again, dragging slowly over the pink, creamy pussy lips, soaking Robin's silky pubic hair.
Robin sighed while her body arched and tossed in response to Alya's hungering mouth. The tongue licked and stabbed. The breath choked off in her throat as the flickering tongue darted and withdrew, then plunged once more like a burning flame, deeper and deeper into her churning cunt.
The brown girl was mounted on the black man's cock and was riding up and down on it, whining, her tits bouncing. And Robin swooned as Alya's lips and probing tongue seared her cunt.
Robin lifted her body eagerly, seeking to intensify the burning contact. Shudders of ecstasy gripped her. The passion grew unbearable. She opened her thighs wider as her cunt lips began to clench at Alya's wild tongue.
And then the convulsions were on her, driving her into a maddening, flaming delirium of pulsing release. The flooding of her body was accompanied by violent spasms which lifted her out of herself. She sobbed her pleasure as the hot longing slowly ebbed, leaving her weak and contented, filling her with a lazy, wistful sensation. And still Alya's tongue lapped and jabbed at her oozing, tingling cunt.
The brown girl convulsed, stiffening, on the black, bloating cock, and the black man roared as he arched up, driving in to the hilt, and they came together as the music reached a wild climax.
With dazed eyes Robin continued to watch. Alya's tongue continued to lick slowly over the wet smooth opening of her pussy. And then again she drove her tongue stiffly into Robin's cunt and Robin cried out. The tongue was whipping her up again, washing over her cunt lips, dipping into the soft, pink, fleshy folds.
As the brown girl and black man disengaged to the passionate beat of the drums and the throb and moan of the music and chanting, two more naked people sprang into the circle--a huge black buck and a dramatically voluptuous black girl. In their hands they had long whips made of vines that were studded with long, sharp thorns.
Even in her seduced, drugged, erotic state, Robin seemed to understand this part of the dance-drama... the black man lying there spent belonged to the newly arrived girl, and the brown girl belonged to the big black buck. The new pair had surprised the lovers.
Then to the beat of the music they began to flog the black man and brown girl with the whips made of thorn-studded vines. The tortured lovers screamed in pain as the whip-vines flogged them. The sharp thorns bit into their naked, gleaming flesh, puncturing the skin, making blood spurt.
There was no escape for the surprised lovers. The blows of the vine-whips landed on their buttocks, leaving vivid welts and cuts that dripped blood. They could not get away from the torture. The avenging couple put the full weight of their bodies into the blows that blasted the cringing couple. Now their buttocks and backs were crisscrossed with gaping wounds.
Robin watched hypnotized. The sadistic cruelty, matched with Alya's cunt-lapping, thrilled her perversely. She had never witnessed anything like it.
And then Alya left Robin's pulsing pussy. Robin was whining--she was hovering on the edge of another climax. As she continued to watch the flogging, she let Alya move her around until she was draped over Alya's knees. Robin's lovely buttocks jutted up invitingly. Alya grinned as she gazed down at the girl's jaunty round white buttocks.
With a loud smack, Alya brought her flat palm down hard on Robin's behind, making Robin's straining buttocks quiver.
"Ohhhhh--" Robin moaned. Now she was watching a flogging and getting a spanking at the same time. Somehow, in her drugged, erotic state, the whole thing was overwhelmingly thrilling. She was absorbing perversion now--watching and feeling--Robin, to her surprise, was getting sensual delight from the spanking. She squirmed and arched her rump as Alya struck her again and again, her black hand beating a fierce tattoo on Robin's reddening white buttocks. Robin's hips began to rotate in an undulating response of perverted sensual excitement. Never had anything like this happened to her. And she was loving it.
Robin was actually crying real tears as Alya spanked her. And, through her tears, she watched as the surprised couple took a severe flogging that was smearing their bodies with blood and cuts and welts.
Alya was aware that Robin's delight was reaching orgiastic intensity, so she struck harder and harder against the warm, twisting, firm behind. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack!
Rapidly her hand descended in a fierce staccato on the soft behind. Alya was breathing heavily, and her big, firm tits were bouncing and swaying. And, she could sense the voluptuous glow that had begun to ignite in Robin's body.
Uttering gasps and sobs, Robin thrashed about on Alya's lap. And then, with a sudden loud cry, Robin was inundated with the spurting rapture of her release. Her cunt contracted and climaxed, pouring and oozing cream. And still Alya pounded her buttocks until they were flaming red.
Robin had had a night she would never forget. It would mark her forever. When she got home she would find an extra charge for the evening--$200 under the contract heading of 'Other Services.' She was not the first, nor the last, who would have to pay such a fee for just such an evening.
It was all part of the plan of the Time-of-Your-Life Caribbean vacation...
CHAPTER TWO
Clint Westwood leaned against the rail of the cruise ship that was taking him and his sister, Shirley, to the island paradise of San Dozes. It was the last place on earth Clint wanted to go. Not that he knew much about it. He just damn well didn't want to go anywhere, least of all with, or for, Shirley.
And he didn't like the set-up, either. A bunch of crooks, he thought, flicking his cigarette at a seagull which was floating close to the stern of the ship. He didn't like the smooth pitch they had given in the travel agency back in New York. It was suppose to be a package deal, and yet they wouldn't let him post the money in advance.
"After all," he remembered the pink-cheeked little tour-counsellor say, "this is the age of credit, Mr. Westwood. We simply don't know how much you and your companion will be spending on the island. Our plan is designed for everybody's convenience."
"My ass," he thought to himself at the time. The whole thing smelled fishy to him. Why wouldn't they take payment in advance? And, to Clint, the whole thing meant he'd have to watch Shirley every moment of the day so she didn't walk off with the hotel bar, or, more likely, the bartender.
What a pain in the ass! Here he was, in his early thirties, and nothing much to show for it.
A hack journalist with three muck-raking books to his credit. Okay, so they had been good books; everybody had praised him and talked of Pulitzer Prizes and all that crap. But nobody bothered to buy the books. He was barely able to get by on the few dollars the books brought in.
All he ever seemed to do was bail Shirley out, sober her up, get her committed, get her out, meet her bills, head off her down-at-the-heels pick-ups... a lifetime of wet-nursing. When would it ever end?
Maybe she'd slip and fall overboard and take up with a school of porpoises. Clint had heard they were a horny bunch.
His real tending of his sister had started when they had been orphaned by the plane crash. Only nineteen, Clint had managed to keep her and raise her and care for her. Everyone admired his devotion to his young sister.
That was it: devotion. Well, that's what it was all about: his devotion to Shirley. He had finally faced the fact. He had always done things for her, and his friends teased him for being his kid-sister's lackey.
And how she had humiliated him, even back then, when they were younger, when their parents were still living. Every day Clint would wake up early to go and brush his sister's beautiful blonde hair--fifteen minutes on each side while she sat in bed, still nearly dozing. And then he would run a bath for her, and, after breakfast, see her to school.
And be her butler in the afternoon, and do her homework at night while she watched TV or whatever she wanted to do. And on the weekends, clean her room and build her things, like a playhouse or a see-saw.
And back during those days, he had loved it--had loved being bullied around by her; be subjected to her every whim; name it, he did it for her.
She would always reward him. She'd draw his head down and thank him and give him a quick kiss. And even though he now cursed her, he was still devoted to her. Now Shirley was a teenager in high school. Well, he and his kid-sister were headed for that damn island, San Dozes.
He looked up when he heard people on deck murmuring excitedly. They were pointing at an island off in the distance. Clint looked, squinting against the sun. It was San Dozes. Next to it, with a narrow strip of water separating it from San Dozes, was another island. It was much smaller. Clint wondered what island it was. On the tour map the island had not even been shown. He wondered why. He wondered what the name of the island was. And what went on there...
The island that didn't even appear on the map was San Geraldo. It was a privately owned island. It was owned by Geraldo Andres. It amused him to call his little tropical island, San Geraldo. There was an island named San Andres. It lay off the coast of Nicaragua. So, Geraldo Andres had dubbed the island after his first name.
Geraldo was a very rich man. This island, and the palatial mansion on it, he called home. He was a world traveler. On his travels he met many people, many of them jaded, with the same twisted tastes that he had. The jaded people he invited to his island. Some stayed on indefinitely. Others came and went.
Geraldo Andres was a charming man when he wanted to be. He was a sly, amusing wit--when he wanted to be. He was a most skilled lover. He was a pervert--he was a voyeur some of the time; at other times he was a masochist; at still other time he was a sadist. And he was a stud, hung like a bull, and he knew how to use his fantastic equipment, and women knew it and loved it.
And... Geraldo Andres was five feet two inches tall. He weighed two hundred pounds. He had the ugly face of a pig. He was bald-headed. And yet, many beautiful women adored him, in fact, many worshipped him. And not just because of his money. They were attracted by his wit and charm, by his skill as a lover, by his enormous cock, by his weird tastes.
Now, as the ever-present sun splashed down, making gold coins in the huge pool behind his mansion, Geraldo sat in a chair fit for a king on the sprawling, lushly landscaped patio that surrounded the pool. In his bathing trunks he was oceans of hard rolls of fat. He was so chubby that he had the breasts of a girl. His chocolate skin was as hairless as a girl's.
To his right stood two girls, stark naked. One was a fair-skinned blonde, and one was a black skinned beauty. Both girls were twenty. Both were raving beauties. Both girls were Amazons in height: they stood an even six feet. Their bodies were nothing short of fabulous. Their breasts were full and lush and proudly erect, capped by extended nipples. Their waists were slim, their stomachs flat, their hips flared out dramatically; their buttocks were bewitchingly taut, firm and luscious; their legs were long and flawless. Both were blessed with bodies that were beyond the wildest dreams of all girls. And their faces were cameos of beauty. The white girl had long, flowing blonde hair; the black girl had an Afro hairdo. White or black, a man would not be able to pick between them if offered the chance.
Both girls had been living with Geraldo for a year. Both adored him. Both served his every whim. The blonde was from England, and her name was Heather; the black girl was from America, and her name was Nadia.
Neither girl could get enough of Geraldo. They trailed him around wherever he went, even to the bathroom, especially when he wanted to take a pee. To the girls, that was a great treat. They loved to hold his long, thick cock when he took a leak, shaking the last drops off when he was through, giggling.
Either individually, or together, Heather and Nadia slept as often as they could in Geraldo's bed, thrilling as he fucked their brains out. He was the stud to end all studs. That he was little and fat and bald and ugly meant nothing to them.
Heather and Nadia shared a sumptuous suite of rooms. When not with Geraldo, they slept together in a huge, round bed, enjoying lesbian delights. Nadia was the aggressor in their relationship.
Both girls were superb athletes. They were trained gymnasts, skilled in boxing and wrestling, judo and karate. They were an even match for each other. Geraldo loved, from time to time, to watch them battle each other. In the beginning, before their lesbian activities with each other began, almost all of their fights ended in a draw; but, after their lesbian devotion to one another began, Nadia found it easy to subdue Heather. Since Heather was the passive partner in their relationship, she naturally couldn't put up a fight--she felt weak before Nadia because of their relationship in private. But, the girls arranged, for Geraldo's benefit, staged battles, with one girl winning one time, the other the next. Geraldo never guessed the battles were staged.
As they stood beside the seated Geraldo they watched Herman Leffer climb out of the pool and dry himself off with a fluffy towel. Herman was a big man, 6'2", 210 pounds, all solid muscle. He was a loud-mouth and a bully. Geraldo didn't like Herman, and was sorry he had invited the bully of a playboy to his island.
Geraldo had worked out a plan with the girls. Now, as Herman tossed the towel aside, his naked body tanned and gleaming, Geraldo nodded to Heather and Nadia.
"You know what to do with the Texas big-mouth oilman?" he whispered to Nadia and Heather. The girls nodded. "Okay." Nadia stepped forward, facing Herman, who was only eight feet away from them, smiling at them.
"Hey, big man?" Nadia called.
"You all mean me?"
"I do."
"Whatcha want, black beauty?" he grinned.
"I was wondering... " Nadia grinned.
"You was wondering what, black beauty?"
"I was wondering how come a big man like you--a man with a big body and a big mouth to match--I was wondering--how come you got such a little pecker?" Nadia grinned.
"What'cha say?" Herman frowned.
"I said how come a big man like you--a man all big mouth and brag has such a baby prick?"
"Watch your filthy mouth, nigger girl!" Herman glowered with heat.
"What did you call me, boy?"
"Don't call me boy! And I called you nigger girl!"
"That's what I thought you said, my short-peckered friend."
"What's this short-peckered shit all about, nigger girl?"
"Watch your mouth you red-neck white trash or I'll yank your little pitiful prick off and use it as a book mark."
"Shut up, nigger girl, or I'll knock your teeth down your throat!"
"You talk big for a guy with a little cock," Nadia laughed, and Heather joined her derisive laughter.
Herman was enraged, just as Geraldo knew he would be when he had worked out the plan with Nadia and Heather. No man likes to have the size of his cock ridiculed by a girl.
"Little cock?" Herman said, choking on his rage. "I put my cock in your cunt and you'll scream like you had a tent peg pounded into it!"
"Big talk. Little pecker," Nadia laughed mockingly at him.
"If you weren't a girl, you nigger bitch, I'd beat the shit outta you!"
"Don't let that stand in your way, my short-peckered friend," Nadia grinned, taking a graceful step toward him. Her lovely naked body challenged his. He only had two inches height on her, but he had at least eighty pounds of muscle on her. But Nadia stared him down fearlessly. "Hey, red-neck. You think you're man enough to take me?" Nadia taunted.
"Shit. No contest."
"Bull."
"Hey, nigger girl, are you really talking about fighting me?"
"That's right, Herman Little-Cock. Hey! I like that name: Herman Little-Cock." She burst into laughter. "Sure--I'm talking about fighting you, baby--I'll wipe you out real easy," Nadia grinned.
"Hell, I don't fight girls, even nigger girls," Herman said in a superior way.
"I knew you were a coward when I saw your little-biddy dick," she sneered.
"I've taken all the crap I intend to take from you, nigger bitch! Girl or no girl, I'm gonna beat the shit outta you and teach you a lesson!" Herman roared. His ego was stung. He was in a blind rage.
"Ready to take your beating, Herman Little-Cock?"
Herman was so angry he was actually snorting. They faced each other; the sun made their naked bodies gleam. He was big, deeply tanned and all hard muscle; she was tall, black, beautiful, her body a vision of comfortable curves.
They glared at each other across the wide, sweeping patio that graced the poolside. As they did, Geraldo, sitting in his chair watched with avid interest, just as Heather, standing beside him, was watching attentively.
Herman stood still as Nadia began to circle him. He pivoted slowly as she circled around. Suddenly Nadia took a lightning-quick step in and snapped off three sharp left jabs, each catching him squarely on the jaw, making his head bob.
Herman blinked, surprised, and frowned as he began to lift his guard to protect his face. He wasn't quick enough. Nadia darted in again and swiftly delivered a hard left to his cheek and a solid right cross to the point of his jaw.
The solid right cross caught Herman off-balance and unready. He was unprepared for the vicious impact of her black fists. Momentarily, he saw dancing spots before his eyes. His ankles crossed, tripping him, and he sat down hard, with a humiliating thud.
He sat there for a moment, shaking his head in confusion and disbelief, rubbing his hand against his sore, bruised jaw. Nadia stood near him, waiting, her eyes taunting him.
"Get up and fight like a man, Herman Little-Cock," Nadia said with scorn.
Herman did not reply. Respect for her and surprise mingled in his eyes. He got up and looked at her with caution.
"Where the hell did you learn to box like that, nigger girl?" he spat.
"That's academic," she grinned. "I know how, and I know other things, too. Now. Are you going to fight like a man or are you going to stall asking questions?"
He cursed and sneered. He began to move slowly and cautiously as Nadia again began to circle him in a clockwise direction. She moved with speed and grace and purpose and poise. They were both moving in boxing stances.
Herman threw a tentative jab, and Nadia blocked it with her arm. He faked a left and lunged an awkward, looping, overhand right at her. Nadia stepped inside of his looping blow and it sailed harmlessly over her shoulder as she crouched. She bashed a straight right into his stomach. He whooshed air and doubled as her fist sank into his stomach. As he doubled forward Nadia clubbed him first with a left, then with a fast combination of four rights and lefts to the face.
The first blow split his lips open; the second socked into his eye, making it puff and ache; the third smacked into his ear, making it ring; and the final punch of the fast combination caught him on the nose with crunching force, making his nose go numb and bleed, and making his eyes water.
Herman staggered back, pursued by Nadia, who tormented him with a swift flurry of rights and lefts before he could recover. As he tried to shield his face from the peppering of her sharp punches, Nadia went under his guard, putting the full force of her body behind the fist that slugged sickeningly into his gut.
He stopped dead in his tracks as the gut-punch knocked the wind out of him. He pitched forward and Nadia measured him coolly before slamming a devastating right to his jutting jaw.
Down Herman went, sprawling, stunned.
He rolled over three times before slowly coming up on his hands and knees. He looked up at Nadia with pure hatred. One of his eyes was puffed and discolored. His lips were split and caked with blood. He was bleeding from his red, swollen nose. There were bruises on his cheeks and jaw. He snorted, shaking his head.
"Had enough, red-neck white trash?" Nadia grinned.
"Hell, no!" he bellowed, his face red with rage and shame at the way she was using him as a punching bag.
Herman had so far failed to lay a hand on Nadia. He scrambled to his feet and took a gulp of air. Nadia waited patiently for him to make his move. She knew that his blind rage would defeat him. She waited with calm composure.
He threw caution to the wind and rushed wildly at her and ran straight into her blazing fists. The blows deflected his rush, and she gracefully stepped aside, letting him stumble by like a confused bull.
He wheeled and came at her again, charging like a locomotive out of control. Again she met his pell-mell charge with a flurry of fists, jarring him. He bellowed in frustration and rage.
Again, Herman rushed Nadia, giving up all pretense that he could successfully box her. Only this time, as she calmly waited, he surprised her by hurtling his body at her in a superb flying tackle.
Nadia side-stepped, but her surprise made her reaction too slow, and Herman brought her crashing down with a bone-jarring tackle. They struggled, rolling over and over, but now he had her in his grasp, and he was too powerful for her. Holding her so that her arms were pinned helplessly to her sides, he dragged her to her feet and then caught her in a crushing bear-hug, lifting her feet off the ground.
His massive arms began to choke the breath out of her. His back muscles flexed and bulged. Nadia gasped for air, and her arms fluttered in the air like broken wings. He grunted with satisfaction as he crushed her powerfully, viciously, against himself. Nadia's face took on a stricken expression as she struggled ineffectually, sucking desperately for breath, all of her skill and grace defeated by his ape-like strength.
Nadia's eyelashes began to flutter, and her eyes began to roll back as he slowly squeezed breath and consciousness from her. Geraldo and Heather frowned as they watched the tide of battle turn so suddenly and decisively away from Nadia.
"Nigger bitch!" Herman cursed as he grunted, squeezing the helpless black girl into a stupor.
Slowly, Nadia went limp in Herman's powerfully squeezing embrace. With a triumphant laugh he let her go and she began to sag, crumbling to the patio stones. And, even as she began to go down, he swung a roundhouse right. It caught Nadia on her right cheek. The force of the blow spun the rubber-legged black girl around and drove her, staggering drunkenly, toward the pool's edge.
Nadia toppled into the pool with a splash and sank like a rock toward the bottom. The shock of the water seemed to revive her; in a moment she came sputtering to the surface, spitting water and coughing. If Herman hadn't slugged her into the pool, the fight would have ended, with Nadia unconscious at Herman's feet. But by blasting her into the pool he had given her another chance, since the water had startled her dulled senses back to sharp consciousness.
Nadia climbed out of the pool, her gleaming black body dripping water. Herman stood watching her, his hands on his hips. She crouched slightly and came right at Herman, her eyes squinting and intent and flashing with fury.
"Ain'tcha hadda 'nuff, nigger girl?" Herman sneered.
"Shut your mouth, red-necked, white trash."
And, springing at him with graceful swiftness, Nadia delivered a sharp karate chop to the side of his neck, making him wince. Then he roared and lunged after her, grappling, trying to capture her with his strong, massive arms.
Nadia eluded him and grabbed him by the arm and, with a neat judo twist, tossed him over her shoulder. He landed hard on the patio stones, bounced painfully, and tumbled into the pool.
Nadia was laughing when Herman surfaced, spitting water. He clambered out of the pool, water draining off his body. But before he could set himself, Nadia attacked, slashing him with four hurtful karate chops and a crossing right with her balled fist, square in the mouth.
Blood splattered as her fist mashed his mouth, and it dribbled down his chin. And then a straight right slammed into his puffy, discolored eye, closing it completely.
The blinding shock in his eye drove him back; he teetered on the edge of the pool, and then fell in, like a felled tree. A geyser plumed up as he hit the water and sank out of sight.
Slowly he surfaced, coughing, his mouth bleeding, his nose swollen, his eye puffy and closed. Sluggishly he climbed out of the pool. On unsteady legs he walked toward Nadia, going into a low crouch, his arms coming up in defense.
Nadia was on him like a whirlwind, hitting him at will, from all directions, swirling around him, jabbing him with her fists, slugging him, knocking him back on his heels. And then--a karate chop to the throat... a left to the gut... and a blazing right uppercut to his jaw.
Herman staggered as if in trance, his open eye glazed. Nadia finished him off with a dazzling combination of vicious rights and lefts. Heather and Geraldo, watching, weren't sure which punch put Herman away--there were so many, so fast.
He went down in slow motion, stretching out motionless on the patio stones.
"Well done, Nadia," Geraldo said with delight.
"Thanks. Except for when he got me in that damn bearhug, he was nothing," Nadia grinned. She turned to Heather. "It's your turn, honey."
"I know. I'm ready," Heather said.
Nadia walked gracefully over to where Geraldo sat in the throne-like chair and settled her water-slick, gleaming black body into his lap, wriggling her lush buttocks against his lap and the lump of his monstrous prick. Nadia and Geraldo turned their attention to Heather.
The voluptuous blonde pulled the unconscious man's hands behind his neck and chained his wrists tightly together. She then fitted a leather collar around his neck, buckling it tight. Through the metal eyelet in the front of the collar she threaded a slender length of gleaming wire. At the end of the wire dangled an adjustable cylinder of metal.
Heather pulled Herman up to his knees as he moaned, regaining consciousness. Then she slipped the metal cylinder onto the shaft of his cock, adjusting the cylinder until it was choking-tight around his cock.
The slender length of wire linked the cylinder around his cock to the eyelet attached to the leather collar around his neck. The wire was pulled taut, forcing Herman to freeze in a crouched-forward, cramped position on his knees, his hands chained behind his neck.
If he moved the wire would yank on the cylinder, giving sharp, awful pain to his groin...
Herman, now fully conscious, was in a humiliating, helpless position.
"W-what the hell is this?" he slurred thickly through his puffy, cut lips.
