Author: Dr. Gamble
Title: My Time On The Island
Summary: The third story in the series is that of
another woman who finds herself imprisoned on the
island. She has similar experiences as the narrator
of the first story and at one point they meet for
a short time.
Keywords: M+F nc rape Mdom bd sad violent tort lac

This story is of an adults only nature, please do not continue
reading if you