"You'll see," Heather said, "with your one good eye, that is," she added with a laugh.
"Geraldo? What the hell's going on?" Herman spluttered. Geraldo laughed derisively in reply.
And then, with his open eye, Herman fearfully saw what was in store for him next. Heather, in her naked beauty, was strolling up to him, her hips rolling, her tits swaying and bobbing, holding in her hand a whip that struck terror into Herman's heart.
"No--!" he moaned. He jerked his body in fear, and the wire pulled painfully at his cock. He wailed in humiliation, pain and fright.
It was not an ordinary whip. It had four long braided lashes of leather. Studded in the leather braids were razor-sharp slivers of cold blue steel.
Heather winked at Geraldo and Nadia. They nodded and smiled back at her. And then her body went into graceful motion. The four metal-studded leather lashes twirled over her blonde head.
There was a whirring noise. And then four loud explosive cracks. The braided, metal-studded lashes of the whip slashed into Herman's tense, heavily muscled back with devastating impact, and curled brutally around his chest, slicing viciously into his flesh. His crouched, bound body lurched in pain, and he let out a blood-curdling hoot of pain. The blast of the four lashes opened bloody wounds on his back and chest, and drops of blood splattered and danced in the bright sunlight.
Again the brutal whip sailed through the air. The lashes struck him with fearful power, gouging out bits of his flesh. Herman writhed in anguish, howling in horror, and blood oozed from his gaping wounds and the wire and cylinder and collar gave him choking, awful pain in the throat and groin.
Heather began flogging him with strong rhythm, again and again. The fierce lashes chewed up the flesh of his back and the sharp metal slivers cut welts open. Blood oozed and splattered.
As Heather, wielding the terrible whip flogged him relentlessly, she showed no compassion, no mercy. He screamed and shouted and yelled and wailed in helpless torment and pain. His back and now his buttocks were being lashed methodically, ruthlessly, asunder.
Finally, with a mournful shriek, he passed out and crumpled to his side, his back, buttocks and chest a mass of open, ugly wounds, his body a smear of blood, his eye closed and going black, his nose swollen and caked with blood, his lips cracked open and disfigured by congealed blood, his cheeks and jaw bruised from the painful punishment of Nadia's fists.
"Marvelous, Heather," Geraldo said, his eyes gleaming sadistically.
"It was my pleasure," Heather smiled.
"I'm afraid you girls will have to tend to Herman's wounds."
"It's the least we can do for the bastard," Nadia laughed.
"As soon as you have him ready for travel, we'll ship him away," Geraldo said.
"Good. I never could stand him," Heather said.
"I'm afraid it was my mistake to invite him here," Geraldo confessed. "But you girls corrected my error," he added with a cruel laugh.
"Look," Nadia said, pointing off to the distance. They turned and saw the cruise ship cutting through the blue water to San Dozes. "Another boatload of tourists," Heather said, making a face of disgust.
"Yes," Geraldo said. "They come and they go. Perhaps one of them will wander over here in a small boat... " he mused.
"That would be fun," Heather said. "We can have fun and games with the misguided, curious tourists."
"Yes . .
There was only seven miles of calm, blue water separating San Dozes from San Geraldo...
CHAPTER THREE
The cruise ship's whistle sounded, a great vibrating blast that shuddered through Clint's bones and rattled his teeth. Clint flicked his cigarette over the rail and started below to find his sister and their luggage. He waved to the pretty girl who smiled at him.
The girl's name was Katrina, and she was what the columnists like to refer to as a raven-haired beauty. She had a lovely, aristocratic face, deep, dark eyes and full, sensuous lips. Her swirling black hair tumbled to her shoulders. Her body was enough to distract any man. Her marriage had recently failed, costing her money and sorrow. This trip was recommended by friends as a way to get away from it all and forget.
Later, after the boat had anchored off San Dozes, Clint thought about Katrina. As he dressed for an afternoon at the beach he found himself hoping to meet her. The day went by uneventfully. Now it was the second day since they had arrived on the little island; Clint hated everything about it, especially the swarm of yammering tourists and crowds of wretched, underfed natives.
Two days and only one incident from his sister, Shirley, and that had turned out better than he could have hoped. He had come up from breakfast, after brushing aside the polite overtures of a hotel staffer, who acted as if Clint needed an artificial friend to get through his vacation.
When he arrived at his room and entered, he heard the sounds of a male voice protesting something or other. Opening the door that connected his room to Shirley's, Clint saw his sister standing with uncombed hair, dressed only in a short bathrobe. The robe, as usual, hung partly open, almost completely exposing her lush, firm breasts. Shirley was teasing and intimidating a young native bellhop who had brought a breakfast cart up to her room. Clint heaved a disgusted sigh as he took in the picture of the youth flattened against his sister's door, his dark eyes terrified. He saw Clint, and his eyes appealed to him.
"Lo siento mucho, senor," the bellhop babbled. "Por favor--la senora--" he tried to explain, spreading his hands in a frantic appeal to Clint.
"It's okay," Clint assured him, letting him out of the door. "Traigame el doctor del hotel," he said to the youth, who nodded and fled down the carpeted hall.
This was one weapon he had now over Shirley, he realized. His Spanish was flawed, but she had none, so he had some measure of control over her.
When the hotel doctor arrived, Clint explained that his sister needed a sedative. Shirley sulked and sat on her bed, her robe still open. She offered no resistance to the needle, which, the doctor assured Clint, would put her out like a light for most of the rest of the day.
So it gave him a free day without her to worry over.
In his bathing trunks he began to walk around, exploring the area of the island around the hotel grounds. He walked the length of the beach, away from everyone, and then he spied a figure he thought resembled the girl he was looking for--Katrina. He squinted into the sun up at the rocks where she lay, almost completely out of sight of the beach.
He circled back up the beach road, trotting along for nearly a quarter of a mile in his bathing trunks and sport shirt. Then, figuring where she would be, he left the road and started down the rocky bluffs which overhung the blue-satin water. He dropped lightly down the rocks and stopped on a ledge that overhung hers by about twelve feet.
Peering over cautiously, he nearly swallowed his breath. There she was, stretched out on a pad of several hotel towels she had pitched on the rocks. In spite of the height of her chosen spot from the beach below, there were small pools of sea water in the crevices around her. And Clint could see the jagged ravine which had tossed the surf-spray up to these heights. But what really took his breath away was the sight of her luscious back and legs, turned to the sun like a pagan flesh-offering for solar roasting.
He admired the sight of her long, beautifully muscled legs and tawny back. She lay still, melting under the hot sun, her hands folded under her face and the straps of her bikini bra lying out on either side of her.
Clint took a small stone and flicked it down into one of the tide pools. Drawing back, he heard the plop and her simultaneous startled breath as the warm salt water splattered her glistening body. He waited until she'd settled down again and then, like a small boy, he lobbed another pebble into a different pool. This time he pushed forward through the scrub to watch her reaction.
She stiffened when the water hit her, but lay without moving for a minute. Clint almost imagined he could see her ears working, and he tried to suppress his breathing. Then her hands swung behind her and quickly knotted the halter around her back. One of her arms delved into a straw beach bag. Clint couldn't figure it. Leaning forward to see more of her, he inadvertently rustled the brush that marked his hiding place.
In one swift motion, the girl swung into a sitting position, jerking her hand out of the beach bag. Clint found himself suddenly staring simultaneously into her beautiful eyes and the business end of a short pistol.
"Whoa," he cried, coming out of the bushes above her. "I surrender. Let's not declare war."
The gun dropped from its aim at him. The girl's lovely face frowned as she tossed the silky black hair out of her eye, and then broke into a grin. Clint clambered down the rocks and jumped the final few feet to her rock roost.
"Didn't mean to interrupt," he smiled. "Do you always pull that gun out when a low-flying bird comes by?"
"Only when I suspect that it might be a bird of prey," answered Katrina, snapping the safety and putting the pistol away. "I don't know why, but I've been kind of expecting that I'd see you before long," she said, digging deeper into her beach bag. "Like a drink--cold gin?"
"Great. It looks as if you were expecting someone."
"Anyone with the guts to come along and relieve my boredom," she smiled. "It's been only two days, but I feel like I've spent half of my life on this phony island for society's rejects."
"My sympathies exactly," Clint said, toasting her, clacking his plastic cup with the cool gin against hers.
"Take off your shirt and get some sun," she said, shifting her sumptuously sculptured body on the towel to make room for him. She saw his eyes flick over her and knew how hard it was for him to be polite. Not many men kept their cool completely when confronted with a body like hers. That she knew from experience.
"Sing for your cocktail," she smiled. "Let's find out about each other. We might be the only hope for each other on this whole bloody island."
"Fair enough," Clint grinned, stripping off his shirt and exposing his lean, well-muscled chest and arms. Who knows, he thought to himself as they fell to talking and joking, it might really turn out to be a vacation after all. Anything that took Shirley's problems off his mind qualified. And in the course of the afternoon, Katrina's company abstracted Clint from his entire world of worries...
* * *
Not that Clint's troubles weren't developing without him knowing it. For Shirley had come out of the sedative by early afternoon. And she was restless.
Like a sleepwalker she got out of bed and paraded around her room for awhile, admiring her body in the hotel's thoughtfully provided full-length mirrors. Then she sat on a stool in front of one of them, brushing her long honey hair. This ritual always stimulated her, and she began to playfully push and pinch at her breasts, fondling them, teasing herself, until the nipples hardened, lengthened and pulsed.
But before she got further into feeling herself up, Shirley's mind flicked back to the bellhop that morning. How that young brown body of his had excited her. Not that she hadn't had black and brown boys before in the course of her New York slumming... But she wanted a body like his right now! A boyish brown or black body dressed in starchy white linen. Shirley got off the stool and crossed to her dressing table. She applied lipstick. She rubbed perfume over her breasts, and at other strategic points. Then she got a light summer dress and slipped it over her body without bothering to put on undies. She slithered into a pair of sandals and, taking one last look at how lovely she looked, she whirled out of the room.
The hotel was virtually deserted; almost everyone was at the beach or at one of the pools. Shirley wandered from the lobby through the dining room, taking some fruit from the sideboard. Cautiously, she peered into the kitchen and then entered. All of the cooks were at the other end, preparing the evening meal, and she slipped between the high aluminum tables toward a back door.
Then she was outside, in a great walled yard full of delivery trucks and mountains of garbage, which buzzed with the droning of swarms of fat flies.
Shirley walked along the exterior wall of the hotel, pushing through the tropical undergrowth; apparently no one ever came back here, except to pick up rubbish dropped from the upper-story windows. Then she stopped. She heard what sounded like a woman's voice expressing great excitement. The noises came from a window just above her head.
Shirley raced instinctively back to the kitchen yard. She grabbed a metal garbage can and dragged it back through the brush to where she had been. Inverting it and positioning it under the window, she climbed up on its dented metal bottom. This brought her eyes a few inches higher than the sill of the open window, and her eyes grew saucer-shaped with what she saw.
She was looking into Mr. Boulo's office. And, true to his afternoon routine, Boulo was playing sadistic games with his special staffer, Alya.
Shirley's excited eyes drank in the sight of the native girl bending over the arm of the sofa, her legs spread apart to reveal from a rear view what Shirley could only inspect of herself from the front before a mirror. Shirley licked her lips, noting the welts that covered the victim's brown buttocks, and her eyes darted to the sweating fat man who danced from one foot to the other, dressed only in white shorts, slashing at the hunched-over Alya with his whistling leather whip.
The noise of Buolo's curses, mingling with Alya's entreaties and cries of pain and pleasure, were music to Shirley's ears. She hoisted herself up on tiptoes, straining her body and thrusting her face through the window to get a closer view of the twisted, carnal performance.
She could feel each stinging, lacerating blow of the whip as if it were landing on her own buttocks, and her mouth watered as she fed off of the spectacle of Alya's writhing body--her wriggling legs and sobbing back, which met in the crowning sacrifice of her upended brown buttocks.
Shirley began to burn with desire as she watched Buolo flogging Alya. Her thighs squirmed and rubbed together, and she squeezed her tits. Then one of her hands flew to her mouth. She bit into it hard to keep from betraying herself with a moan of desire. More than anything she wanted to be a part of the scene in Boulo's office. Involuntarily a groan escaped her lips, but neither Boulo nor Alya heard it. For Boulo had flung away the whip and, grinning, had shrugged off his shorts, baring his big erection. When Shirley saw his big boner she gasped, and her other hand went under and up her skirt straight to her naked cunt and began to finger. She tottered on top of the garbage can as she watched, one hand feeling up her tits, the other fingering her hot, moist cunt.
Shirley was boiling with heat. Boulo, giving a shrill cry of conquest, leaped and flung himself on Alya, who was lying now on the sofa. Shirley closed her eyes momentarily, feeling with anguished empathy the pain of the brown-skinned girl as Boulo landed on her back and drove his big fat cock into her ruthlessly.
Furiously Boulo fucked Alya, and, as Shirley watched, she fingered her pussy wildly and ground her teeth to keep from moaning as she kept her eyes riveted on the man who bounced up and down on the brown girl, who writhed like a fish under his wild ass-hole screwing.
Then, just when Shirley thought she'd collapse, Shirley was distracted by a noise behind her. Whipping her head around she saw a native boy standing transfixed behind her, his ferret-like eyes darting from the garbage can he had come to recover to the incredible sight of Shirley herself.
She saw the boy's boner pushing out the front of his pants and she didn't pause for an instant. Whinnying through her teeth, her nostrils flaring with excitement, she bounded off the garbage can, even as the youth began to backtrack.
By the time he turned around to run away through the brush, Shirley was on him, dragging him to the ground with an improvised but frenzied tackle. Her hands tore at his cotton trousers, yanking them down, exposing his hard-on as he protested wildly but mutely.
She pinned him on his back to the ground and clawed at him with her sharp fingernails. Before he knew what had happened, she moved and he found himself clutched between her frantic legs, her cunt ramming down hard on his cock and gobbling it up, and then she was pitching and bucking over him.
A quick change came over him as she fucked him wildly. He began to wriggle under her, pushing his cock up to meet the downslam of her cunt. He was locked under her as she rode his cock, holding her skirt up to her waist, swirling her hips around as she bucked up and down on his cock.
United in lust, fucking like crazy, the American tourist girl and the brown native kitchen boy rolled and writhed in the dank, tropical bed of leaves and undergrowth, each now desperately striving to fulfill the tempestuous drive of the other.
When Shirley was through fucking him, she simply disengaged, climbed off of him, letting his wilted cock slide out of her sopping pussy, patted her skirt down, patted her hair, winked at him, smiling, turned and walked away, leaving him lying there on his back, his pants and shorts jammed down to his ankles.
* * *
Clint was happier than he'd been in years, and all because of Katrina. Katrina seemed to be everything that Clint had always wanted in a woman. She was bright, witty, intelligent, warm, feminine, and was a good athlete, besides. Now, as he toweled himself dry, after showering, he hummed to himself happily, looking forward to being with Katrina--Kat as he called her. He had had enormous fun with Kat, and had forgotten all about Shirley. Where is Shirley? he wondered. Then he began whistling, not giving a damn.
Katrina, or Kat as he now called her, had asked him who that blonde was that he was with on the ship, but Clint shrugged off the question, without explaining. She was no one, was all he would say, except a very mixed-up girl he had run into somehow.
Kat hadn't seemed convinced by his explanation, but she confessed, at the end of their afternoon together, that she was glad to hear that the blonde wasn't important to him. "I could really grow awfully fond of a guy like you, Clint," she had said without any coyness. "But I'm never going to let a man screw me up or put me on again... " Maybe it would've been better to have explained about Shirley right then and there, he thought now. But perhaps Katrina wouldn't have understood, or, if he had really explained the whole truth, that might have ended the whole thing right there. Clint had been around enough to know that women have a low tolerance in general for behavior such as Shirley's.
He'd have to work it out somehow--Katrina was just too terrific to let slip through his fingers. Clint had tried to walk this kind of tightwire before, without much success. And he saw it stretched before him again, now.
Clint had had one masterful idea as he went down to dinner. Shirley had come in, looking like she had wrestled an army of Cossacks in a dung heap. Clint didn't question her.
"Come down to the bar when you're ready for chow," he said to Shirley. "I'll be around." He went out of her room so fast that he didn't hear Shirley's usual, "okie-dokie, lover."
Downstairs he explained his idea to the head bartender. He showed the man a picture of Shirley and made him promise that he'd personally mix all the drinks Shirley ordered.
"Everytime she orders, dilute it heavily, and add bitters--anything to conceal how weak the drink is," he told the head bartender. A twenty dollar bill clinched the deal, and Clint felt relatively relieved. If Shirley turned to the bar for solace, as he hoped she would, at least she'd have a hard time getting bombed--except in her mind, which really didn't matter.
He kept out of sight when Shirley came down, looking ravishing in a Suzie Wong-type silk sheath. He knew the dress. With one gesture, Shirley could reveal practically her entire body, and often had.
He kept himself hidden until Shirley had made it to the bar and, sure enough, after a few drinks she made a new friend, a guy who looked like an encyclopedia salesman. But Clint figured she was in good hands and knew from past history that Shirley would let the guy escort her to dinner.
That left him free, once he saw them sit down for dinner, to join Katrina for dinner on the hotel terrace. There, over a long meal and champagne, he and Kat talked with animation, getting to know and like each other more and more.
Clint and Katrina responded to each other with intimate, promising warmth. As simple a gesture as lighting a cigarette, the contact of their hands brushing briefly, brought a pause to both of them.
And later, when the usual syrupy band started playing on the terrace, they rose without a word to dance. It had been such a long time since Clint had danced with such a girl. He felt the warmth and lushness of her body pressed lightly against his--the intimacy of swelling breasts and curving thighs swishing against him as they floated around the terrace.
It seemed as if they weren't even moving after awhile. Kat floated against him, the sweet smell of her mingled with delicate perfume in his nostrils; the wisps of silky hair at her temple trailing against his cheek; and always her body, its urgent lightness inadvertently teasing his own. Just floating, it seemed to Clint, as he held the bewitching girl in his arms. Floating out of time and out of mind.
"Clint, babeee!"
It was the shrill of Shirley's voice, and the sound of it ripped through the secret intimacy that had developed between him and Katrina. There she was, his psychopath of a sister, wrenching the dreaming Katrina out of his arms.
"You promised me the first dance, dincha, baby?" Shirley laughed wildly, throwing her head back crazily as she laughed at the startled couple. "Lemme show this broad how a girl should really dance with a guy."
Shirley grabbed Clint just as the music changed to an up-tempo beat. And, before he could react, she had hugged him fiercely to her, forcing him to go through the motions of dancing to keep himself from falling.
Clint looked wildly, desperately, for Katrina. She stood to the side, straightening her dress, looking indifferent. He couldn't think of anything to say and was so confused that when Shirley pointedly thrust her knee between his legs, working her thigh against his cock in a way that raised eyebrows all the way to the bandstand, he had no presence of mind to slap her away.
Then, all in an instant, Shirley had locked her arms around his neck, and Clint realized with horror and fury that she had pulled the flap of her sheath loose; he realized that she was wearing nothing else and that to thrust her away would mean that the dress would fall away, leaving her half-naked in his arms.
Impotent and confused, he grabbed her and supported her deliberately sagging body with one arm. And then Shirley lunged against him and locked her lips to his, kissing him with a wild show of passion, even as he tried to break loose. His eyes met Katrina's, who gave the apparently unashamed couple a last indifferent look before walking off the terrace into the night.
Clint was furious and frustrated.
"Why are you doing this?" he said in a desperately controlled whisper as she wormed lewdly against him in front of everyone.
"No broad's gonna take you away from me!"
CHAPTER FOUR
Clint finally managed to wrestle Shirley off the terrace and get her upstairs. There, for the first time in his life, he had hit her, slapping her squarely across her laughing face as she teased him and mocked him. She squinted her eyes and frowned, furious.
"Brother's got a new sweetheart. Can't pull the wool over my eyes."
"I'm warning you," Clint said, fighting the impulse to slug her. "You're going to behave. I'm not playing anymore. Understand?"
"Sure, brother dear," Shirley smiled, putting her hands on her hips and looking at him saucily. The cheek where he had slapped her was turning redder. And the flap of her dress still hung open, exposing her firm, luscious tits with their long, pointed nipples. "You know I'll behave," she mocked. "Just as long as you don't try to ignore me. Hey, how about a roll in the hay?"
"No!"
"C'mon."
And she took off his jacket and got his shirt off, baring him to the waist before he reacted.
"Just a quick little fuck," she grinned, running her fingers caressively over his bare chest.
"No! Dammit no!" he shouted.
He lost control of himself and hit her hard on the jaw, spinning her around, knocking her to the floor. Shirley lay on the floor next to the open closet door. She was stunned more by surprise than by the blow. She couldn't believe he had raised a hand to her, but now he had hit her twice. Never had he raised a hand to her before.
Near her hand, on the floor just inside of the closet, lay a foot-and-a-half length of hose. She had cut it from the rubber hose in the back of the hotel shortly after she'd watched Buolo and Alya, and after she'd raped the young native boy. The flogging she'd witnessed had triggered her to cut the length of hose, to use brutally on someone, perhaps even Alya.
As Clint turned away on his heel to leave her room, Shirley sprang to her feet, murder in her eyes. She was enraged that Clint, her adoring and obedient brother, had turned on her, hitting her. She lunged at his back, swinging the length of hard rubber hosing at the back of his unsuspecting head.
There was a hard, dull thud as the hosing slugged the back of Clint's head. Clint staggered on impact, his vision going blurry, his mind fogging. The blow made him groggy and instantly gave him a splitting headache. Before he could react, Shirley bashed him a second time on the head. Clint felt reality slipping away as consciousness fogged. His knees buckled and he pitched forward and caved in, falling heavily to the carpeted floor.
"You bastard!" Shirley screamed down at her dazed brother. "Hit me, will you ? I'll teach you! Fuck around with another girl? You bastard, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget! I'm the boss!" Her voice was high-pitched and hysterical.
From the robe lying in a tangled heap on her rumpled bed she yanked the belt. Working with feverish haste she tightly tied her dazed brother's wrists to the bedpost.
Clint was still too groggy to offer resistance or to understand what she was doing. As soon as she had his wrists secured with the terrycloth belt, she snatched up the length of rubber hosing and swung it at him fiercely.
He cried out in pain through his dizziness as the hose crashed solidly over his shoulders, leaving a vivid red blotch. Again she hit him across the shoulders, and then lashed his back, again and again and again, her brutal blows raising a rash of angry red welts.
As Shirley flogged Clint remorselessly with the rubber hosing the pain of the flogging brought him back sharply to his senses. Even as she beat him he fought to tear the belt that tied his wrists to the bedpost, rendering him helpless.
"For Chrissakes, Shirley, stop! Stop!"
"Bastard! Hit me, will you! Screw around with another girl, will you? Bastard! I'll teach you a lesson!"
"Shirley! Stop!"
"Go fuck yourself!" she cursed lewdly, her lips twisting with obscene sadistic rage.
She walloped the hosing over his buttocks now, and he jerked and lurched, frantically and hopelessly trying to avoid her barrage of blows. With cruel fury she flogged his muscular buttocks, making the pale cheeks ache and discolor with bright red-blotched marks and welts.
He shouted for her to stop and barked in anguish each time the punishing hosing crashed over his buttocks and back. Then, her eyes cold and narrow slits, she slugged him at the base of the skull, knocking him unconscious.
When Clint came to, several minutes later, Shirley was gone. But, before leaving she had untied his wrists. Clint got slowly to his feet, his back and buttocks throbbing with pain. He had a monster of a headache. He wobbled to the bathroom and gulped aspirin. Then he filled the tub with hot water, stripped and sank into the tub, letting the water soothe his aches and relax his tortured muscles.
* * *
The following afternoon, Shirley, who had hidden from Clint, spending the night in one of the native huts with one of the black native boys who worked in the hotel, was back on the garbage can peeping into Mr. Buolo's office. Again, the remembered scene was unfolding in the office before Shirley's eyes.
As Shirley watched, she squeezed her thighs together. Alya had just seated herself on Buolo's lap, deliberately squirming around until she'd worked her legs brazenly free of the boldly slit sheath she was wearing. Shirley could not hear what Alya was whispering into Buolo's ear. Shirley strained, but just couldn't hear.
Shirley felt a real identification with the dark-skinned girl who was trying to excite Boulo, using all of the devices that Shirley herself knew so well and loved to employ.
From her vantage point at the shadow-protected window, Shirley leered as she watched Alya rocking back and forth on the man's lap, thrusting her beautiful legs out so that he couldn't help but notice and admire them, while at the same time, one of her hands swam under his shirt and tickled his chest.
It was just the way Shirley loved to play with a man when the heat was on her, rubbing her tits up against him the way Alya was doing, and teasing him around the ears with an adder-like tongue.
Alya wasn't missing a trick, Shirley noted with approval, but apparently there had to be some deliberate provocation according to the rules of their particular game. Just watching Alya made Shirley's body shiver with illicit interest and she found it hard to conceive how Buolo, with the dark beauty on his lap, could resist her teasing.
But all questions were answered when Alya, who had been distracting Boulo just enough with her playful teasing, dug an ice cube out of the pitcher on his desk with her free hand. Shirley nodded vicarious encouragement as Alya's hand circled around Boulo and then slipped the ice cube down the back of his shirt.
With a roar of outrage, Boulo catapulted out of the chair, sending Alya rolling onto his desk. He bounded across his office, tearing his shirttails out of his pants. When that didn't help, he went into a madman's dance, trying to shake the offending cube of ice out of his pants down his leg.
The sight was so comical--between Boulo's antics and the expression of victory on Alya's face--that Shirley burst into laughter before she realized what she was doing.
Boulo stopped, virtually in mid-air, as if he'd been hit by a blowpipe. Then he raced to his desk, and before Shirley even had time to still her laughter, Boulo was racing toward her with a pistol in his hand.
There was only one way to deal with this, Shirley thought quickly. As he came toward her, brandishing the pistol with a look of startled anger, Shirley grabbed hold of the window-sill and lunged up into the window-frame itself.
Boulo stopped dead in his tracks. He and Alya stared, gaping, up at Shirley. She felt giddy as she clambered though the window until she tumbled right into the office at Boulo's feet. She got to her feet, intending to say something. Instead, taking her cue both from Buolo's and Alya's confusion, she did something brazen and bold.
Right in front of Boulo's widening eyes, as the pistol drooped in his hands, she unbuckled the belt of her sundress and undid the buttons. Without hesitation, she slipped out of it and tossed it aside. She was naked--she never bothered with undies anymore. She stood in front of Buolo, grinning, taunting him.
"Well," Shirley said conversationally, "what'll it be today, friends? A beating, a whipping--anything--I'm game--and it's more fun with three, instead of two. I can guarantee it!"
Shirley didn't realize it, but the expressions of amazement that Buolo and Alya shared were more the result of what they actually did share, rather than the surprise of her appearance and actions. And what they did share, of course, was not only the same sordid profession, but also a feeling of incredulity that anybody might have witnessed them at their mischief that they trapped the hotel's guests into.
"Well, c'mon!" Shirley said impatiently. "Are you two just going to stand there and stare at me. We're wasting time. I'm just dying to take part in your games!"
Boulo snapped out of his surprise and went over to the window. When he looked out he saw the inverted garbage can. He looked back at Shirley and recognized her, and the look of mystification on his face vanished. He managed to signal Alya that Shirley didn't represent the threat that they had suspected.
He regained his composure and casually recrossed the office, sliding the gun back into his desk drawer.
"Well, now, Miss... errr . . he started.
"Just call me Shirley," she said brightly. "I think all playmates ought to be on a first-name basis."
"That's nice, Shirley," Buolo said softly. "Shirley, this is Alya. I'm Buolo. Simply Buolo. Tell me, what kind of play did you have in mind?"
"Oh, I'm sure anything you suggest will be fine," Shirley teased.
"Boo," complained Alya, suddenly growing petulant. Shirley looked at the luscious dark girl who was moving about restlessly, obviously consumed by her own ideas of pleasure and growing impatient now that the interruption of Shirley had lost its novelty. "Come on, Boo, I'm burning up . .
"Easy, Alya," he said. "You whine too much. You may not get it at all today. Unless, of course," he said, looking at Shirley, "unless our guest might want to oblige you."
Alya looked at Shirley with new interest, at the same time squirming a little more coyly and running her tongue across her lips as she studied Shirley's commanding charms and sized up Shirley's capabilities. "Would you, Shirley?"
"Would I what?" laughed Shirley. "There's nothing I haven't been known to try."
"Try this," said Boulo, handing Shirley a leather strap with a sculptured leather handle that fitted comfortably in the palm of her hand. It was wicked looking. She flexed the thick leather with her hands. "Shirley, you'll find that Alya has a remarkable taste for chastisement. Think you can manage?"
"There's nothing I can't manage," Shirley laughed. She weighed the strap for balance. "This'll be no problem, Buolo--or Boo, if you like that better. Is Alya ready?" But simply a glance at Alya told Shirley that her question was needless. The black girl had already slid off of the desk and was pulling her dress from her body.
Shirley felt her heart slugging as she watched Alya strip naked. Usually, she wasn't very partial to a girl's body, but Alya's was a special package. Shirley could read desire in Alya's eyes, and, as she did, she felt the muscles of her own stomach contract involuntarily with a flicker of sadistic lust.
She raised her arm and tested the weight of the strap, snapping it in the air, watching with pleasure how the nude figure of Alya twitched at the sight of the leather in motion. Then Shirley took a menacing step forward, and Alya retreated. Shirley was pretty sure she knew what Buolo liked, and she was even more certain that she knew how to embellish it for him.
"Grab your ankles," Shirley barked. Alya obediently bent forward and did as she had been commanded to do.
Out of the corner of her eye, Shirley noted Boulo's new interest as the doubled-over body of Alya automatically revealed some of its more intimate features. A real nut, Shirley thought to herself as she glanced at Buolo. This was going to be lots of fun, more fun than her usual escapades with more normal, more strait-laced people.
Aware that a good show always needs continuity, Shirley edged closer to the bent-over figure, aroused herself by Alya's sacrificial posture. She dangled the leather strap near the girl's buttocks and then teased it over the girl's upraised rear end and the taut backs of her thighs. Boulo swallowed hard and began unconsciously rubbing his hand over his prick in anticipation of what would come next.
Shirley worked Buolo and Alya up a little more, teasing and trailing the strap over Alya's shivering form. Then, without warning, she stepped back and whirled her arm over her head, sending the leather down with a brutal blow to Alya's naked buttock cheeks.
The harshness of the lash drove a squeal from Alya. Boulo sat down on his desk top, watching eagerly. Shirley delivered another stinging blow, this time across the back of Alya's legs, making her stumble forward on her hands.
"Hold onto your ankles!" Shirley commanded.
She brought the strap down diagonally from the other side of her head, like a professional bull-whip artist. Again and again she criss-crossed the punishing leather strap across the soft, resilient flesh of Alya's behind, filling the office with the sound of hard smacks, whimpering cries and her own and Boulo's hard breathing.
Where the blows of the strap landed, Alya's burnished skin turned a dull, dark red. And with every strike that Shirley delivered Alya became more and more unsteady in her bent over position. Shirley's arm flashed down harder and harder as she became intoxicated with the perverse satisfaction of her role.
Now Alya was virtually dancing on her hands and feet under the lashing that rained down on her, battering her brutally. Her ribs rippled under her skin as she fought for breath between her delirious cries of pain-pleasure. Her pointed tits swung crazily from side to side.
Boulo was joining his lover, Alya, in sound now, urging Shirley to hit Alya harder, and he became more restless as Alya's pain visibly increased. He beat his little ham-like hands on his desk in accompaniment to the smacking sounds the strap made as it bit into the sensitive flesh of the dark girl. Then, gripped with excitement, Buolo began doing a little ecstatic jig of his own in time to Shirley's impetuous flailing of Alya.
Shirley felt her own throat thicken with the headiness of passion as she continued to beat Alya, each stroke more vicious than the last. It was a visual feast for Buolo to watch the two girls.
Shirley's arm began to ache as she battered Alya's buttocks into puffy welts. She knew she couldn't last much longer--her arm was giving out, and she needed some physical relief herself. She hoped Buolo would initiate something. But when she realized that Buolo was completely absorbed in the flogging, she became desperate.
Unable to continue, unable to quell her own rising need, Shirley suddenly turned and flung the strap at Buolo. Her nostrils flared with heightening need. She flung her naked body on top of Alya's, toppling them both to the floor.
Instantly, Alya reacted to the delicious contact of Shirley's naked body. The girls began to grapple with each, began to caress and maul each other, writhing over and over and over on the floor in a wild embrace.
Buolo fingered the strap nervously, excitedly. And then, wildly, he began lashing the leather belt down on the writhing backs of the girls as they rolled over and over.
His blows caused spasms of delight and delirious pain in both girls. When his first vicious blow caught Shirley half across one of her naked tits, she reacted by sinking her teeth into one of Alya's nipples, making Alya shriek. The girls were rolling around in a pitched battle of two bitches-in-heat.
Boulo circled them, kicking at their soft, shining bodies and flogging them with the belt whenever he found an opening. But his blows seemed to come from a distant world to the girls, who were locked in their own world of savage kisses, and bites; their hands mauled, spurring them both on.
As Shirley and Alya rolled around on the floor they changed positions, rolling into a perfect 69, sucking and tonguing at each others cunts lavishly. Boulo continued to flog and kick them as they ate each others pussies wildly. His head spun from the sense of chaos around him.
Boulo bit his fingers in excitement as the white and black girls' bodies wrestled and pitched and tossed on the floor. He could hear the noise of their mouths as they sucked cunt. As he flogged and kicked them, the girls, now facing opposite directions, flung their legs open to each other and locked them shut again, presenting to Boulo the extraordinary spectacle of consummated lesbian love laboring to greedy fulfillment under the impact of torture.
This was the sort of pleasure Shirley had been always seeking. Her body seemed to cleave apart under Alya's tempestuous, searching lips and tongue. And she drove her tongue way up in Alya's cunt to repay her in kind, seeking with her ravaging mouth and wriggling tongue the lush secrets of her mirror image.
As Shirley and Alya became completely embroiled in muffing each others cunts, Boulo's excitement hit a new peak. He tossed the strap aside and flung himself down on his couch, still watching the girls as they tongued and sucked each other avidly. He curled his fist around his hard-on and began whipping it up and down, jerking-off like a school boy, as he sought relief from his own tension.
On the other side of the soundproof door, Boulo's secretary looked at her watch in astonishment and closed her desk for the afternoon. Never had Boulo spent so much time with Alya. Of course she had no way of knowing Shirley was in there, too. All the secretary knew was that at this rate, there'd be nothing to do for the rest of the afternoon, and she was going to get a little sun as long as everybody else on the payroll was going to hell...
* * *
Now it was several hours later. Katrina was furious. She had believed that she'd found someone solid and dependable in Clint; she had fallen hard for him. But the episode between Clint and Shirley on the dance floor had enraged Katrina. She felt deceived; she felt she had been made a fool of.
Kat had always been a good sailor. She loved sailing. She felt that getting out on the water, under sail, alone, would help her sort things out. She rented a sloop and, with a brisk breeze taking hold of the canvas, the little sailboat rakishly dipped to the starboard side as it tacked quickly away from the dock.
The work of sailing, the sea spray and the pitch, roll and darting of the sloop distracted Katrina from her cares. Then, suddenly, the wind calmed, changing direction. As it did, she noticed that she was around the other side of the strange island. She noticed that she was close to the white sandy shore of the island across from San Dozes--San Geraldo. She became curious about San Geraldo...
When she'd asked several workers at the hotel about it, their replies were always guarded; in fact, Kat had learned nothing from them about San Geraldo, not even its name. The combination of the mystery of the island and the lure of the graceful beach and the dense tropical foliage compelled Katrina. She set her sail and tacked toward shore.
What Kat didn't know as she sailed toward the beach of San Geraldo was that both Clint and Shirley had seen her leave San Dozes in the sailboat. Kat had no idea that Clint and Shirley, independent of each other, had guessed that she'd set sail for San Geraldo. This would change the lives of the three of them before many more days passed.
Kat anchored the sloop in a tiny cove, just offshore; she shrugged off her light beach jacket and plunged into the warm blue water and swam with strong, sure strokes for the beach. She hit the beach and walked over the fine white sand, her body glistening and wet, her wispy bikini soaked and glued to her lush curves.
Kat wandered about the beach, at the edge of the dense tropical forest. Suddenly she noticed a narrow path that had been beaten through the undergrowth. The path was proof that the mysterious island was inhabited.
Kat took the path and followed it for ten minutes. And then, as the up-sloping path crested, leading out of the tropical forest, Katrina stopped.
Through the vines, under brush, tropical trees and flowers she saw a beautiful, sprawling house--a mansion--with intricate landscaping, gardens, guest houses and pools. It was not more than fifty yards from where she was.
Moving cautiously, Kat edged out of the forest and circled the mansion. The sound of voices attracted her. Moving on quick, light feet she circled around the back of the mansion, following the sound of the voices. Then she stopped, breathing heavily, her ears straining. She spotted a clump of bushes at the edge of the garden and ran, crouching, toward it. She hid herself in the bushes and peered through the leaves. What she saw made her gasp.
There, in the center of the sun-drenched garden, enriched by a riot of brightly-colored flowers, Katrina saw a scene that one would only expect to see in a dank, gloomy, medieval dungeon.
In the center of the kidney-shaped patio was a fantastic torture rack. A naked man was chained to the rack, his arms and legs stretched to the limit, in a spread-eagled position.
A tall, statuesque blonde was turning a metal crank that controlled the huge, wheel-like rack. As the rack turned it creaked and groaned, stretching the man, pulling his arms and legs in opposite directions.
The blonde was Heather. She wore only a wispy bikini, panty. As she turned the crank the man chained and stretched on the rack howled in awful pain.
Standing next to Heather was Geraldo, almost pigmy-short, fat, ugly and chocolate colored. The only article of clothing screening his obscenely grotesque and disgusting body from Katrina's gaze was a loin-cloth that encased and boldly outlined his genitals. Kat could not help but notice the massive size of Geraldo's encased cock.
Katrina froze as she watched, her throat going dry. She could not believe her eyes. She blinked and refocused, watching the bizarre scene of torture as it unfolded before her.
"Give it another turn, Heather," Geraldo said.
"My pleasure," Heather smiled, sadistic delight glittering in her blue eyes. She gave the crank another turn and the painfully stretched man wailed as shocks of pain ripped through his sockets. "Another turn, Geraldo?" Heather asked.
"No, my dear. There are other ways--and you know them all."
"Yes, I do--"
"Noooooooooo--! Please! Let me go! Geraldo! Heather! Please, spare me! You're killing me!" the man shrieked in fear and pain.
Heather and Geraldo laughed at the tortured man's agony. Heather walked gracefully to a table on which rested a mahogany chest. She opened the lid of the hand-carved chest and studied the contents, in deep thought. Then, Heather made her decision. She selected a weapon of torture from the chest.
Katrina, watching from her hiding place in the bushes, blanched when she saw what Heather had taken from the chest...
In her hand Heather held a bizarre weapon. It had a foot-long silver pole, one-inch in circumference, with a leather grip at its base, around which Heather's fingers fitted firmly. At the top was a hand--a hand, sculptured in life-like detail in silver. The fingers of the hand had long, sharp, metal nails which could both puncture and slice flesh asunder. It gleamed in the sunlight, the fingers bent like claws, a fearsome sight to behold.
"Care to have your back scratched?" Heather said with laughing cruelty to the tormented man.
"No! Not that!" the man bellowed, his face going white under his suntan.
"I'm afraid so, darling," Heather grinned as she advanced on him, holding the implement of torture out before her.
"Do your best," Geraldo said softly to Heather, patting the exposed cheeks of her twitching buttocks. "But then, you always do," he added with a sly wink.
"What will be my reward?" Heather smiled down at the stumpy man.
"Anything you wish--"
"Then I want my reward to be... this!" Heather said in a husky voice as she stooped and reached down and grasped the thickness of his cock through the loincloth.
"You'll have it--"
"Good--" Katrina bit her lip. It was obvious that the tall, voluptuously built blonde was crazy for the ugly fat little brown man's cock. And, what a cock it seemed to be!
Katrina's eyes watched with envy as the lovely blonde's fingers caressed the loincloth-covered shaft of the grotesque little brown man's prick.
He was ugly and fat and tiny and misshapen, with a pig-like face... and he was not white... but his monstrous pecker seemed to wipe away his physical disadvantages... his bull-cock was his great equalizer, his great advantage with females, and even Kat, watching, understood this...
Heather made a face of frustration as she released his rearing cock. She turned her attention to the victim. She walked toward him as he struggled, bent and stretched helplessly and painfully on the rack.
With cool calculation Heather raised the silver pole and touched the clawlike silver hand to the man's straining back. The man's back muscles tensed and strained. He shivered with fear, straining-against the chains that bound him to the torture rack.
"Noooo! Please, please! Spare me! Don't do this to me, Heather! I beg you!"
"Please don't beg," Heather said with derision. "Unchain me! Let me go!"
"Don't whine like a coward."
"Please!"
"I can't stand a whining coward."
"No! God save me! Don't do this thing to me! Don't!"
"If you don't stop begging and whining I'll tear all of your skin from your bones and you'll be nothing but a skeleton."
"Nooooooooooo--!"
CHAPTER FIVE
Heather laughed, ignoring his pleas. Her big, firm, naked tits bobbed as she gently scratched the clawed silver fingers over the man's back. She lifted the silver hand and positioned it over the man's right shoulder.
She pressed down and pulled and the sharp silver nails clawed into the muscled flesh of the man's shoulder, digging out bits of skin, ripping five jagged, bleeding wounds on his shoulder.
"Aiiiiieeeee! Ohhhhhh noooooo! Aggggghhhh!"
Heather's face was professionally impassive. She brought the cruel silver nails down on the man's other shoulder and the nails chewed into his skin, gouging, and blood began to ooze.
Then Heather placed the silver hand at the base of the man's neck and, with a powerful, ruthless yank, she dragged the clawlike silver hand down his spine, stopping just before it reached his clenching buttocks.
The man was screaming at the top of his lungs. The silver nails made five deep, bloody furrows, from the base of his neck to the base of his spine.
Katrina's stomach churned as she watched Heather torturing the hapless man. She had witnessed and had participated in the gentler forms of sadomasochism, but never anything like this. The torture both chilled and warmed her. She was thrilled. Her twisted reaction, as she watched, surprised her.
Heather took hold of the silver pole with both hands and swung it at the man's right buttock cheek; it was a half-golf swing, half-baseball swing. The razor sharp, pointed tips of the nails slashed into his ass, puncturing the flesh, and blood spurted from five deep, ragged holes.
Heather hacked away at the man's wounded buttock cheek until it was a mass of bleeding punctures. Then she took a step to the side and began to hack away at his other cheek, driving deep, gaping holes into the cheek. As she hacked at his ass her lips were set in a cruel smile. She tortured her victim until his screams turned hoarse and his ass became a bright awful smear of dripping blood.
Then Heather paused.
"I think, darling, we'll turn you over now and give your front a treat," Heather said to the man.
"Excellent idea, Heather," Geraldo grinned. The gigantic bulge of his hard-on stretched out his loincloth, making it seem as if it would momentarily tear its way free, punching a hole in the loincloth, "Will you need my assistance?"
"No, thanks, Geraldo. I can take care of this turd myself."
Katrina was shivering as she watched, both sexually stirred and repelled by what she was witnessing. And then... she froze, fear gripping her heart...
A strong hand squeezed Katrina's shoulder powerfully. Fearfully, Katrina turned her head and looked up. She had been discovered by the tallest, most beautiful black girl she had ever set eyes on...
"Okay, baby, the show's over for you," Nadia said to the startled, frightened Katrina. "Stand up. Good girl. Now march."
With Nadia's strong black hand still gripping her shoulder, Katrina was forced from her hiding place. Nadia marched Kat in front of her, pushing her toward the patio where Heather was torturing the man as Geraldo watched with quiet excitement.
"Look what I found hiding in the bushes," Nadia said to Heather and Geraldo. "She was watching you," Nadia added.
Geraldo stared with interest at Katrina, his beady eyes taking in the luscious dips and swells of her body, so inadequately covered by her skimpy bikini. Heather turned and walked away from the barely conscious man on the rack. She stood next to Geraldo, dwarfing him, and watched as Nadia led Kat up to them.
"There's a small sailboat anchored in the cove," Nadia said. "She probably sailed over here from San Dozes, anchored the boat, swam ashore and found the path that leads up here."
"Is that right?" Geraldo asked Katrina. "Yes--"
"You're a tourist on vacation at San Dozes?"
"Yes, I am--"
"Why did you come here? I want the truth," Geraldo said.
"I didn't mean to come here--"
"Start at the beginning. Your name?"
"Katrina Hines. I was bored over there. I like sailing--it's fun and it takes my mind off things. So, I rented the boat and took off. I really wasn't headed here. When the wind died down I noticed I was close to shore. I got curious about this island.
It isn't on the map, and no one at the hotel will talk about it--"
"Yes? Go on."
"So--well, you know what happened. I found the path and explored; I was curious, that's all. Then, as I came out of the forest, I heard voices. I followed the sound of the voices, hiding in the bushes over there . . Katrina paused.
"Please go on."
"All right. Well, I watched--saw her," Kat said pointing at Heather, "--saw her torturing that man on the rack. I was watching when this girl found me. And--well--that's it. I don't mean you any harm. I just--" Her voice faltered.
"So, you're a bored tourist, eh, Katrina?" Geraldo asked. "Are you on vacation alone?"
"Yes. Alone."
"A husband perhaps--children, relatives--waiting for your back home?"
"No. No one--"
"No one?"
"I was just divorced. No children. No close relatives. My parents are dead. I'm alone."
"I see," said Geraldo. "Well, you know, this is a private island."
"I didn't know that--I didn't know anything about this island--honest."
"Well, Katrina, what shall we do with you?" Geraldo smiled.
"Please let me go? Please?"
"But you saw what Heather was doing, didn't you?"
"That's her business--your business--not mine," Katrina said with conviction.
"Yes, it is. I like your attitude, even though I don't care for the fact that Nadia caught you spying on us."
"But I wasn't spying. I didn't come here to spy. I was sailing and found myself close to shore and swam ashore on impulse--"
"I'd like to believe you."
"I'm telling the truth!"
"I believe perhaps you are."
"Then you'll let me go?" Kat asked hopefully. "Perhaps in a little while. But first, now that you're here, I believe it's my duty to treat you with some courtesy. Permit me to introduce myself, Katrina. I'm Geraldo Andres. This is Heather. And this is Nadia...
"I own this island. It's called San Geraldo. Heather and Nadia live here with me. From time to time we have guests visit us. That gentleman on the rack is a visitor. He's a masochist. He delights in suffering torture. My desire is to keep my guests happy. So, Heather tortured him...
"So, you see, Katrina, we're not really as bad as we may seem to be. We were merely satisfying his desire to be tortured. Now, Katrina, what is your desire?"
"To leave," she blurted out.
"My dear, you're needlessly frightened," Geraldo laughed, turning on his charm. "Please, before you leave, grant me the kindness to show you my hospitality. Please, my dear?"
Geraldo's charm was overwhelming, and it seemed to be totally honest. Katrina's fear was lulled. She relaxed and gained confidence. She smiled and the obscenely fat and ungainly little man smiled back at her.
Up close he was uglier than at a distance. His skin was a deep shade of brown--not suntan--it was a brown that indicated a wealth of Negro blood mixed with a drop of white blood. He was a very dark-skinned mulatto, probably a first-generation off-spring of a Negro and white marriage... if he wasn't a bastard. As dark as he was he wasn't nearly as dark complexioned as Nadia, who was black.
"Come, my dear," he said, taking Katrina's hand with his pudgy, dark hand. "Come, let me take you inside and offer you some refreshments. After your sail and your walk through the jungle I'll wager you're in need of refreshment," he smiled, all charm and warmth.
"Well--I am a bit thirsty," Kat said, giving in to his good-natured charm.
"Excellent. Come with me, then. Nadia, will you and Heather please attend to our perverted guest on the rack?" He smiled. The girls nodded, secret understanding passing between them and Geraldo, unnoticed by Katrina.
With her hand in Geraldo's, Kat let the waddling little fat man lead her toward the house. She had no fear now. She was certain Geraldo understood she meant him no harm. She was sure he would entertain her cordially, and then see her off from the shore as she went back to her anchored sailboat.
His mansion was overwhelmingly impressive, with huge spacious rooms, custom-made, luxurious furniture and priceless paintings and sculptures by famous artists and sculptors. His immense wealth was almost too much for Katrina to comprehend.
Kat complimented Geraldo on his home, and his works of art, and he graciously took her on a tour, pointing out the various paintings and pieces of sculpture, and carefully explained the background of each work of art, and told her how he had come in proud possession of each.
As the moments ticked by his grotesque ugliness seemed to fade--his abundant charm changed him in Katrina's eyes to a pleasant, pleasing man in whose company a girl could delight. He was attentive and gentlemanly to her in a way she had never before encountered. She basked in his gracious charm and flattery, feeling comfortable in his presence, relaxed and perfectly at-ease.
"Now, Katrina, I'd like to show you into a very special room. I use it only when I entertain lady guests for whom I feel an instinctive affection and admiration."
"I'd like very much to see it," she smiled, very flattered. "And please--call me--Kat--my friends all call me Kat--"
"Thank you for your sweetness in considering me a friend of yours Kat," he smiled, taking her hand again. "I feel flattered that you consider me a friend. Come."
Leading Kat by the hand, he took her into the most intimate room she had ever experienced--and, the room was an experience--a very intimate, compelling one.
The lighting was very soft, very subdued, very romantic. The room was perfectly round, so that there were no sharp angular corners... the curved line is the most pleasing line. Even the furniture was rounded off, absent of sharp angles. In the subdued lighting Kat saw that the walls were covered, from the plush reddish-pink, wall-to-wall carpet to the smoked mirrored ceiling, with a total, wrap-around mural painted in oil.
The mural was populated with people and animals, painted in exquisite detail, but somehow muted to take away the blatant force of the erotic scenes. Every man and woman in the erotic mural was naked, and all were engaged in some form of sexual union.
As Katrina's wide eyes swept over the mural, she saw girls on their backs, their legs wrapped around male waists, as the men plundered their yielding pussies with their rampant cocks. Other men were flat on their backs, with girls in the dominant position, their cunts cock-impaled.
Some girls were on their knees, their hands clutching men's buttocks, as they voraciously sucked cock with their moist, ovaled, surging lips. Other men were sprawled out, their heads buried between yawning female thighs as they hungered on pussy with their mouths and tongues.
Some men were screwing bent-over girls in the rectum; others were enduring anal impalement as girls screwed them with dildos. There were homosexual engagements--men with men, girls with girls. A few of the more adventurous girls were either having their cunts lapped by animals of various varieties, or were being screwed furiously by those animals.
As Katrina's eyes shifted around the room, she saw human bodies twisted and contorted into seemingly impossible positions as they screwed joyously. There were even bizarre scenes of sadomasochistic torture that stretched even the most perverted mind.
The impact of the room and the mural was total--it worked heatedly on Katrina's imagination and emotions. The room, its lighting, its furnishings, the mural--all had a sexually-heightening effect on Katrina.
Geraldo hadn't said a word since they entered the room. He had carefully watched Katrina as she absorbed the erotic, intimate impact. He saw her coloring heighten; he saw her nostrils flare; he heard her breathing quicken with excitement. She was showing the identical reaction as every girl who had entered this room before her.
Geraldo knew by Katrina's reaction that his seduction of her would be easy. He knew that his charm had disarmed her; he knew that the intimate room had virtually beguiled her will to resist; and he knew that the potently drugged drink he would serve her would sexually stimulate her past any desire to repel his sexual advances.
He smiled confidently to himself and fixed two drinks in tall glasses. He mixed a delicious, cool drink for Katrina, mixing in a powder that was a secret, proven aphrodisiac that never failed to provoke exciting sexual desire in a female.
"Oh, Geraldo--it's--it's--words fail me--" Katrina said in a husky voice as she tried to give voice to her reactions to the round intimate room.
"Here. I think you'll find this drink both delicious and refreshing," he said, handing her the tall, frosted glass.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome. I hope this room and the mural doesn't offend you... " he said in a voice that faked uncertainty.
"No, no. Not at all. I don't find it offensive. This room--it's beautiful--unique--"
"Yes. Thank you."
Kat took a sip of the drink, smiling at Geraldo over the brim. "Mmmm, this is delicious," she said, licking her lips.
"Drink up. There's more. It's a secret mix of my own invention."
"It's marvelous." She took a deep drink, savouring it. As she did, Geraldo settled back on the circular, plush couch. He pointed to a cushion, and Kat sat down, her bare thigh grazing against the sole of his foot. Almost instantly the sex-inducing drug began working on her. She glanced at his loincloth. A boner was slowly rising, and she watched it with shameless fascination. With a grin he flexed his hardening cock and it leaped in the loincloth. Kat's eyes went wide.
She was deeply disturbed and aroused by his near nakedness and the hugeness of his rising hard-on. She raised her glass with a slightly shaky hand to her lips and took a gulp of the drink, feeling it start a burning sensation inside of her. All she could think about now was his cock--that fast-rising cock so frankly outlined by his loincloth.
Geraldo smiled at her broadly. He stared at her tanned thighs and her nearly naked body barely concealed by her bikini. He stared at the V of her thighs where they met her crotch. He thought obscenely of her barely-covered pussy. He could barely wait for that treasured moment when he'd push his great, hard cock deep into her juicy pussy. He couldn't wait to fuck her silly.
Kat returned Geraldo's stare. She took another sip of her drink and the liquid worked in her bloodstream, relaxing her, making her feel lazy and warm all over. Her throat went dry as she saw his cock rise up to full, massive erection in the tautly-stretched loincloth. Unlike other men, he made no effort to conceal it from her eyes.
"You know, Kat, I'd like very much to fuck you."
"What?"
"I said I'd like to fuck you. Very much."
"You did say... fuck me, didn't you?"
"I did. Look," he said, pointing at his hard-on. "Just looking at you gives me a hard-on."
"Yes... I see. .
"No, you don't see. But you will." And with those words he lifted his body and yanked his loincloth off, exposing his erection to her eyes. "Now, Kat, you see." She gasped. "Pretty big, isn't it?"
'-Y-yes--"
"It feels much better out of that loincloth. But it'll feel much better once it's in you, my dear."
"In... me?"
"In you."
"It's... it's so big... "
"I know. It won't hurt you. It'll make you feel wonderful. Here."
And he took her hand in his and carried it right to his massive, thrusting cock. Her fingers automatically closed around the long, thick brown shaft of it. Her fingers barely made it all the way around.
"It's... it's so big, so thick . . she said with awe and wonder as her fingers measured the dimension of his trunk-like cock. "I can barely get my fingers around it. And... and it's, God, it's long enough for me to put both hands on . . "Then put both hands on."
She did. She squeezed. He grunted and grinned with pleasure. He had her. She was sunk, seduced. The drug had quickly done its work.
"That feels very nice, Kat, but I'm afraid I want more than a hand-job. Either suck it or open your thighs and fuck it."
"How will I ever get my lips around it? And if you put it in me, you'll split me in two."
"You'll love it. Don't worry. Now, dear girl, what'll it be, a suck or a fuck?"
"This is all happening so fast. I never acted this way. No man ever acted like you. I don't know what's happening to me... " She bowed her head, and then looked at him, submissively, surrendered to his will, her fingers squeezing warmly on his massive erection.
And then, suddenly, Kat seemed to be strangely detached from herself. It was as if she were standing off in the near distance observing her own shameless behavior. There she sat in a wildly seductive and intimate room with a dwarf of an ugly brown man who lay back in his rolls of fat with her hands brazenly caressing his huge erection.
Her eyes glazed. She began to feel dizzy. She struggled with her feverish desire. Desire licked over her like a blazing torch. She didn't want to give in so easily. She felt so hot and weak... so defenseless...
He took her hands from his cock and pulled her over on top of himself, crushing her down on himself, and he kissed her, his tongue slashing between her warm, moist, parted lips. Katrina tried to keep her body still, tried not to kiss him back, tried not to give in to the heat licking at her cunt. But she failed...
His dark hands clasped her firm, rounded buttocks. His fingers slid under the slender band of her bikini bottom and grasped the shimmering globes of her bottom. He pulled her against himself hard. Her body arched hotly against him. His kiss seared her. She couldn't fight or deny her burning need.
Her arms went around him as she lay kissing him back, and her nails scratched at his back like claws of desire. She whimpered. Her tongue answered his. She sucked heatedly on his snaking tongue. Shivers of warmth suffused her. The brutal direct approach he had used had shattered her will to resist. She could feel the long hard ridge of his cock against her naked belly above her slender bikini bottom.
"You're so lovely, so lovely, Kat. It's going to be a joy making love to you." He savored the look of helpless desire on her face.
"We must stop," Kat said weakly.
He ignored her and casually removed her bra. She gasped, feeling weak and submissive. His eyes devoured her full, firm, pink-tipped heaving tits.
"Fantastic," he breathed. "You have a beautiful pair of breasts. They're matchless, so very very lovely."
Geraldo circled his forefinger over each of her nipples very slowly.
" Like that?" he asked.
"Y-yesss--" Geraldo rolled Kat easily over onto her back. She trembled and gasped as he slowly ran his hands down her superb legs. As his hands moved, his tongue followed, tracing a hot, damp line of desire down, down the inner line of her thighs and calves. He kissed down over her ankles and instep and then his tongue was slipping titillatingly between each of her toes, rolling over her arch and instep. Katrina went weak all over and her eyelashes fluttered.
Geraldo slowly drew down her bikini bottom, kissing and tonguing the soft skin of her heaving belly. Down, down his tongue traveled into the soft forest and the soft valley of her V.
He kissed her lips again, pulling her close, lying next to her, and his fingers strayed into the deep cleft between the twin halves of her rounded buttock cheeks, and slid up and down teasingly deep in the hot valley.
"Oh, God... " she panted.
Kat gave herself up to the strange tingling that his finger was giving her behind. The kiss grew deeper. She sucked heatedly on his tongue when it drove deep into her mouth. His tongue curled around hers and the kiss grew deeper and wilder. She groaned through the kiss as she felt the jab and shove of his massive cock as he rubbed it against her.
"I want you, Kat, darling. Do you want me?"
"Yes, ohhhh, yes--" she nearly sobbed.
His attack was quick and suddenly savage, and the fierce drive of his ravenous kiss devastated her. She responded savagely. When the kiss broke, she sank her white teeth into his brown shoulder. And then his lips and tongue and teeth were at her smooth throat, moving over the pulsing hollow of her throat. His hands caressed her heaving breasts.
Kat moaned with utter delight as his questing mouth moved across the quivering flesh of her tits. His lips and tongue and teeth teased her throbbing nipples.
"Oh, good, so good," Kat moaned as she squirmed nakedly against him. "Mmmm, yes, suck my tits, my nipples."
Geraldo moved from one tit to the other, nibbling and nipping with his teeth, flogging with his tongue over the aroused pink tips. He began to suckle on her hard nipples, driving gasps from Kat, making her hips worm wildly against him.
She felt the bump of his great hard-on against her pussy mound, and her cunt was hot and creamy and ready. She split her thighs wide apart and tried to trap his cock with the slippery lips of her cunt.
Geraldo's lips moved down to her stomach and his tongue stabbed into her navel. She cried out in a delirium of delight. Then his mouth was kissing fleetingly over her V, his tongue touching her warm, moist pussy, making her spread her thighs even wider apart.
"Take me!" she cried.
CHAPTER SIX
Geraldo lingered at her cunt for only a teasing moment, nosing in her pubic fur, his tongue dipping along the wet, heaving crack of her pussy. And then he moved down and away, teasing her. She cried out, but he ignored her. He covered her thighs and calves with kisses, and then her feet, each toe, the arch, the instep. He turned her over on her stomach and started a tingling trail of kisses up the long, lovely column of her legs, up to the twin swelling curves of her clenching buttocks, there to nip and kiss, finally to sweep his tongue deeply along her anal channel.
"Oh, God... that's weird... wonderful... I love it!" Kat cried as he tongued the crack of her ass. And then Katrina felt herself being turned over again. She lay surrendered on her back, her thighs yawning wide part, breathing raggedly. "No more... please, darling Geraldo... no more, no more teasing... Oh, Geraldo, please take me!"
"You don't want me to eat you?" he grinned. "Yes! No! No--fuck me me, now! Oh, please, please, please!"
"Anything you desire," he grinned, glorying in her surrender, glorying in her begging for him to fuck her.
"I want you sooooo much!"
"Then you'll have me."
"Now!"
"Now!"
He was so fantastically big. He'd tear her apart. Kat was filled with terror for an instant. He wasn't built like a man down there--he was built like a bull. But through her fear came driving desire, desire to be possessed by the fat ugly brown man and his enormous cock. She arched her body, begging.
Kat gave a gasp. Geraldo lifted her higher, cradling her buttocks. And then, the searing thrust.
"Aggggghhhh!" she grunted on entry.
It wasn't possible. She cried out. She wailed. The pain was too much. The tight, slippery lips of her cunt were stretched close to ripping by the hard knob of his piercing cock. Kat sobbed and clung to him tightly as he began to force his cock slowly in. He controlled her movements with his hands as they cradled her buttocks. He weaved her hips, directing his first short, gentle, probing strokes into the lips of her strained pussy.
The first strokes were slow and short. She felt a numbness between her thighs. The lips of her cunt were being plowed apart, wider and wider, by the slowly driving shaft of his prick.
Her pussy lips opened wider and wider, unbelievably wide, permitting the knobby cock-head to gain complete entrance. As he ebbed his giant pecker in, pain began to fade and she began to feel the most exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure that she had ever in her life felt. She felt his huge prick filling her vagina, pressing hard against the warm walls, poking in deeper and deeper. She felt him filling her more completely than she believed possible, and it went in so deep that she thought it would push all the way in and up and out of her mouth. And now his strokes became long, slower, deeper. He buried his cock deep in her, all the way to the hilt.
Kat wrapped her limbs around his fat waist and began to grind her hips in rhythm with him. She screamed, not even hearing the sound. She lashed her pussy at his cock. She scissored her legs more tightly around him.
With a cruel, triumphant smile on his brown, fat, ugly face he began to fuck her silly. His cock disappeared between her stretched pussy lips. He rammed it in between her long legs, raping her tender, tight pussy with his swollen cock.
"God, you're great!" she panted as he fucked her to within an inch of her life.
"You're great, too."
Her nails ripped over his back, leaving red welts. He moved his hands down and cupped the full ripeness of her heaving ass. He cradled her ass in the palms of his chubby dark hands and pulled her pussy tighter up to him. His fat brown belly slapped down on her flat white belly. Her widespread slit grew wetter and wetter with each jab of his cock. Her ass moved desperately.
She moaned and sobbed, her eyes closed tightly, her cunt grinding as his cock sped in and out, impaling her. The gaping hot mouth of her pussy was choked with the gigantic fullness of his raging cock.
"Ohhhhhh... " she sighed as the elastic-like lips of her cunt gulped and popped as his rigid prick raped her creamy cunt. His balls slapped against the rounded moons of her rotating buttocks.
It was torture and it was glorious for Katrina. Never before had she been so wild and half-crazed by fucking. He hammered his cock in and out of her pulsing pussy and she hammered back feeling his piercing power drilling her, nailing her to the cushions.
As he drove his cock rhythmically in and out of her creamy cunt he reached between her buttocks and dipped the tip of his finger in the crevice of her anus.
"Ahhhh!" she cried.
As he played his finger in the crack of her ass he could feel a tiny river of warm moisture running into her ass-crack from her pussy. The cream from her impaled cunt lubricated the tightly puckered little hole of her ass. The lubrication made it easier for him to push his finger in as he continued to fuck her in the cunt with his monstrous cock.
"It hurts!" she cried as she felt herself being doubly impaled.
Then there was a little pop and the ring gave way and his finger slid in to the joint. She leaped at the penetration. He began to fuck her heedlessly with his finger in her asshole. He doublefucked her in rhythm, finger in her asshole, cock in her cunt.
The pain of his fucking finger burned Katrina, but after a moment she began to screw her ass back at his finger until he drove it all the way in. She moaned. His cock was deep in her cunt, tearing away. His finger was deep in her rectum. She gave herself up to the weird feeling of being ravished in the ass and cunt at the same time.
And then she jackknifed her legs and kicked them in the air wildly and raked her nails deep into his back and bit his shoulder savagely.
"I'm coming!" she screamed.
She squirmed her cunt in an uninhibited dance of abandon as she thrilled to the throbbing of his prick in her cunt and the stab of his finger in her asshole.
She came, wailing. He continued to fuck her. She came again. And again. And still he screwed her. And she came yet again. And, as she did, he flexed over her with fierce rhythm, drilling her, his cock bloating and spurting hot sperm into her oozing cunt.
She fainted. She was his. He was confident that she'd now never want to leave him.
* * *
Back on San Dozes, Clint was in the office of the boat rental agency. He was waiting for the sleepy manager to conclude his sluggish phone conversation.
Clint had come to the office as a last resort. He hadn't seen Kat since yesterday, when he had accidentally spotted her as she set sail in a small sloop. Before coming to the boat rental office he had searched for Katrina, had called her room, had left messages for her, all to no avail. She had been gone since shortly after noon yesterday.
Finally, the slow-moving manager hung up the phone, grunted and laboriously heaved himself to his feet and shuffled to the counter to face Clint. Clint and the manager exchanged a few pleasantries, and then Clint came to the point.
"Yesterday, oh, around noon, a friend of mine rented a sailing sloop from you. Her name is Katrina Hines."
"Katrina Hines?"
"Yes. I have an important message for her. I'd like to know when she'll be returning the sailboat, so I can meet her."
"Let me see--" the manager said, beginning to leaf through his ledger book. "Ah, yes, here it is. Miss Katrina Hines. She rented the boat for the afternoon." He paused, frowning.
"For the afternoon? Yesterday afternoon?"
"Yes. It appears Miss Hines hasn't returned the sloop--"
"I see. She's overdue then. Shouldn't you be checking where she is?"
"Oh, sometimes people rent boats and keep them longer than they say. But they always bring them back and pay. It's an annoyance, but what can you do, ehhh?"
"Do you have a small motor boat available?"
"Let me see--"Yes, I have one. How long do you want it?"
"I'll bring it back before dark."
Clint left a deposit and went down and stepped into the sleek motor boat. A boy helped him cast off the lines. The engine kicked in and the boat plowed forward, picking up speed, cutting swiftly through the blue water. Clint headed for San Geraldo, playing a hunch that Katrina had sailed over to the mysterious island.
When he was two miles out, shooting through the water at full throttle, spray wetting him, he passed close to the stern of a 45-foot luxury cabin cruiser. He glanced absently out of the corner of his eye and saw a girl and a man on the cruiser. He really didn't more than glance at them; he was too preoccupied.
The girl on the cabin cruiser was Shirley. She had been lying on the deck on an air mattress, stark naked, taking a sunbath. She had raised her head up to look at the passing motor boat. The noise of its grumbling engine annoyed her.
Shirley stirred when she saw that Clint was steering the fast-moving boat. She reached over and picked up the expensive, high-powered binoculars, uncapped them and focused them on her brother and the motor boat.
She watched quietly as Clint's boat moved swiftly toward the island across from San Dozes. She watched until Clint's boat made a wide arc, going around the tip of the island, disappearing from sight. She put down the binoculars and frowned.
She wondered where Clint was going. He seemed to be in a hurry. It seemed to Shirley that there was only one reason why Clint would steer his boat around to the other side of the mysterious island--to land on it.
She sat up, her naked body tanned evenly by the sun, and looked at the man on the boat. He was middle-aged, his pot-belly hanging over the waist band of his trunks.
He had sailed in from an island sixty miles away where he had a summer home. He and Shirley had met that morning. A half-hour after meeting, Shirley had him up in her room where she had exhausted him with her wild sexual appetite.
She went with him, later, when he had his cruiser refueled, and accompanied him on his boat for a sail and more fucking and sucking. "Walt?"
"Yeah, Shirley, baby?"
"What's the story on that island?"
"The story?"
"Yes. It's a big mystery to me. Nobody at the hotel will tell me anything about it."
"I guess it's because they don't want any of their guests to go over to San Geraldo."
"San Geraldo... Is that the island's name?"
"Yup. A guy named Geraldo Andres owns it."
"He owns the whole island?"
"Yup. Even named it after himself. He's very very rich. You don't go there without an invitation from him. It's his private property. Every inch of the island."
"Do you know him--Geraldo Andres?"
"No. I saw him once at a party. Never got to meet him. He's very rich and powerful. He's a shrimp."
"A shrimp?"
"A little guy. Can't be much more than five feet tall--and fat!--God, is he fat! He's almost as wide as he is tall," Walt laughed. "But boy, does he get the chicks!"
"What do you mean?"
"Hell, he had two girls travelling with him. Knockouts; One a fantastic blonde and the other a gorgeous babe as black as the ace of spades. Both girls are Amazons--tall--at least six feet tall--both of them, and, man, they got the shapes to go with their size! Do they ever!" he said almost in awe as he remembered Nadia and Heather.
"You mean two beautiful girls--six feet tall--travel with that fat little man?" Shirley frowned. "Yup. They were all over the little nigger."
"Nigger?"
"He's got lots of nigger blood in him--he's brown as chocolate. Like I said, these two tall beauties were all over him. What the hell, he's loaded--lots of girls'll go for guys who're loaded, no matter what they look like--"
"Walt--?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Let's go to San Geraldo?"
"No way, Shirley, baby, no way."
"But why not?"
"Listen. Geraldo Andres is a very rich and very powerful man--"
"Baby, I'm pretty wealthy. But that guy's a multi-millionaire. Hell, he can buy and sell me and never even make a dent in his wallet."
"But I'd love to go there. Maybe we can sneak onto his island and snoop around--"
"Nope. No way. If he invites me to visit, okay. But I'm not going to barge in on him uninvited. Things aren't done that way, especially with a guy as rich as he is."
"Please?"
"Sorry--"
"I'll give you another of my super-special blow-jobs, Walt, honey," she coaxed.
"I'd love that, baby. When you wrap those luscious lips of yours around my cock--zowie!--heaven! But--no dice--"
"Please? Pretty please with a blow-job on it?" she grinned, trying to bribe him.
"No way."
"Well--can we at least take a sail around the island?" she asked shrewdly, her mind working.
"Sure. That isn't trespassing. But only on one condition."
"What's that?"
"I'll take you for a sail around San Geraldo for one of your special, super-duper blow-jobs," he grinned lewdly.
"Blackmailer!" she laughed. "Come here, you--" Giggling, she yanked down his trunks and delicately curled her fingers around his rising, hardening prick.
"That's nice, baby--"
"Now for the special, super-duper blow-job, you old blackmailer," she grinned.
"Oh, you wonderful little cock-sucking miracle--" he gasped.
"Mmmmmm. I can't wait till you shoot your creamy load in my mouth, honey. Yummie! I haven't had dessert today. And, I can't think of a more delicious dessert than your creamy come."
She began to tease him, kissing over his hairy pot belly, down, down, giggling, her tongue laving in his navel. She was melting with hot desire to suck his cock--she loved to suck cocks almost as much as be fucked by them.
She teased and tormented him before finally swooping her lips toward his rigid cock. She wetly dragged her tongue over his swaying balls, teasing the twin sac through the tangle of his curly pubic hair.
And then Shirley could resist the temptation no longer. Her tongue dragged and snaked out and touched his hard, huge cock lightly. Walt shuddered. Shirley giggled, a look of crazed desire on her lovely face, her eyes dilated with passion.
The tip of her tongue traced the full dimension of his throbbing prick. Slowly, devastatingly, she slid her tongue round and round. Her teeth began to nibble up and down over the entire length of his prick. Her tongue licked away the drops of seminal fluid that glistened on the hard knob. And then her lips pursed in a small 0 and captured the very tip of it, nursing, suckling. She suckled there on his hard cockhead for a long, teasing moment, gurgling deep in her throat.
"Blow me good, baby! Chew it up!" he croaked.
And then Shirley's lips opened fully, and down they dove. Her warm and clinging lips dove down, clamping, down, down, trying to consume all of it.
Walt was cursing hoarsely, urging Shirley on, but she needed no urging. Her hungering lips seized Walt's prick more tightly. Her head began to bob up and down to and fro, slowly, savoring every inch of his cock.
She was smothering it, making spastic love to it with her fierce lips, devouring it madly, possessively. Her starving soft mouth engulfed his cock, and her head bobbed more swiftly.
Her hands were behind Walt, her fingers clutching his sweating, bucking buttocks, one of her long, slender fingers now fucking in and out of his asshole. Walt's hand wound in Shirley's hair as her moist surging lips held his cock captive.
Her mouth plunged and lifted and rotated with maniac fury, her lips squeezing, her teeth grating, her tongue flogging his tingling shaft. Walt's hips were thrusting crazily back at Shirley's maddening mouth.
Her lips were wet. They slid up and down. They rotated. Her cheeks were sunken in as she more exquisitely gave his cock all she had to offer. Walt was groaning loudly as he neared his climax, his hips, guided by her hands clutching and her ass-fucking finger, gyrated rapidly.
He stared down at her lust-crazed face.
"Go, baby! Suck! Eat me alive! Oh, damn!"
He could see the thickness of his rod buried between her red, moist, sucking lips. She twirled her tongue around the moist stickiness of the blood-inflamed head of his cock.
Her tongue licked with each up-suck, making the knobby head of his shaft throb. Her lips were pulled out grotesquely as they clung to the flesh of his cock. She sucked hungrily, her entire being concentrated. Her breasts bobbed and danced as her body moved excitedly beneath him.
Walt could hardly wait to pump every drop of his hot sperm into her mouth. Shirley slaved on happily. His cock now felt as if it was filled and burning and ready to explode. He shoved his hips hard forward against her face.
Shirley was in a frenzy as she felt his cock swelling, bloating, signalling that it was ready to spit its load. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him closer.
As a sudden shuddering tremor hit Walt, Shirley knew immediately what was happening and began to revolve and bob her head more and more rapidly. Walt rocked and swayed, cursed and shouted and groaned as his climax came over him. Shirley clung wildly, driving him through peak after peak of climax.
She went on sucking wildly as he shot his heavy load of creamy sperm deep into her throat. He emptied his cock into her hot mouth. She gulped and gulped, her cheeks puffing out as his fountain of come juice sprayed and jetted into her mouth. She sucked wildly as he shot his sperm into her lips; she sucked, trying to drain every drop from his jetting cock.
Her tongue was flipping magically across the jetting opening of his cock as her head continued to bob in a blur. She slaved like a demon gone mad. She greedily sucked and sucked and sucked. He gasped.
Hot spewing streams of cream drenched her mouth. Her cheeks expanded even more as she greedily swallowed the warm flooding gushes. She stayed with him, tenaciously swallowing every drop.
Then it was over.
Then Walt gasped urgently for breath. She was still working away down there, her lips still holding and softly caressing his cock as it slowly deflated. She sucked him dry. Her lips were covered with his sperm. Smears of it were on her cheeks and chin.
Shirley nibbled on his deflated cock gently, her face buried against his balls.
"Did you like that?" she purred.
"Hell, yes--" he croaked.
"Now you'll take me for a sail around San Geraldo ?
"Yes--"
* * *
As Clint's power launch circled the tip of the island he instinctively throttled back the engine, slowing the fast-moving boat. Now his eyes scanned the shoreline of San Geraldo, anxiously in search of Katrina's sail boat.
The side of San Geraldo facing San Dozes was sheer cliffs and dense jungle, and there was no natural place at which to make a landing. This side of the island was different. Here a wide, inviting, sandy beach stretched out as far as the eye could see.
Clint cruised slowly, close to shore, just beyond the line of the gently cresting waves that broke and washed foam onto the white, sandy beach. After five frustrating minutes, Clint noticed a break in the beach just ahead. He gave the power boat more throttle and came to the edge of a secluded cove.
In the cove was anchored the sail boat Katrina had rented...
He steered into the quiet cove, cutting his engine, drifting toward the abandoned sloop. He was excited and nervous. The palms of his hands were sweating with his eager anticipation.
He cast out the anchor, mooring his speed boat ten feet from the sail boat. He shrugged off his beach jacket, hitched up his bathing trunks, took a deep breath and dived into the water.
As soon as he reached shore his eyes began to dart, searching for a clue that would lead him to Katrina. Then, to his right, he saw that the smooth sand had been disturbed. He knew instantly that he was looking at Kat's footprints. Trotting, he followed the tracks in the sand until they disappeared into a narrow path that led into the jungle. He took the path, moving quickly, but cautiously.
He came to the end of the path and saw the sprawling graceful mansion of Geraldo Andres. Clint decided to advance on the house openly, not trying to conceal himself. He knew that he was trespassing, and knew instinctively that when trespassing the worse thing he could do was sneak around.
Clint saw no one and heard nothing but the twittering of the birds. He strolled boldly into the lavish gardens of the mansion. He heard the rushing noise of the whip before it struck, unable to understand what the noise was. And then he was choking, his hands going quickly to his throat.
The lash of a leather whip had struck out and had circled, curling viciously around his neck. He sucked for air. As he grabbed at the choking coil of the whip which had struck him from the rear, a tall, beautiful black girl stepped out from behind a clump of flowering shrubs, grinning at him.
"Hi, baby," Nadia grinned at him.
At the same instant that Nadia appeared, the whip uncoiled from around his neck, and he heard a feminine laugh behind him. He turned, his throat hurting and bruised by the coiling lash of the whip, and he saw a striking, tall and lovely blonde.
The two girls walked up to Clint, who was rubbing his sore throat. Clint was six feet tall, and the girls were as tall as he. They were black and white visions of incredible beauty, and each wore a skimpy bikini of black leather that barely concealed their voluptuous curves.
"You nearly choked me to death with that whip," Clint said to Heather.
"Who are you?" Heather asked, ignoring Clint's complaint.
"I'm Clint Westwood."
"You come over here from San Dozes?" Nadia asked.
"Yes, I--"
"What're you doing here?"
"I'm looking for someone--"
"You are? Who?"
"A friend of mine. Katrina Hines. I saw her sail boat in the cove, So I anchored my boat and came looking for her."
"Why?" Heather asked.
"She was supposed to return the boat yesterday afternoon. She never came back. I checked at the boat rental on San Dozes. They hadn't heard from her, and her boat was overdue. I knew she wasn't on San Dozes, so it seemed to me that this island was the logical place to look for her.
"Do you know this is a private island and you're trespassing illegally?" Nadia asked.
"No. I don't know a thing about this island--not even its name."
"You a tourist?"
"I'm on vacation on San Dozes."
"Come with us," Heather said.
With Clint between them, Heather and Nadia led Clint inside the mansion. They took him into a spacious room and told him to sit down.
"I'll go. You stay with him," Nadia said to Heather.
"Right," Heather nodded.
Nadia left Clint alone with Heather. She stood four paces from where he was sitting, the whip in her hand coiled and ready to strike if Clint made a false move.
After a short wait, Nadia reappeared in the archway, signalling them to follow her. Clint got up and, with Heather behind him, walked toward the huge, heavy, hand-carved oak door that Nadia held open.
The room was almost like a royal reception room. On a raised platform of smooth field stone was an ornate chair--a throne chair. In the chair sat Geraldo Andres. He waited until Clint was brought before him, Heather and Nadia on either side of Clint, and just behind him, guarding him. Geraldo studied Clint with shrewd eyes.
"I'm Geraldo Andres. I own this island. It's called San Geraldo. Nadia told me what brought you here. You're looking for Katrina Hines."
"Yes, I am. I realize now that I'm trespassing, and I apologize sincerely, sir," Clint said using his best manners.
"Yes. I accept your apology. I'm experienced enough to understand that a man will blunder and take abnormal risks when he's a captive of his romantic emotions," Geraldo smiled.
"How did you know that Katrina and I--"
"--are emotionally involved?" Geraldo finished for Clint. "To me it seems obvious. You're a tourist on vacation. So is Katrina. Obviously a vacation-enhanced love affair has bloomed between you and Katrina."
CHAPTER SEVEN
"Then Katrina's here?" Clint asked.
"Yes, she is. She's safe; no harm has befallen her."
"But why is she still here?"
"She is enjoying my hospitality. One doesn't turn away a lovely girl, my friend," Geraldo said with a smile. "She happened on my island quite by accident. And, since she found the distractions and hospitality here to be far superior to those on San Dozes, she accepted my invitation to be my house guest."
"For how long?" Clint asked too urgently. "That, my friend, is her decision. It pleases me to offer her my hospitality. I would think she plans to remain for awhile."
"For awhile?" Clint frowned.
"Yes. She told me quite frankly that she was bored on San Dozes."
"Bored? She said that?"
"Those were her words, my friend. I know that must wound your ego since you were having a romantic interlude with her. At the risk of further injuring your ego, my friend, I would suggest to you that the romance you were pursuing with Katrina was one-side, since she said she was bored."
"I... find that hard to take," Clint said feeling emotionally hurt. "Kat and I had a misunderstanding--"
"I'm afraid that's no concern of mine," Geraldo said stiffly.
"Look--may I please see her?"
"No."
"No? Just like that? No?"
"No. You may not see her."
"But--why not?"
"I forbid it."
"Forbid it?" Clint said, feeling anger. "Correct. This is my island. I didn't invite you here. You're an unwanted trespasser."
"Why won't you let me see her? Have you harmed her? Is she a prisoner?"
"I have no need to reply to your questions," Geraldo said impassively.
"I demand to see her!" Clint said, his frustration getting the better of him.
"Your demands are nothing to me, my friend. Heather and Nadia will escort you back to the cove. You'll get in your boat and leave. You shall not return. You're not welcome here, my friend."
"Dammit, stop calling me your friend. And, I want to see her!"
"Take him away," Geraldo said with a wave of his hand to Nadia and Heather.
The girls took Clint lightly by the arms, one on either side of him. He shrugged the girls' hands away and lunged toward the raised platform on which Geraldo was sitting in King-like splendor.
Clint's rage was blind. His only thought was to strike out in fury at Geraldo, who was frustrating him. He was reacting stupidly, having lost his head.
But before he could reach Geraldo, Heather sprang on him from behind. One of her arms locked around his neck; her other arm jammed his arm painfully behind his back; and her knee jabbed into the small of his back.
Clint was helpless. Heather had with skill and swiftness completely immobilized him. No matter how he tried, he couldn't break the painful hold in which Heather held him at bay, a helpless captive.
"Good work, Heather," Geraldo said. Then he looked at Clint with contempt. "You're an impetuous fool, my friend. I offered you your freedom to leave, and you spurned it by trying to physically assault me. I cannot abide fools like you."
Clint glared at Geraldo with hatred. He felt frustration and humiliation at the quick ease with which Heather had subdued him. He was so choked with anger and shame that he couldn't speak.
"Now, my friend," Geraldo said. "Every society has its rules, its laws. Since I own this island, my word is law. You have trespassed, and you have tried to do me bodily harm. On my island those are serious offenses for which you will be severely punished."
"Punished? I'm an American citizen!" Clint raged.
"Your citizenship means nothing here on my island. You're under my exclusive jurisdiction. Girls--take this fool to the chamber where his offenses will be punished."
Heather needed no help from Nadia; she had Clint under complete control. Clint was moved roughly by Heather through a doorway leading to an adjoining room. At first glance the room seemed to be a mini-gym with padded walls and floor, complete with every piece of gymnastic equipment imaginable. But a second look revealed that some of the gymnastic equipment doubled as torture devices.
As Heather held him helplessly at bay, Nadia walked up to Clint and pressed her thumb to a spot on his neck; her thumb pressed hard against a nerve, instantly short-circuiting his consciousness. He crumpled to the padded leather floor unconscious when Heather released him.
When Clint came to, he was naked; the girls had stripped away his bathing trunks. Geraldo was seated in a chair, ready to witness Clint's punishment. Heather and Nadia were facing Clint, waiting for him to get to his feet.
When Clint got up, Nadia moved at him. She whirled over three times, in graceful somersaulting motions, bounding at him, leaping out of the somersault, hurtling through the air rigid, feet-first, her feet crashing into his abdomen with the jarring force of her hurtling body behind it. The impact knocked the wind out of Clint and drove him backward, sprawling with a skidding thud to the padded floor.
"What the hell is this?" Clint asked, confused, gulping for air as he climbed to his feet.
And then Heather was flying at him in a swift, wheeling somersault, springing at him, her extended foot blasting into his face, knocking him dazed to the floor.
Slowly Clint got up. He now crouched over cautiously. Nadia ran at him and surprised him by leaping into the air, grabbing hold of the rings and swinging her body at him, her feet clobbering him in the ear and side of the neck, toppling him down again.
Clint staggered up on rubbery legs. Nadia walked casually up to him, lifted him easily into a judo hold and hurled him through the air; he landed with a bouncing thud, shook his head and struggled to his feet.
Heather strolled up, easily knocked aside his defending arms with a vicious karate chop, lifted him over her head and began to spin around and around like a top. When she heaved Clint away he sailed through the air turning round and round like a broken pinwheel. This time he didn't get up. He was too dazed, hovering just at the edge of unconsciousness.
Clint was only dimly aware that he was being lifted up. He was too dazed to understand what was happening to him. When he fully regained consciousness he discovered that he was hanging by his wrists from the overhead gym rings. His body was wound around with wire; the slender wire wound around him, from his chest to his groin. Then he saw that the wire was attached to a control box.
"This, my friend, will be a shocking experience for you," Geraldo laughed. "Heather?"
Heather grinned. She turned a knob on the control box. Shocking jolts of electricity blazed through the wires, singeing his flesh. He cried out in fear and pain as bolts of electric current surged through the wire. He jerked and heaved.
Heather turned the electric current higher, and again the electric pulsing through the wire wrapped around his body singed his skin, burning into the flesh, giving him terrible pain. The pain of the live wire twined around his groin gave him the most intense pain. He wailed his anguish, heaving and lurching as he dangled helplessly from the gym rings by his wrists. This torture went on for five full minutes, the current pulsing through the wires being slowly increased by Heather until Clint was bellowing in his pain from the shocking blasts of electricity that shot through his body.
Finally, Nadia came over and took the wire from Clint's body. His skin was burned raw by the wires, and hurt worse than paper cuts that had been coated with salt.
Nadia stood near Clint as she took the bat from Heather. The bat was made of rubber. Without a word, Nadia swung the bat and it slugged painfully into Clint's gut, driving the wind from him. Then she powered the bat against his ribcage, and Clint yelped as the bat crunched into his ribs with telling force.
Nadia paced gracefully around Clint, slugging him ruthlessly with the rubber bat. Each crunch of the bat left a bruised welt on his dangling body. His eyes began to roll back. She pounded his back, his buttocks, his chest, his stomach, his ribs with the slugging rubber bat, bashing him as if he were a sack of flour.
With a groan he passed out from the pain.
Meanwhile, in her room in Geraldo's mansion, Katrina was waking up. She had been drugged and put under heavy sedation. The arrival of Clint had distracted Geraldo from Katrina. Now the drug had worn off. Kat got up, shaking her head.
Everything came back to her with a rush. She suddenly realized that she had been drugged, that Geraldo, and later Heather and Nadia had seduced her while she was under the sex-inducing power of the drug.
Katrina felt bitterness that she had been used in such a way. She wondered where Geraldo and his two beauties were. She strained her ears and heard not a sound. But, at that very moment, Clint was suffering torture as electric current surged through the wires that were wound around his body.
Katrina tried the door. It was locked. She went to the window. She tried it. To her surprise it was not locked. It swung open and out, wide enough for her to slip through. Escape was her only thought. She didn't want to become a drugged sex slave of Geraldo, Heather and Nadia.
She looked out of the window and realized why they hadn't bothered to bolt it closed. She was on the second story, and it was a long drop to the ground. She thought quickly. She tore the sheets from her bed and knotted them together. She fastened the end of the sheet to the frame of the window, tossing the other end out. It was long enough for her to climb down to the ground.
Out of the window she went, sliding quickly down the knotted length of sheets. She hit the ground, glanced around, then turned and ran as fast as she could toward the path that cut through the jungle. She ran through the jungle along the narrow path until she came out on the beach.
As she came out of the jungle, she skidded to a stop. Out in the water next to her sail boat was a small motor boat, and fifty feet further out, at the mouth of the cove was a big-luxurious cabin cruiser.
Katrina was baffled. And then she saw someone swimming through the water, only a few feet from the beach, coming in fast. It was a girl. And, out on the cabin cruiser Kat could see a man and could hear him shouting, obviously at the swimming girl. The girl beached and got to her feet.
It was Shirley--the girl who had made indecent advances toward Clint on the dance floor. Kat's instinct was to run up to Shirley and claw her eyes out. She didn't. Instead she ran toward Shirley, waving her arms.
"Don't come here! We've got to get out of here!" Katrina called to Shirley as she ran up to her.
"What are you talking about?" Shirley said as she shook the water from her hair.
"I'll explain later. We've got to get out of here. This is a private island. The man who owns it is a monster. He drugs you and tortures you and sexually abuses you. We've got to get out of here!"
"But Clint's here--"
"Clint? He's here?" Kat said blinking her eyes at Shirley.
"Yes. That's his motor boat out there near your sail boat. I swam in from that cabin cruiser to look for him."
"I don't understand--"
"Clint's crazy about you. He came here looking for you. I followed him in the cabin cruiser, or well--I conned Walt to bring me here--Walt owns the cruiser. See him out there screaming and jumping up and down for me to come back?" Shirley grinned.
"If Clint's here, we can't help him--not the two of us. They have whips and things. They'll probably let Clint go. But when they find out I've escaped, there'll be hell to pay. Let's get out of here."
"Not me. I'm going to find Clint."
"Why? What good will that do?"
"He's my brother," Shirley said.
"Your brother?" Kat said, amazed.
"Yeah. I drive him crazy, but he is my brother."
"I--didn't know--I mean the way you danced with him and kissed him--"
"I wanted to embarrass him and take him away from you. He's all I've got. He takes care of me."
"Oh--"
"You go ahead. Take the motor boat and go out to the cabin cruiser. Walt will sail you back to San Dozes. I'll go find Clint."
"You can't do anything for him. My advice is to go back to the cabin cruiser and wait for them to send him back to his boat. I'm sure they'll release him. They have no reason to keep him here."
"I'm staying."
"Well, I'm not. There's no way I can help here. I'm going to go back to San Dozes and get help if they don't release Clint right away."
Katrina ran into the gentle surf and plunged in. She began to swim out toward the cabin cruiser as Shirley stood on the beach watching her. Kat didn't bother with her sail boat or Clint's motor boat. She wanted to leave the motor boat for him. And she knew how to take care of her sail boat.
After a long swim she reached the cabin cruiser and Walt pulled her aboard. Katrina explained everything to Walt, who listened in stunned silence. At Kat's urging he maneuvered his cruiser into the cove and tied up Kat's sailboat to the stern with a long, strong line. Then, pulling the sailboat behind, he opened the throttle of the powerful cabin cruiser. A half hour later they docked at San Dozes.
"Katrina," Walt said, "I'm going back to that cove on San Geraldo."
"Why?"
"I'm going to wait at the mouth of the cove. Maybe Shirley or Clint will show up, in which case I'll bring them back here."
"You're not going ashore on that island, are you?"
"Not on your life," Walt said.
Kat stood and watched as the powerful cabin cruiser pulled away and plowed through the water toward San Geraldo again. She turned and went back to her room in the hotel, settling into a hot bath to relax herself. She made a face as she remembered what she had done under the influence of the sex-inducing drug. And she frowned bitterly as she remembered how much she had enjoyed sex with the ugly Geraldo and Heather and Nadia. She discounted her weakness and enjoyment, charging it to the work of the drug.
And, for the life of her, she could not figure out the relationship between Clint and his sister, Shirley. Shirley seemed a bit daft. But Shirley had said Clint had risked himself to come to San Geraldo to find her--she had said that Clint loved her--Oh, Kat said to herself, if I can only think of a way to rescue Clint!
Back on San Geraldo, Clint was still in the chamber enduring torment. He had regained consciousness after the battering he had suffered when Nadia had battered him with the rubber bat.
Now it was Heather's turn to abuse him.
It was obvious that Geraldo didn't want Clint marked up too badly, since he obviously intended to release Clint after teaching him a lesson. To cut Clint's body to ribbons with a whip might cause problems for Geraldo after Clint's release.
Nadia let Clint down from the gym rings. When his feet hit the floor his legs nearly went out from under him. He ached all over the pounding Nadia had given him with the bat.
Heather stepped up to Clint and leveled him with a solid right cross to the chin. He sprawled out, seeing stars. In his weakened condition, he could not stand up before the force of Heather's blow.
As he got weakly to his hands and knees, Heather began pounding his buttocks ferociously with a paddle. The power of the blows drove him forward. Splat! Splat! Splat! With solid force the paddle tattooed his blazing buttocks, turning the white cheeks to blazing, welted red.
And then Heather subjected him to further humiliation. He was too weak and dazed to resist. He felt her hands feeling his flaming, aching buttocks. She was wearing a dildo; it was strapped around her middle, and it jutted from the crown of her pubic mound, and it looked as if a cock had been surgically grafted onto her.
The dildo made contact. Ruthlessly it drilled in between the cheeks of his ass, plowing into his anal crack, pushing in, stretching painfully wide the puckered ring of his rectum.
Clint shouted in blinding pain, but could not get away from Heather. Her hands clutched his waist as she wormed over his behind, battering the dildo into his asshole.
Heather's hips moved, jacking, and with a terrific shock Clint felt the hard rod of the dildo penetrating into the tight, puckered hole of his ass. He bellowed in pain, but could not get away from the humiliating sodomy she was subjecting him to.
The thick, hard dildo drove all the way into his anal crack, driving painfully into his rectum, sinking in, inch by painful cruel inch, impaling him.
He was like a limp doll as Heather screwed him lewdly and painfully in the asshole. She bucked and rolled her hips as she shoved the dildo in and out and round and round in his aching, overstuffed asshole.
Never had Clint known such localized pain as he was suffering as Heather screwed him wildly in the ass, as Nadia and Geraldo looked on, laughing at his pain and humiliation. She fucked his asshole raw before finally withdrawing the awful dildo from his raped, outraged asshole.
Clint collapsed to the padded floor, nearly sobbing in humiliation. His humiliation was complete. They had humbled and hurt him. They had crushed his male pride. He was defeated and seemed broken and helpless.
"Take him down to the beach and see that he gets back to his boat and away from here," Geraldo said. "I think he's learned his lesson. Have you learned your lesson?" Geraldo asked Clint.
"Y-yes," Clint said softly, humbled and humiliated.
"Good. Take him away."
Heather and Nadia helped Clint back into his bathing trunks and, half-supporting him between them, they took him out and away. They came out of the jungle onto the beach. As they reached the beach the girls stopped, peering out into the cove.
"The sail boat's gone," Heather said with concern to Nadia.
"Now what the--" Nadia sputtered.
"Let's get rid of him and get back to the house to see what's going on."
"Do you think maybe Katrina got away?" Nadia said to Heather.
"I don't know. Looks that way. Let's get rid of this clown and get back and find out," Heather said urgently.
They watched as Clint swam slowly, uncertainly, back out to his motor boat. They watched until his boat turned out of the cove and the snore of the engine faded away. Then they turned and ran quickly up the path through the jungle back to the mansion.
Heather and Nadia dashed into the house. In the living room they found Geraldo relaxed as he entertained a strange girl--strange because neither Heather nor Nadia had ever before set eyes on her. The girl was young and blonde and beautiful. There was a kind of wild glint in the girl's eyes. The girl was Shirley.
Heather and Nadia stared from Shirley to Geraldo, confusion in their eyes.
"This is Shirley Westwood," Geraldo explained to Nadia and Heather. "She's Clint's sister."
"I don't believe it--" Nadia said.
"What is this--old home week for San Dozes tourists on San Geraldo?" Heather said.
"Katrina's escaped," Geraldo said, and then he explained to Heather and Nadia how Kat had knotted sheets together to get out of her room down to the ground. "Shirley here had just reached shore, after swimming in from a cabin cruiser, when Katrina came running out of the jungle. Katrina swam out to the cruiser and the cruiser put a line out, fastening the sail boat to its stern and made its way back to San Dozes, with Katrina aboard, and the sail boat pulled along behind."
"We just released Clint," Nadia said.
"He's gone back to San Dozes in his motor launch," Heather added.
"But what's she doing here?" Nadia asked Geraldo as she pointed a finger at Shirley.
"She's quite unlike the rest," Geraldo smiled. "Shirley's an admitted nymphomaniac and sado-masochist."
"She's what?"
"You're kidding!"
"Hell, no," Shirley laughed. "I've had a long talk with Geraldo. From the sound of things, you're my kind of people. I'm hot to try anything--and I do mean anything. My brother's a drag, always trying to hold me back, to control me. Let me tell you--I've tried everything that's come my way. I've used the whip, the belt--you name it--on others, and I've enjoyed torture, too. And I just love to fuck, suck cock and suck cunt. Hey, I'm your kind of girl," she laughed a bit wildly. Her lewdness and frankness startled Nadia and Heather--they didn't expect it from a girl as young and pretty as Shirley.
"I've invited Shirley to be my house guest. I think we'll have some enjoyable, interesting times with her here," Geraldo grinned at Heather and Nadia.
Heather and Nadia relaxed, and began to laugh.
* * *
Back on San Dozes, Katrina was strolling along the beach by herself, deep in thought, brooding behind her dark sunglasses. She was still confused and upset. Clint was the center of her thoughts. She still felt love for him, but the revelation that the wild Shirley was his sister had confused and baffled her. Her faith in him had been badly jolted, and even the fact that he had gone to San Geraldo looking for her had not completely renewed her feelings for him. And, she had no idea if he was still on San Geraldo; she had no idea what was happening to him, or to Shirley, for that matter on the island.
Katrina didn't know that she was being watched by Alya. Kat was still trying to figure a way to get Clint off of the island. She felt that the most she could do was wait to see if they set him free; if they didn't, then she had to act... some way...
The sun was beginning to set. Alya was watching Katrina. It was obvious to the shrewd Alya that Katrina was upset by something. She wondered where Kat had been--she had been missing for a day--The fact that Katrina was obviously upset was important to Alya. The black girl smiled to herself as she watched Katrina strolling absently along the beach.
Alya knew from the beginning that Katrina would be a tough nut to crack. She was the most sophisticated of all the hotel guests. For the past few days Alya had been trying to figure out where Katrina's Achilles' heel was, without any great degree of success. In fact, Alya knew Kat was a real problem; Kat had rebuffed Alya every time Alya tried to get friendly with her.
But, after watching Katrina closely on the beach, Alya became more confident. For Kat was upset and seemed to be moody. And that would make Kat easier to work on; Kat would be more suggestion-prone. But Alya could not figure what had turned Katrina's smiling face into such a portrait of despair.
Alya walked down the beach in the direction of the restless, pacing figure of Katrina. She came up behind Katrina quietly and unobtrusively.
"Hello, Miss Katrina," Alya said in a friendly voice. "How are things going for you?"
Katrina wheeled around in surprise when she heard Alya's voice. But for once Kat was not immediately annoyed by the presence of the lovely black hotel employee in her cut-away sheath uniform. After all, Alya was company, and anything that helped take her mind off the nightmare she was enduring was welcome. Besides, Kat thought, if she was friendly with Alya, Alya might in some way help her unravel the problem of San Geraldo.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"Things aren't the greatest," Katrina said to Alya.
"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that," Alya said, surprised that Katrina was being so indiscreet in revealing her feelings. "From the way you look, it must be a gentleman who's caused your troubled feelings."
Katrina wasn't surprised by Alya's shrewd statement. Somehow it seemed appropriate that the whole world should have divined the truth.
"That's about the size of it," Kat said in a muted voice. Then she added bitterly, her mind centered on Clint: "The girl gets the shaft again--same old story. No news."
"Oh, don't look at it that way. It's my opinion that a girl should never put up with a man's bad behavior. It's my job to see that you have a good time--I can't let any guy ruin your stay here--"
"A good time? Meaning what?"
"Well," Alya smiled, "we look on this island as a place where the normal rules of a male-dominated society don't apply. Everyone's here to have a good time--an equally good time. This isn't set up to give men a big treat, ignoring the girls. If one of our female guests, like yourself, leaves here feeling she hasn't had a really good time, then we assume we've failed to provide a real vacation."
"Really?" Katrina smiled, amused by Alya's almost textbook statement.
"A girl has a right to have every treat a man has."
"Why don't you get to the point, Alya?"
"Well, Miss Katrina, to be straightforward with you: you have the look of a person who's undergone a blow to her dignity here on this island. In my opinion, as one woman to another, I'd suggest that the best thing for you to do is to let me suggest that you undertake an experience which will restore that dignity."
"Ah, you're trying to tell me that the hotel keeps a dignity-machine in the basement for jilted lovers?" Kat teased.
"Not quite," Alya laughed. "All I can suggest--and this is on my own, nothing to do with the hotel--is that you let me bring you along tonight to one of the island ceremonies. They can really give a person in your state a lift."
Alya spent several more minutes trying to talk over all of Katrina's questions. Finally, Katrina, curious about the ceremony Alya was talking about, agreed to accompany Alya.
* * *
The sun had almost completely disappeared and darkness was swimming over the islands and the sea when Clint got back to his room in the hotel. He began drinking in his room to drown the anger, pain and confusion and humiliation he had suffered on San Geraldo. He knew everything now. Clint had been signaled by Walt. The cabin cruiser had been coming to San Geraldo as Clint was halfway back to San Dozes. Walt had pulled along side of Clint's boat and had told him what had happened.
So, now Katrina was somewhere back on San Dozes. She wasn't in her room--Clint had called, and she wasn't there. And, worse of all, Shirley was now on San Geraldo. If Clint knew his sister, she would love it there, and wouldn't want to leave.
He wanted to first find Katrina, and explain everything-to her. Shirley was alright for the time being--he was sure of that. He knew his sister all too well. He didn't know that even now Katrina was in Alya's car, headed away from the hotel, toward the jungle in which the ceremony would take place. It was the same ceremony to which Alya had taken the girl, Robin, days before Katrina had arrived. Kat had no way of knowing that her presence at the ceremony would be used to blackmail her later...
The car with Alya and Katrina plunged into absolute darkness, and Katrina couldn't see anything out of the windows. Then, from the sound of the tires and the exhaust noise, Katrina deduced that they had entered some sort of tunnel-affair. The car stopped and Alya got out, motioning Kat to do the same.
Alya grabbed Kat's hand and led her away through the pitch darkness. Katrina heard a door open, and then she stumbled, before adjusting to the fact that they were going up a circular staircase. This was kind of odd, Katrina thought, sort of like the drunken hide-and-seek games they used to have at production parties back in Beverly Hills.
At the top of the stairs, they emerged in some sort of shed. From there, Alya led Kat out into a court yard, surrounded by a high white wall of the type that surrounds very big houses and court yards. She followed Alya across the red-tiled yard and through an elegantly-polished door. She was beginning to think she'd made a mistake in coming.
Alya grabbed her hand and pulled her into a room hardly bigger than a closet.
"We change here," Alya whispered.
"Change? Into what? What for?"
"Shhh! Here--put this on."
Alya shoved a garment at Katrina. Katrina took it, but didn't move right away. She was watching Alya pull her own sheath off over her head. She noted the black girl's magnificent body and the fact that she wore nothing under the sheath. Then, as Alya slipped into the new garment, Katrina caught a glimpse of her backside. For a second she thought she was imagining things, but no--she was sure she had seen them--the welts and stripes that crisscrossed the girl's lush, firm buttocks. For a minute, Katrina wanted to laugh. It was too silly. It was like some sort of bizarre East Village put-on, she thought.
But, at Alya's insistence, Katrina complied with the game. She removed her own dress and hung it on one of the many hangers--all of which were empty. She reached back and unclasped her bra without thinking. It was only when she had removed it and saw Alya staring at her firm, jutting tits, that she wondered why she had done it. What the hell, Kat shrugged, as Alya nodded and pointed to her panties.
To Katrina, it was kind of like a college initiation, and it all amused her, and took her mind off of her troubles. She slipped her fingers under the waistband of her panties and rolled them down her hips, then stepped out of them and placed them with her other clothes.
Then she donned the garment Alya had given her. It was kind of like an Oriental dressing gown, with very wide, short sleeves which came about half-way to her elbows. Katrina looked at Alya to see how the robe was supposed to be fastened. It was then that she noticed. Alya's wasn't fastened. And Kat couldn't fasten hers, either, because of one simple thing. The way the robe was cut, it came around only to her sides. There just wasn't any more of it to draw in front of herself. Alya was smiling at Katrina, watching the message sink in. This was the big hurdle.
Katrina looked down at herself--at her breasts, stomach, thighs, legs, pussy mound--all of which were visible, framed by the robe, which was cut away so widely that it amounted to little more than a cape with sleeves. She looked at Alya and unconsciously admired the way the robe heightened the black beauty of Alya's feminine charms.
"They ought to sanforize these," Katrina whispered with a grin to Alya. Alya grinned back, nodding.
Then, taking Katrina again by the hand, Alya led her out of the closet-like dressing room and down a long tiled hall. Katrina's ears perked up as she heard the sound of drumming music drifting from somewhere in the building.
But she didn't feel uneasy or alarmed. Somehow, it was too much of a combination of the unusual and the ludicrous for her to question it. One thing was for sure: in this robe affair, she really felt like an old-time priestess, ready to preside in semi-naked splendor at some pagan ritual.
Alya led her to a door, opened it, and they both slipped through. They were in a large room, dimly lighted and deafeningly filled with musical throbbing of several ranks of drums. Katrina looked hard through the darkness and noted that the room was higher at one end, where the music came from. Up there were seated a bunch of bodies, including the musicians. And, against the far wall, at the back of the raised level of the room, she could discern two high-backed chairs. She hadn't the vaguest notion of what was going on, and suddenly felt a great reliance on Alya.
Alya was standing motionless, apparently listening to the music. Katrina didn't think they could be seen, standing as they were at the darkened end of the room. But suddenly, out of the ceiling somewhere, came a spotlight, tracking along the length of the room until it bathed both Kat and Alya in a hot circle of white light.
Katrina's first instinct was to shrink back out of the glare. But Alya grasped her hand again and led her forward. Dumbly, Katrina complied and followed Alya up the center of the room. The drumming increased in tempo as they neared the dais and then stopped completely.
Katrina hadn't bargained for this as Alya led her up onto the dais. They walked through the heated circle of dark bodies toward the wall. Then Alya motioned her to one of the chairs as she seated herself in the other.
Kat paused and then sat quickly down. Immediately she crossed her legs, feeling her nakedness acutely. Especially when she looked around at the circle of men seated below them and saw that, for the most part, each was completely naked. And yet, in spite of this amazing sight, she was reassured because none of the seated men seemed to be paying her any attention.
Katrina shot a look at Alya and saw that she was sitting completely relaxed, her black breasts jutting out from the scanty robe and both feet placed firmly on the dais.
Then the drums started up again, and Katrina's spirits lifted with the throb of the drums. A young native girl clad in a shirtwaist came out of the darkness bringing Katrina and Alya each a goblet full of a hot liquid drink.
Kat looked at Alya as she took her goblet and watched her as she took a sip, smiling. Katrina sipped. The liquid, whatever it was, went down her throat like lava, searing her insides. The sensation was unlike any Kat had ever had in drinking. The drink was at once bitter and heavy, and yet at the same time it was like a bubbling sort of hot dressing. It wasn't unpleasant. Katrina's toes curled, and she could feel herself begin to perspire from the hot drink, which somehow inflamed and knotted her body inside. She wondered, for a fleeting moment, if the drink was drugged, as was the drink Geraldo had given her. But she dismissed the thought as absurd. That was her mistake, for the drink was drugged.
Katrina shook her head, trying to clear her senses. She took a deep gulp of the hot drink, and her senses seemed to fog even more. And now the music had settled into a regular, frenzied pattern.
Several young men bounded out to the center of the floor. Katrina clutched her goblet, sipping, as the young men began dancing just a few feet from where she was seated. She was proud enough of her own luscious body to have respect for physiques in general, and these young men were amply endowed on all counts. Kat felt an involuntary shiver of desire go through her as her eyes feasted on the spectacle of the contorted, rippling black bodies of the young men as they darted and whirled before her.
The six young dancing men suddenly had whips in their hands. Still dancing, darting about, they began trying to flog each other. Whips landed sharply, laying open shining black, smoothly muscled flesh. It now became a dancing battle, the six men pitted against each other. They lunged about, slashing each other with the leather whips. Blood began to splatter.
Then three of the men were gaining the upper hand on the other three and now were thrashing the three overpowered men viciously with the swinging, slashing lashes of their whips. The three defeated men crawled and ran away, shouting in pain as whip lashes sliced their backs, chests and buttocks open in gaping, bleeding wounds.
The spotlight went to the spot where Katrina had entered the room with Alya. In the light were three young, nude black girls of striking beauty. The girls ran into the center of the room and began dancing with the victorious three men.
The male and female dancers were going through some sort of ritually choreographed metaphor for the sexual act--the men and girls approaching one another, caressing each other's bodies and seeming to join together in any one of a hundred variations on the sexual act.
And then, suddenly, Katrina began to grow alarmed. Something was happening to her--to her emotions, her body. True, she was stimulated watching the flashing black naked bodies. It was very erotically stimulating. But down deep in the center of her being Katrina was aware of a burning--a pulsing of desire that caught her up in the hot clutch of lust and desire.
Without realizing it, she had started squirming in her chair, sliding her buttocks back and forth on the robe and sliding down on the chair, to bring herself into closer contact with the edge of the seat.
Although she had just finished drinking the last drops from her goblet, Katrina's throat was suddenly parched, and her muscles were involuntarily flexing, and her pussy almost felt as if it itched with desire.
One of the naked young black men came forward and, bending down before Katrina, kissed her foot. She saw that another of the dancers, who also seemed to be in the throes of mindless desire, was doing the same thing to Alya. With her emotions battling her instincts, Katrina was paralyzed as the man moved up her lower legs, brushing her skin with soft, nibbling kisses and bites. Katrina clenched her hands on the chair and her back stiffened as his lips mover higher, up over her knees.
Her mind cried no, and screamed at her to run from the room. But her body, her senses, fed and drugged by the potion in the drink and the music and sensual pageant, forced her to submit.
He moved up higher, turning his wooly head and planting kisses alternately one on each of her thighs. She tried to lock her legs together but her body betrayed her, the strange, desperate spasms in her forcing her to open her thighs wide to him. Out of the corner of her wildly rolling eyes she saw Alya grabbing a long, thick black cock and then sliding her body out of the chair to disappear under the churning body of one of the males.
Katrina felt all alone, clinging to the chair as her body responded to the unbearable slow kisses. From somewhere came the blinding spotlight again, making her feel like her skin was being stripped from her convulsed frame. There were other black faces and hands now. Katrina bit her lips in agony as different hands came out of the darkness to caress her breasts and thighs.
Katrina heaved up her buttocks and cried out as she felt the electric contact of a tongue on the bud of her clitoris. Her legs were pushed wider apart as a tongue licked wetly across the cream-covered flesh of her pussy. The slivering, slippery tongue tortured Katrina, spearing in and licking over her cunt. Kat's buttocks ground as the mouth and tongue assaulted her cunt. She whimpered as the tongue teased into her cunt. She moaned as the hot flickering tongue stabbed in and out of her twat. Her skin was covered with goosebumps as she helplessly gave herself up... other lips were sucking her nipples and other tongues were licking over her body as the mouth at her cunt drove her wild. She spasmed through a wild, blind climax.
Kat felt herself being lifted, felt herself falling into the arms and hands of several male and female dancers who were ready for her, who carried her to the spotlit circle on the floor. They took her, one at a time, and she yielded to them--male bodies and female bodies--it was a parade of flesh and it seemed to go on for an eternity. She was going mad as first a male and then a female and then a male and female together took her. They ganged her and she couldn't stop them and she could not quell the drug-induced need in her body.
* * *
Clint spent the next morning in a fruitless search for Katrina. She had again seemed to have disappeared into thin air. He was certain, this time, that she was still on San Dozes. He asked questions, but everyone acted dumb, and no one gave him a clue as to where Katrina was.
Toward nightfall, Katrina returned, unseen by anyone. She sneaked up to her room and brooded. It had been a setup. She had been heavily drugged. She had endured a night of wild sex, taking on she didn't know how many men and girls who feasted between her legs, drove cocks into her rectum, tongues and cocks up her cunt, sucked her nipples, shoved cocks down her throat. And she had been beaten, too...
They had forced Katrina to run through a lineup--men on one side, girls on the other--as Kat ran through they bashed at her naked body with rubber hosing. The hosing tormented her. They used it because it wouldn't scar her body and leave marks for long--the welts would fade before the night was over, leaving her aching all over.
Somehow, Buolo had discovered her return. He had come to her room with Alya. They showed her pictures of herself in mid-orgy. She gasped when she saw the pictures. And they told her they had motion pictures, too, and Kat didn't doubt it. It was blackmail. They knew everything about her, where she lived, everything--They knew how to hurt her with the blackmail. She had to come up with $5,000 or else...
"I guess you've got me," Kat said with a sigh.
"We have. I have the negatives locked up in my office safe," Buolo grinned.
"When do I have to get the money to you?" Katrina said, standing up and knotting the belt of her terrycloth robe tightly around her waist. She felt uncomfortable, since she had nothing on under the short robe.
"We'll let you know before you have lunch tomorrow," Buolo said.
"Do I get the negatives back when I get you the money."
"Yes." Then he turned to Alya and nodded. Alya dipped into her big bag and came out with a flask. "Let's have a drink to seal the deal, shall we, Katrina?"
"Is that flask filled with a drugged drink, like the drink I had last night?" Katrina said with a wry grin.
"As a matter of fact, it is," Alya grinned. "I thought we'd have some fun together."
"Why not?" Katrina said with a defeated, hopeless shrug of her shoulders.
"That's my girl," Alya grinned. "Shall we all strip for action?"
Immediately, not waiting for a reply, Alya stripped naked, as did Buolo. They stood waiting for Katrina. Sighing, not giving a damn, Katrina slipped off the robe and, when she did, Buolo's eyes bulged as they raped over her luscious body. Alya filled glasses and they all drank down the burning liquid. Immediately, Katrina felt the drink warming her body, stimulating her, in a similar way as the drink last night had. She could see it was getting to Alya and Buolo, too. They all had a second round. Now they were all steaming with desire.
Buolo took his belt from his pants and chased after Alya, trapping her near the bed. He lashed the belt at her, catching her on the tits, welting them, and Alya cried out in pain, but the expression on her face was one of desire for more pain. Katrina watched, hypnotized. Buolo battered her stomach and buttocks with the belt. The leather belt sailed through the air as Alya turned away, cringing, her buttocks upturned and vulnerable.
Wham! Into her lush buttocks the belt sailed, hitting her so hard that she sprawled onto the bed, face down. Buolo rushed over to Alya's bag, and from it took a big pin cushion, festooned with long, sharp pins. He came back over to Alya and began jabbing the pins into her buttock cheeks. Alya wailed with desire, wanting more pain.
Now eight pins were sticking in her buttock cheeks, beads of blood around the punctures. Buolo rammed more pins into her ass until her black lush cheeks were as festooned with pins as the pin cushion had been.
Then Buolo stepped back, his cock hard and rampant. Katrina could not help but gaze at his hard, dark prick with hunger in her sex-drugged state. She reached down with her hand and her white fingers clutched his dark shaft. Buolo grinned at her as her fist began to caress up and down on his hard-on.
"Please, please! Get these pins out of my ass!" Alya cried from the bed.
"I'll do it," Katrina said, feeling compassion for the black girl. She went over to Alya and slowly pulled the pins out, handing them to Buolo, who shoved them back into the pin cushion. Alya's ass was welted and there were beads of caked blood where the pins had stuck into her fleshy, taut buttock cheeks.
Alya rolled over onto her back, lifting her hips up. With glazed eyes she looked up at Katrina.
"Come to me," Alya said hoarsely, her eyes feasting on Kat's lush, naked curves. Katrina moved awkwardly to the bed, raising one knee and half-kneeling next to the dark girl. Katrina felt herself sliding into a new mood, inspired by the drug and the closeness of their two beautiful bodies.
Then, as Buolo watched, holding and jerking on his hard-on, Katrina gasped. She felt Alya's fingers on her leg. She looked down and saw the black hand glide up her thigh. Kat's body jerked as the caress triggered desire. She hovered there, one knee on the bed, one foot on the floor, as Alya continued to stroke her thighs. Kat's buttocks tightened and she felt a cramp in her back as the caresses moved up, up her inner thighs. She couldn't move. Alya's caress was a deadly intimate one.
"Mmmmmmm... " Katrina heard herself gasp when Alya's fingers began to probe at her cunt lips with merciless accuracy. Unable to move, Katrina turned the top half of her body first one way, then the other, writhing above the goading fingers that toyed with her steaming cunt.
"Ohhhhh, ohhhh... noooo... " Katrina groaned as Alya's fingers began to fan over her pussy lips, a stiff finger driving delicately in between the cunt lips. Katrina shut her eyes and moaned in her throat. Her weight leaned against the bed and she was forced to swing her other knee onto it. Now she knelt erect, feebly trying to move herself away from the fingerfucking Alya was giving her so skillfully.
Alya suddenly pushed Katrina so that she fell back on the bed. Alya hunched herself over Katrina like a tigress ready for the kill, devouring the sight of Kat's glorious body.
Lunging forward, Alya pried apart Katrina's buttery thighs and she squirmed between them. Katrina went into a convulsion as Alya's body made contact with the insides of her thighs and stomach.
She leaned over Kat, taking Kat's hands and pulling her arms over her head and pinning her down to the bed. Katrina was pinned helplessly. Alya let her body down onto Katrina's and their bellies and nipples rubbed excitingly together. Both girls sighed at the hot contact of their bodies.
With a wail Katrina yielded submissively and her arms went around Alya's neck. Their bodies crushed together. Katrina's legs arched up and locked around Alya's slender hips. Her spine curved as Alya rubbed down on her, and their cunts began to rub together wildly.
Then the girls were together, surging and gyrating as one, their sweating bodies mashing together. Each girl was straining under the burden of mutual frustrations--each had formerly known how to appease only in coupling with a male body in this position. They were writhing together as male and female do, but a cock was lacking.
They broke and on mutual cue they scrambled about on the bed, coming together again in a perfect hot 69, Katrina's head buried between Alya's thighs, Alya's head between Katrina's thighs. They lapped and tongued at each others cunts wildly. They rolled together, sucking and tonguing each others cunts until they stiffened in climax. They both came, licking, sucking, tonguing cunt lavishly.
And then Buolo was with them and the girls fought for his cock desperately...
* * *
Back on San Geraldo, Shirley was having the time of her life. She needed no drug to stimulate her. She had already had Geraldo twice in the cunt, and once he had plugged her in the asshole, much to her erotic delight. Heather and Nadia had made a sandwich of Shirley, sucking Shirley's tits and cunt in turns, turning Shirley on, bringing her one climax after the other. And then Shirley sucked each girls' cunt and then she sucked on Geraldo's enormous cock.
"Are you a sadist or masochist?" Geraldo asked Shirley as the four of them paused between bouts of lust.
"I go both ways--I'm game for anything."
"Do you like to inflict pain?"
"Oh, do I!" Shirley said with excitement.
CHAPTER NINE
"Well, Shirley, my dear," Geraldo said, "I have a treat in store for you. You see, at times things get a bit too quiet around here. That's the way it was before everyone began landing here from San Dozes."
"It's not too dull with me here now, is it?" Shirley grinned.
"My word, no," Geraldo chuckled. "Well, when things get dull around here I get word out to one of my operatives on San Dozes--"
"You have people working for you on San Dozes?"
"Yes. Secretly."
"What for?"
"Many reasons. Among those reasons is procurement of people to satisfy our warped desires. My operatives waylay natives and bring them here. We lock them up until we're ready to use them--"
"Use them for what?"
"For whatever strikes our fancy. Since they're natives, no one causes a stir searching for them. We're free to use the natives with impunity. We have no cause to fret over search parties coming here looking for them."
"Are the natives you're talking about the 'treat' you have for me?"
"Yes. Exactly. We have several of them locked up. We've taken a couple of them out of their cages, so to speak. As a treat for you, my dear girl, you may indulge your taste for sadism on them."
"I'm for that!" Shirley said with glee.
In a few minutes Shirley was accompanying the waddling Geraldo, along with Nadia and Heather, as they entered the chamber. Three native men were chained, hand-and-foot, to the walls. They were naked and had a weak, dazed look about them, as if their wits and reflexes had been dulled by drugs, which they had.
Heather and Nadia led Shirley over to a large, ornate chest in which were stored implements of torture. The girls whispered among themselves as Geraldo settled his bulk into a chair to watch the torture of the natives at the hands of Shirley.
The girls finished their whispered conversation and Heather and Nadia slipped away from Shirley, walking over to one of the naked natives. They unchained him and hustled him roughly over to a long, padded table; the table was normally used for rubdowns, but the frightened, sluggish native wasn't to be that fortunate.
Nadia and Heather stretched the man's arms above his head and chained his wrists securely to the table. They did the same to his ankles. Now the man was helpless and vulnerable to Shirley's perverted whims.
Shirley walked over to the table, and the man's eyes flashed with fear when he saw what she had in her hand. She was holding a hat pin, six inches long; it glittered menacingly, its point fine and tapered and sharp.
"This is going to be fun," Shirley giggled with girlish delight, as if she were about to enjoy a sweet dish of ice cream. The dish was a helpless man who was about to suffer torture.
As the man strained against his chains, Shirley-taunted and horrified him by hovering the long hat pin right over his naked groin. As she saw the native's expression of pure fear, Shirley laughed wildly.
Geraldo, Heather and Nadia nodded approvingly to each other as they watched the pure malice of Shirley's behavior.
And then Shirley ruthlessly plunged the long hat pin into the struggling man's little, flat nipple. The sharp point punctured the very center of the nipple, sinking in. Blood oozed brightly as the man yelled in horrible pain. She twisted the needle around and then slowly withdrew it. It was coated with blood.
Directly into the dead-center of his other nipple she plunged the hat pin as if it were a dagger. The man writhed and wailed as the pin punctured its way into him. Again Shirley wriggled the pin as she slowly withdrew it.
Laughing like a demented soul, Shirley began puncturing his chest and stomach with the long hat pin, and little pools of blood surfaced each time she withdrew the needle-sharp hat pin.
And then the agonized man's screams suddenly stopped. It was hushed...
Shirley was leaning close over his genitals, studying them with what seemed to be clinical interest. The man went rigid with fear as Shirley lifted and palmed his limp prick. She stared at the dark, satiny head of his cock with intense, concentrated, glittering eyes.
With swift, surgical precision Shirley shoved the long, sharp hat pin up into the slit at the very tip of his prick. As the man shrieked in unbearable agony Shirley tightly clutched the soft shaft of his prick as she pushed the hat pin way up and in, until only an inch of it remained visible.
The native was bleeding profusely. He had passed out from the overwhelming pain. Shirley left the hat pin where it was and calmly turned away.
"I'm through with this one," Shirley said. "Please take him away. He bores me. Get me another victim."
Geraldo nodded to Heather and Nadia. The girls disposed of the unconscious man and unchained another one from the wall, pushing him up to Shirley. The big man cowered in fear before Shirley, and Shirley laughed in his face when she read the naked fear in his eyes.
"Chain him up so he dangles by his wrists. I don't want his feet to touch the floor," Shirley said to Nadia and Heather.
In less than a minute the girls had the man chained up, dangling limply by his wrists, exactly as Shirley had requested.
Shirley walked to the chest, studying its contents. She took a weapon that could deal out awful pain. It had a solid leather handle that fitted comfortably in her hand. Attached to the handle was a foot-long length of finely-linked chain. Dangling from the chain was a small metal ball that was studded with gleaming spikes. The spiked ball was about the size of a tennis ball.
Shirley hoisted the handle and twirled it and the chain stiffened and the spiked ball hummed through the air in an arc. She liked the feel of it, and knew that she could use it with punishing accuracy.
She drew her arm back and then swung. The studded ball sailed swiftly through the air to slug with sickening impact into the man's gut. The spikes gouged out hunks of his flesh. Blood spurted and splattered. A gaping wound had been torn with a single swing of the terrible weapon of torture.
Shirley bashed his chest, and the spikes dug into his chest, raking through the nipple, gouging out flesh. Blood dripped. The sight of his blood seemed to charge Shirley.
She hammered at him, turning his chest and stomach into a chewed up mass of flesh that was smeared with blood. And then she slammed it into his back and buttocks, tearing the flesh from his body each time the slamming metal studded ball made impact.
With sadistic cruelty she walked around in front of the ruined man again. She swung. The metal ball with its sharp spikes crunched and cut into his groin, emasculating him brutally. The man slumped in his shackles and dangled there without moving.
The third man suffered the torment of the mace... a heavy, spiked club... it was a relic of the Middle Ages... back in those days it had been used for breaking armor... now it was going to be used to break a man's body.
She hit him. Blood gushed. She battered him, slicing his body to ribbons. She kept up the beating with the terrible mace until the man's body looked as if it had been through a meat grinder.
She tossed aside the mace and turned to face Geraldo and the girls. They were smiling at her with approval. It was sick and bizarre to admire such conduct. But they admired Shirley...
"You're welcome to stay here as long-as you like," Geraldo beamed at Shirley, almost like a proud father. "How do you girls feel about that?" he asked Nadia and Heather.
"You bet!" Nadia said with enthusiasm.
"She's a winner!" Heather agreed.
"Done," Geraldo said. "Do you accept my offer, Shirley my dear?"
"I sure do!" Shirley said with enthusiasm. "It means I can live and travel with the three of you?"
"It does."
"Great! Great! Now I won't have my brother to bug me anymore!"
"You can forget about your brother," Geraldo said with a smile. "He won't bother you. He can't come to this island. And, if you wish to stay, he has no choice but to let you stay."
"That's super!" Shirley said happily.
"In a few days we'll be leaving on a trip. Your brother will have no idea where we went. And, even if he knew, he wouldn't be able to afford chasing us around the world."
"Oh, I'm so happy! Let's celebrate by having an orgy!"
And, they did...
* * *
Two hours later an envelope was delivered to Clint in the hotel. It was from Shirley: "Dear Clint: "I won't be seeing you again for a long time.
I've been invited to stay here, and I've accepted. I'm thrilled! I've never had such a good time in my life! In a few days we'll be leaving on a trip. It won't do you any good to try to find out where we're going. It'd be too expensive for you to follow us as we travel around the world, hopping from country to country.
Till I see you again--I love you--Shirley" Clint reread the letter several times. He felt both relieved and depressed. Shirley had always been an oppressive responsibility--a pain in the ass. But, over the years he had gotten used to her. Without her, there would be a hole in his life, a void that he would feel. He knew that there wasn't much he could do about it. He couldn't storm the island and rescue her. He pretty much came to the conclusion that there wasn't very much he could do about it.
Then his depressed thoughts turned to Katrina. Clint called Kat's room and got no answer. He left the hotel, rented a jeep and drove for half an hour, until he reached a dusty town. He parked in front of a rundown bar, got out, and walked into the bar.
He struck up a conversation with the man behind the bar, a man named Cheyenne. He talked to Cheyenne simply to establish contact with another man. Clint was in luck. Cheyenne turned out to be more than he appeared to be at first glance.
Cheyenne mixed good drinks--California style, and talked straight talk. After an hour of casual talk, Cheyenne stared into Clint's eyes.
"You look down at the mouth, Clint. Want to get it off your chest?"
"Yeah. Here, read this," Clint said, tossing the letter he'd received from Shirley to Cheyenne.
"What's this all about?" Cheyenne asked after reading the letter.
Clint told him. He told Cheyenne everything that had happened since he'd come to San Dozes, leaving nothing out. Cheyenne listened quietly, attentively. When Clint finished, Cheyenne slid another drink across the bar to him.
"Let me clue you in, Clint. This tourist thing on San Dozes is part of an enormous operation. It's mob controlled. Dirty money, dirty operators."
"What do you mean?"
"The hotel, the whole setup here is part of a vast operation, man. It runs into the multi-millions. These cats who run it try to get something on some of the guests, and then they blackmail them."
"How do they do that?"
"Well, they pick on either innocent guests or guests who are bored. They con them into going inland to a special ceremony."
"What kind of ceremony?"
"Sexy stuff. It has the trappings of a native ritual--dancing, the works. As soon as they get the unsuspecting guest there, they give the guest a drugged drink. The drug's a sex-inducer. Naturally the poor sucker hasn't a chance. It becomes a big gang-bang. And they take pictures of it and then blackmail the poor sucker."
"I'll be damned--"
"Yeah. It's a neat operation. You'd be surprised, Clint. Some very bright people get duped.
It's not really their fault. How would somebody on vacation guess it's a crappy, blackmail setup?"
"I see what you mean--"
"They lock the negatives up in a safe in Buolo's office--you know him?"
"Yes--"
"He poses as the manager of the hotel, but he's the mob's manager in this area. If someone could get the negatives from his safe, then he's home free. But they never do. How the hell do they know where the negatives are kept? And they're too damn scared, anyway."
"I see--"
"Geraldo has agents on this island--" Cheyenne continued.
"Agents? What do you mean?"
"Undercover people. They keep an eye on the way the mob runs the hotel and all. Geraldo has investments here, and he doesn't want the mob messing around. And they don't. Geraldo has another nice thing he does--"
"What?"
"He had his operatives kidnap poor natives--male and female."
"What for?"
"To satisfy his perverted needs. Those two girls--Nadia and Heather--live with him. And it looks like your kid sister's gonna do that now. When he wants some action he just has natives kidnapped and brought over to his island. He tosses them in a dungeon cell and drugs them and then uses them--he and his friends torture the natives--the natives are never heard from again--I assume he kills them and disposes of them."
"Christ!"
"Pretty shitty, huh?"
"Yeah. Pretty shitty. My sister's got herself mixed up with a nice bunch--"
"Yeah, And there's really not much you can do about it, Clint, believe me."
"I know you're right--"
"My advice to you is to beat it--ditch this place--the whole setup stinks."
"Well, the boat leaves in a few days."
"Fuck the boat. I'll fly you outta here. I've got a sea plane. Be glad to fly you outta here, Clint."
"Thanks. I just might take you up on that offer. But first I've gotta find Katrina. From what you've told me--who knows--?"
"Find her, contact me, and I'll fly you out. Crap on the cruise back!"
"Cheyenne, I have an idea," Clint said rubbing his chin thoughtfully. And then, slowly, Clint outlined his plan. Cheyenne listened closely, adding ideas of his own. They both warmed to the plan. "Will you help me?" Clint asked.
"You bet I will, old buddy. I'll be here by the phone, waiting to hear from you, ready to move when you give the word."
They shook hands firmly and had one more drink together to seal their promise to each other.
* * *
Back at the hotel, Buolo and Alya were together in his office. Buolo was winding up paper work on the group of tourists who were now nearing the end of their stay, and was beginning to study the folders of the new group of tourists that would soon be arriving. He pushed the folders aside with a sigh of fatigue and looked across his desk at Alya.
"According to my records," Buolo said, "we'll pick up an extra thirty-five thousand dollars from the tourists who are still with us."
"Does that include the five grand we're blackmailing out of Katrina Hines?" Alya asked.
"Yes, it does. We've nailed six other suckers along with Katrina."
"And what about that wild chick--Shirley Westwood?"
"She's a closed case."
"Why?"
"My information has it that she's now living with Geraldo Andres."
"Wow! I'll be darned! That wild little girl sure gets around!" Alya said with admiration. "Has she become a permanent, along with Nadia and Heather?"
"I don't know. That's what I'd like you to find out--either from him or through Katrina."
"It'll have to be from him. He and Katrina are on the outs."
"Oh, they'll kiss and make up, now that Shirley's out of Clint's way," Buolo said shrewdly. "Think you can get what we need out of Clint?
"He's a man, isn't he?" Alya grinned with obvious sexual meaning. "I'll wiggle my ass at him and he'll be mush in my hands."
"He might not be such an easy mark--"
"No man's immune to me, Boo, baby."
"Yeah," he smiled. "Listen. On second thought, forget about Katrina. Work on Clint. I think, if we play our cards right, we can squeeze some money out of him. But I've got to know how he's reacting to the loss of his sister, first. Okay?"
"Okay, Boo. But--before I go, how about a little action, huh?"
"What've you got in mind?" Buolo grinned as Alya stood up and smiled at him, her hands on her hips.
"Oh, something a little different this time, Boo. Much as I'd enjoy it, I can't let you beat me up now--if I do, I won't be in good shape to operate on Clint."
"So--?"
"So this time you get it, Boo, baby."
"I get it?"
"Right. It won't be your first time, baby. Shirley gave it to you real good and rough before she scrammed... and you loved it, Boo." She came around his desk, stood close, and then peeled off his jacket, shirt, tie and undershirt. "I want you naked, Boo, baby. Take it all off." Shaking nervously with excitement, Buolo got up and, with trembling hands, unbuckled his belt. His trousers went down, followed by his shorts. As he stepped out of his shoes and socks, Alya watched as she lighted a cigarette.
"Now, Boo," she said, puffing smoke rings at him, "I want you to go over and lie down on the couch, face down."
"W-what're you going to do?" he asked in a husky, soft voice.
"You'll see, you'll see," she laughed.
He obeyed, walking in self-conscious nakedness over to the office couch. With a defeated, submissive sigh he sprawled out, face-down on the couch. He squeezed his eyes closed. He didn't want to watch. He wanted to feel. The idea of not knowing what kind of torture she had dreamed up for him excited him.
Alya walked over to where he lay, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. The burning tip of the cigarette glowed as she gazed down at his plump, naked buttocks.
"Boo, you're going to love this," she said, flicking an ash from her cigarette.
He didn't say a word, but his body tensed in anticipation. She took another drag and then took the cigarette and pressed the hot, glowing tip into his right buttock cheek. He lurched and let out a strangled cry of pain. The cigarette burned and blistered his skin.
His body was shaking. She took the cigarette and plunged it into his other buttock cheek. He wailed as the fiery tip singed his flesh, burning and blistering him. Four more times she burned his buttocks with the cigarette before relenting.
Buolo lay on his stomach, sobbing in pain, a half-dozen discolored, painful, blistering burns rashing over the plump cheeks of his ass.
"Wasn't that fun?" she taunted. He was too choked with pain and sobs to reply. She laughed. And then, as he rolled to his side and looked up at her, she said, glancing at her watch: "Hey, it's eight o'clock, already. It's dark outside. I haven't had my dinner, and neither have you, Boo. Let's close up shop for the day, huh?"
"Okay," he whimpered. "But--before we go--help me?"
"Sure, sure, Boo, baby," she crooned.
From a drawer in his desk she got a large jar of healing salve. He always used it on her after subjecting her to floggings. Alya knew from experience that it worked wonders. She unscrewed the cap and began to gently swab the cream over his badly burn-wounded buttock cheeks. He moaned pitifully.
* * *
Clint was pounding on the door of Katrina's room. Finally she gave in and opened the door. He pushed his way in, closing and locking the door behind him.
"What do you want?" Katrina asked, looking coldly at Clint.
"I have to talk to you. It's urgent."
"Talk. And then get out of here," she said in an unyielding, frozen voice.
"May I please sit down?"
"Suit yourself."
"Please--you sit down, too, Kat. This is going to take time, and it isn't going to be easy--" Katrina sensed that this was far more than a visit during which he intended to try to patch up their broken romance. She sat across from him and waited.
Slowly, painfully, Clint told her everything. He told her about his perverted, incestuous relationship with his sister. He told her what had happened on San Geraldo, and that Shirley was now living with Geraldo Andres. He told her how he felt--not leaving a thing out.
Katrina listened anxiously, her sympathy and affection for him growing. And then Clint told her about his meeting with Cheyenne. He repeated to her all of the dirty details of the operation on San Dozes. Finally he finished, staring at her nervously.
Katrina felt brimming love and sympathy for Clint. She took a deep breath, and then: "Clint, I know how much it cost you to tell me all of this." She paused. "Do you love me?"
"Yes, yes, I do. That's why I told you everything."
"I love you, too, Clint--"
"Kat--!"
"Please, please, listen to me. I have a confession to make, too. See if you still love me after I tell you everything."
And Katrina told Clint about the ceremony and the orgy--about Buolo and Alya; about what had happened to her on San Geraldo. And she told that she was being blackmailed. When she finished, she looked at him, her eyes moist with tears.
"Oh, Kat--I wish you hadn't suffered so--I love you."
They were in each other arms, kissing desperately. And then they were naked, tumbling on the bed. When he sat up she grabbed him and literally flung him down.
He fought her playfully, but Katrina was determined to show him that her desire and love for him was unchanged. Like a young lioness with its half-alive prey, she wrestled Clint over on his back, her naked body shining.
Before Clint knew what had happened, she was on top of him, straddling him with her lush thighs, her warm cunt skidding over his rising cock. She leaned forward with a challenging grin, pinning his arms to either side of him. He let her have her way. He sought her heavy, firm tits as they dangled above him, her nipples turgid with desire.
She writhed on top of him, trapping his cock, rubbing it wildly. She was working her body desperately against his.
Then she grabbed his cock and held it as she mashed her cunt down on it, impaling her juicy cunt. She began swinging and rotating her body over his in a wild, sensuous rhythm, her cunt sliding up and down and round and round on his cock.
Clint reached and fondled her tit, teasing them as they jiggled and bobbed with her excited motions as she rode his cock with her pussy. He pulled her down on top of him and kissed her hard. And then she struggled to sit erect on his cock again, swinging her hips back into wild up-and-down and revolving motion.
Clint grunted, heaving his hips up, driving his prick up to meet each shimmering down-swoop of her cunt. He revelled in the punishment and pleasure he was taking from Katrina's inspired athletics. She was an inspired fuck.
He felt immense pride and satisfaction as he lasted through her first cycle of spasms and cries, helping to support her.
And then, with a fierce smile and renewed grip of her cunt lips on his rampant cock, she accelerated her hips again, churning and stirring both of their bodies to new heights, bouncing up and down with unrestrained and increasingly unsteady vigor until Clint felt his own back bowing with unbearable tension. He felt her falter, climax again, and then go on. And finally, when both of them were clenching their teeth against screaming out and grasping each others hands, she collapsed against him as the convulsions flowed through both of their aching bodies.
It had been unbelievably good for both of them. They hugged and kissed each other with emotion, affection, love and appreciation.
After, as they lay in each others arms, their breathing steady once more, Clint began outlining the plan he had laid out with the help of Cheyenne.
"Kat, honey, we have to get into the safe in Buolo's office. We have to get those negatives and records."
"But, how--?"
"Through Alya, I hope. Listen. Cheyenne's standing by at his place waiting for my call. If I pull this off he'll fly us out of here in his seaplane."
Clint got up and began dressing quickly. He handed Katrina the key to his room.
"Here, Kat honey. As soon as I leave go to my room and pack my things and bring them back here to your room. Leave Shirley's things where they are. As soon as you get back to your room, lock your door. Don't let anyone in for any reason. Don't answer the phone. But let me in when I knock. I'll give three taps, pause, then two more taps. Have your things packed and ready to go, too."
"Clint, I'm scared."
"Stay calm. Do what I told you to do. With a bit of luck we'll be flying out of here before the night's over. Trust me."
"Oh, my darling, I do, I do!"
Clint kissed her, and was gone. Kat dressed and slipped cautiously out of her room. She unlocked Clint's door, packed his things, and darted back to her room, unseen, with his suitcase. And then she began to quickly pack her things. And then there was nothing to do but sit and wait...
The minutes crept by on turtle's feet as she waited with nervous agitation gripping her stomach.
Clint moved with swift purpose. He had a single goal--Alya--little knowing that she was seeking him out, too. They spotted each other as they both crossed the palm tree fringed promenade from opposite directions.
"Mr. Westwood, hi!" Alya called as she crossed the promenade quickly toward him.
Clint waved at her, smiling, stopping to wait for her to approach. Instinctively he was on guard. Never had Alya shown any eagerness to see him. He was immediately suspicious, sensing that she wanted something from him, sensing that he was about to be conned.
Well, Clint thought as Alya came smilingly up to him, if she wants something--wants to con me--she'll be easier for me to con. But he smiled and she never guessed what was on his mind.
To Alya, Clint was a pigeon, easy to sucker into her scheme. She had experience and the lure of her beauty working for her, and as far as she was concerned, he was just another gullible tourist. The fact that he was handsome made it more pleasant for her. "Where have you been hiding yourself?" Alya smiled warmly as she touched her hand to his arm.
"Oh, I've been around," he smiled back at her. "I wasn't aware you'd missed me."
"Well, I have to confess--I did miss you--" she laughed musically. "I've been meaning to look you up, Clint--may I call you Clint?"
"Sure."
"But I've been so busy it hasn't been possible. Now things are slowing down. It's the lull as one group's vacation ends and another group's get ready to begin. Well!" She looked deep into his eyes, the expression on her face promising everything--her expression was an open invitation that promised warm intimacy.
Her expression told Clint everything that he wanted to know. He'd been around long enough to know when a girl was putting the make on him with an ulterior motive. He didn't know her motive and didn't care--she had given him the opening that he'd been seeking.
"Alya, I'd like to ask you something in confidence--"
"Yes, Clint?"
"I wasn't sure who to ask about this--but--I think, I mean I'm sure you're the right person--"
"What is it?"
CHAPTER TEN
"Alya," Clint started in an uncertain way, "Alya, I've... heard that there are certain... ceremonies... apart from the hotel's activities . .
"Yes? Go on?"
"Well... I've heard that they're very... interesting. I'd well, I'd like you to arrange it for me to go to one of them, if you can. Things are dull for me. I think, maybe, if you can arrange it, it'll be a pick-me-up that I need before going back home. Can... can you... arrange it?"
"Where did you hear about these... ceremonies, as you call them, Clint?" she asked guardedly.
"Hey--don't play games with me, Alya," he said with good natured bravado. "I know all about them. My source is my business. Can you arrange it?"
"Yes."
Alya had made a quick decision. She felt that this was a stroke of real luck. He was asking innocently to be led into a trap.
"Yes, Clint, I can arrange it. As a matter-of-fact, I'll take you there myself," she smiled.
"You will? When? Tonight? Now? he asked faking eagerness.
"Yes, tonight," she laughed. "My but you're eager."
"From what I've heard, I have every reason to be eager. Let's face it, Alya, I'm a horny guy," he grinned.
"You are?" she laughed. "Well, I'm a horny girl, Clint. How about that?" She took his hand in hers, tickling his palm suggestively with her finger. "With me along, Clint, you might get an extra bonus tonight--me. And I'll get one too--you."
"That sounds too good to hope for," Clint said acting boyishly eager and slightly coy and embarrassed.
"Come with me, lover," she smiled. "There's a release form you have to sign before I can take you. I'm sure you understand that the hotel doesn't want to be responsible--"
"I'll sign anything!"
"Good. I don't have a form with me. Come. We'll go to the office and I'll get one for you to sign."
She linked her arm in his, snuggling close to him as they walked toward the office building. Her lush breast rubbed seductively against his arm, and her hip bumped teasingly against his.
She was giving him the works. But it wasn't that that excited Clint--it was getting into Buolo's office that had his heart slugging against his ribcage.
She unlocked the door and they entered. Without putting on the light she led him over to the locked door of Buolo's office. She unlocked it and stepped in, flicking on the light. Clint followed her in. She closed and locked the door.
"How about a kiss first, handsome?" Alya said as she snaked her arms around his neck.
He took her arms from his neck and pushed her away, without saying a word. Alya looked at him, frowning.
"The game's up, Alya."
"What are you talking about?"
"I know all about your setup here. The blackmail. Everything."
She darted her hand into her purse quickly, but Clint moved faster, lunging at her, knocking the purse from her hand. A small, deadly, blue-black, snub-nosed pistol skittered out of her bag. Clint grabbed her wrist and wrenched it painfully as she reached for it. He picked up the pistol, quickly checked it, found it was loaded and snapped the safety.
"Talk Alya."
"About what? You're hurting me!"
"Tough. Talk!" he said, twisting her arm. "You'll break my arm!" she moaned in pain.
"I sure will. Talk. Tell me where everything is. I want to know everything. If you won't talk I'll put a bullet between your pretty eyes."
"You wouldn't dare... "
"Try me," he said in a low, menacing voice. "You'd kill me, wouldn't you?" she said in a low, frightened voice.
"You bet."
"All right. Those folders on his desk. They're complete research reports on the next group of guests coming in. We get folders on all guests. That's how we know their backgrounds, weaknesses, and financial conditions. The folders from your group's in the top file drawer."
"Where's the key?"
"In the cigar box on his desk."
Clint opened the cigar box and found the key. As he fished around, moving the cigars, something caught his eye. It was a little slip of paper, scotch taped to the bottom of the box, under the cigars. He pulled it free and studied. It was a series of numbers. He was in luck. It was obviously the combination to the safe. He slipped the combination into his pocket and unlocked the file. "Show me," Clint said waving the gun at Alya. With fright on her pretty face she came over and pointed to the folders. Clint scooped them out and put them on Buolo's desk top. He opened his own and glanced at it. He was amazed by the detailed information that they had gathered on him.
Clint picked up Buolo's attache case from next to the desk and opened it. It was empty. He put the files inside, along with all of the files that were on his desk.
"Are there duplicates to these file folders, Alya?"
"No, The management doesn't want carbons floating around. Too dangerous. What are you putting them in Boo's attache case for?"
"I don't want files on my friends lying around here. And, by taking the folders on the next group of tourists, I'll be giving them a fair shake."
"You won't get away with this."
"We'll see about that. Now the safe--"
"You can't open it without the combination."
"I have the combination. It was scotch taped to the bottom of the cigar box, under the cigars."
"So that's where he kept it . . she said under her breath.
"Sit down in the chair over there young lady. But first, pull the drapes closed over the window up there." He waited until she did, and then came back and sat primly in the chair that he indicated. "That's a good girl." He walked over to the safe, pausing to say to Alya: "Never underestimate anyone, Alya. You underestimated me. And that was your mistake."
"Don't rub it in," she said sullenly.
Clint twirled the knob of the safe. Then he glanced at the piece of paper with the combination. Slowly, he began to turn the knob. He was tense. He gave it a last turn and then, his excitement mounting, he turned the handle and the safe opened.
"Success," Clint grinned.
As Alya watched him with hatred in her eyes, he began poking around in the safe. He found a folder marked 'negatives'. Inside he found a smaller folder with Katrina's name on it. He made a grim face. He took all of the negatives and put them in the attache case. He noted that the safe was neat and uncluttered inside. He emptied its contents into the attache case. There was just enough room left in the attache case for the bundle of checks and money. He fished the checks and money out and stashed it into the attache case, closing it. He had to force it closed; it was stuffed so full.
"You're a thief," Alya said with scorn.
"You should talk. You're a blackmailer, a whore, a sadomasochist, lesbian--I could go on all day, but why bother?" he grinned.
"I hate your guts."
"The feeling's mutual, honey. And to think--only a few minutes ago we were so close," he said sarcastically. "Our blooming romance was nipped in the bud."
"Bastard!"
"I've got another job for you, you sweet innocent little thing," Clint said mockingly to Alya.
"Haven't you forced me to do enough waving that gun at me?"
"You poor, put-upon thing," he sneered. "Now you're going to do me a very big favor," he said, walking over to her, the business end of the pistol aimed square between her eyes. She shrank back in fear. "You're going to call Buolo on the phone."
"No--"
"Okay then--" he said, snapping off the pistol's safety.
"I'll do it!" she said in fright.
"Call him. Talk to him in a natural voice--"
"With that gun pointing at me?"
"You're a very good actress, Alya. You'll do just fine. Or else."
"W-what do you want me to say to him?"
"That's more like it. I want you to tell him to meet you in this office, right away."
"Why?"
"Tell him you've got information on me--information with which you can blackmail me."
"But what if he asks me to tell him about it over the phone?"
"He won't," Clint said with confidence. Clint waved the pistol at her and she slowly got to her feet and walked over to the desk, her shoulders slumping slightly in defeat. She picked up the phone and dialed his number. There was a pause. Then: "Hello, Boo? Listen. I made contact. Yes. Clint Westwood. I've got the goods on him. We can wallop him for a bundle. Come on over to your office. I'm there. There's too much to tell you on the phone. You'll be right over? Okay. I left the outer office dark. I'll unlock the door to your office so you can walk right in. Okay. See you in a few minutes."
She hung up the phone and looked at Clint. He nodded to her and she came around the desk toward him.
"That was excellent, Alya. You're a superb liar and actress. You even had me convinced."
"Thanks a whole bunch for the compliment," she sneered.
"The only trouble is, I can't really trust you, Alya. You might warn Buolo before he gets in here. So--" And then, without warning, he walloped her with a solid, vicious sock to the jaw. Her head twisted, her eyes rolled back, and she sprawled out on her back on the floor, her skirt fluttering over her hips. She wasn't wearing panties. Clint stared at her revealed loveliness for a long moment, and then picked her up and put her on the couch. He took the roll of tape from his pocket and tore off a piece and pressed it down over her mouth. Then he pulled the belt from the waist of her dress and tied her hands in back of her.
Clint waited, his gun ready...
He heard a door open and close. The soft padding of footsteps on the carpeted floor. The door opened, and in stepped Buolo. He stopped, framed in the doorway, when he saw Alya.
Clint stepped to him with his gun, pushed him into the room, and then closed the door behind him. Buolo's mouth gaped. He was so startled, he was speechless.
"Sit down, Buolo," Clint said curtly.
"What is the meaning of this?"
"I ask the questions. Sit down."
"This is an outrage! What have you done to Alya?"
"Sit down!"
With a grumbling grunt, Buolo sat down heavily in the chair. He glared at Clint.
"Now will you tell me what this is all about?"
"It's all about the dirty dealings that you've been master-minding here."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
"Cut it. I've got file folders in your attache case. I've also cleaned out your safe. Everything's in the attache case, mister."
"That's stealing!"
"Yeah. Ain't it a crime?" Clint laughed. "I want you to tell me a bit about how your operation works, Buolo."
"No. Never."
"Well, now, we'll see about that you miserable scum."
Clint viciously pistol whipped Buolo, bashing him in the face. His nose spurted blood. His lips split open. The barrel of the pistol cut two deep, gaping, bloody wounds in his cheek. Blood dripped down over his shirt and jacket. He spat blood, in agony.
"Talk. Or you get more of the same, only worse."
Buolo bowed his head. The coward in him came to the surface. Slowly, almost choking on the blood that filled his mouth, Buolo began to talk. He slowly revealed the workings of the organization. Clint listened intently, with the complete, concentrated attention of a trained journalist.
"That's fine, Buolo. That's enough for now. I have things to do. We'll talk again--or, I'll listen and you'll talk--later. Good night for now."
And Clint clubbed Buolo hard on the scalp. Blood began to ooze from his scalp into his hair even as he sagged unconsciously, and toppled from the chair to the floor.
Clint taped his bloody mouth and bound his hands behind him as he lay motionless on the floor. Then he picked up the phone and dialed Cheyenne's number. After seven rings, Cheyenne picked up the phone.
"Cheyenne? Clint. All set. Move now. I've got 'em in his office. They're unconscious, bound and gagged. Right. Listen. Kat's waiting in her room. I can't leave here. Her room number's 2934. Got that? Knock three times, then pause, then knock two more times. That's the signal. You might scare her. She's expecting me. Take the service elevator down. She'll show you where it is. Drive round behind the office building, into the alley. There's a rear door out. We can carry them out that way. I'll explain why. Right. Okay. I'll listen for your signal. Make it fast, will you? Right. See you."
Clint hung up the phone.
Cheyenne moved into action. He drove his vintage, beautifully cared-for Packard as fast as the bad roads would permit. He parked it in back of the hotel, in a space that he knew was reserved for dignitaries. He knew his car wouldn't be questioned.
The hotel lobby was virtually empty, and no one paid any attention to him as he walked to the bank of elevators. At Katrina's door he knocked three times, paused, then knocked twice more.
The door flew open.
"Clint, I've been--Oh!" Katrina shrinking back when she saw Cheyenne.
"Easy, Kat," Cheyenne smiled, closing and locking the door behind him. "Clint called me from Buolo's office. He's got Buolo and Alya bound and gagged there, and he can't leave them there alone. Too dangerous."
"You frightened me to death," Kat said, relaxing a bit.
"I'm sorry. There was no other way. Are those the bags?"
"Yes. I packed my things and Clint's."
"Good girl. Clint said we should take the service elevator down. Know where it is?"
"Yes. I'll show you."
"Okay. Let's move. My car's parked out back. We'll drive to the back of the office and signal Clint. Let's go."
"Yes. All right." Katrina was excited and gripped by fear.
Together, with Cheyenne carrying the suitcases, they went down the hall to the service elevator. In ten seconds they stepped in and he pushed the button. Down they went.
There was no one around when they got down. Cheyenne led Kat to his car. She got in and he closed the door. He tossed the suitcases into the trunk and got into the car and started it.
He drove slowly. In the alley behind the office he turned off the engine and switched off his lights.
"Wait here," he said urgently, in a whisper, to Katrina. She nodded to him, sitting as rigid as a stone statue in her fear.
Katrina watched as Cheyenne picked up some pebbles and tossed them at the little window. He tossed three of them, then turned and walked to the back office door that opened into the alley, three feet from his parked car.
The door open, light spilled out, and Katrina's heart leaped when she saw Clint standing there. Cheyenne followed Clint into the office. Then the lights in the office went out. An instant later Clint and Cheyenne came out, carrying Alya and Buolo. They dumped them into the back seat. Cheyenne got in behind the wheel and Clint climbed in next to Kat. He hugged her and kissed her as the car began to back around, turn, and then move out of the alley.
Cheyenne grinned at Clint and Kat as he drove without hurry along the paved road, heading out of the hotel's ground.
"Clint I was so scared!"
"I know honey."
"And when I saw Cheyenne at the door, I nearly died of fright."
"It was the only way we could do it."
"Why are we taking Alya and Buolo along?"
"We can't leave those scum behind. They'd talk. This way we'll make a clean get-away and the organization will never be able to pin-point who did it."
"But they'll miss us."
"After I knocked out Buolo and called Cheyenne, Alya came to. I had her write a note for Buolo's secretary. The note said they'd been called away on company business, and that they'd be back in three days. By that time everyone who came here on this so-called vacation will be gone, and the new group will have arrived. I have all of the records, all the files. There are no carbons. There's no way they can trace this to us."
"You think of everything, old buddy," Cheyenne grinned as he tooled the big old Packard along the dark, deserted mountain road.
"I try to."
"Are you going to burn the records, Clint?"
"No. I have all of the negatives. I'll burn the ones of you. The rest I'll keep as I put together my story."
"Your story?"
"Yeah. I'm a damn good writer, you know. I even have a damn good agent. I'm going to blow the lid off this crooked, rotten mess down here. The files and records, plus all the goodies I got from the safe really will back up my story. I got a lot of information from both Alya and Buolo. They both talked after being roughed up and threatened at gun-point. Christ, the whole thing was like a bad movie," Clint laughed.
"Leave me out of your story, will you?" Cheyenne said. "I have to live down here, you know."
"I'll call you Mister X, okay?"
"Okay with me."
They drove in silence for awhile. Except for the white glare of the car's high beams, they were enclosed by a wall of darkness and silence. Then Cheyenne made a turn and the car sped down a steep, bumpy road.
They got out. Cheyenne's house was at the water's edge. There was a dock. Two boats and a seaplane, all belonging to Cheyenne, floated in the water.
They scrambled into the seaplane. With Buolo and Alya aboard, it was crowded. The bound-and-gagged pair were squeezed among the suitcases and the attache case.
And then they were airborne, climbing into the inky, star-dotted, moonless night.
"We're making for the Florida keys," Cheyenne said. "A buddy of mine owns a little-biddy island there. I can land and taxi right up to his dock. He'll take good care of you. I've already radioed him. He's waiting for us."
"You're damn efficient, and a good friend," Clint said sincerely.
"Hell, it's nothing. Glad to help you and Kat out. You're real nice people. And I'll do damn near anything to clean up the slimy mess on San Dozes. I know of too many people those bastards back there have hurt mighty bad. Innocent folks, too."
"But what are you going to do with Buolo and Alya?" Katrina asked.
"In a few more minutes, Kat, we're gonna dump them into the ocean--without parachutes," Cheyenne said calmly.
"No!" Katrina said, recoiling at the idea. "That's murder!"
"Yeah. But we have no choice. If they live, things can be very very rough for you, Clint and me. They'll put a hit out on us. The mob'll get us and kill us. It's either us or them, Kat. No choice."
"Oh, it's awful--" Kat said.
"Clint. Ever fly one of these things?"
"No, Cheyenne. Want me to?"
"Yeah. It's simple. Here, watch, I'll show you." And Cheyenne quickly and simply showed Clint the fundamentals, just enough to keep the plane steady. "Got it, Clint?"
"I think so."
"Good. Okay. You take over now and try. I'll watch."
Clint took over the controls, and the plane pitched and rolled for a moment until he got the feel of it. Then the plane steadied, and he did exactly as Cheyenne had instructed.
"Okay, Clint. You've got the hang of it. You hold her steady while I do the dirty work." Cheyenne opened the cockpit door and a chill rush of wind came into the cabin. Katrina was shivering, looking straight ahead into the night. Cheyenne picked up and hauled Buolo to the door and pushed him out. There wasn't a sound as he fell. And then he tossed Alya out. They were two thousand feet up. When Buolo and Alya hit the water, they'd be smashed to bits; there'd be nothing left of them. And, if there was, the sharks would get it.
Cheyenne was back at the controls. They all relaxed.
"Listen, Clint. When you get to your destination, you let me know where you are so we can stay in touch, you hear?"
"Sure."
"I'll keep a line out on your sister. If anything turns up with her, I'll let you know."
"Where are we going, Clint?" Katrina asked.
"I have a nice, rustic cabin up in Vermont. It's all mine, all four rooms of it. We don't have to worry about money. I got plenty out of the safe that I have no intention of returning to those bastards. I figured I'd go up there and write my story. Take you along, Kat. I hope you'll marry me once we get there--"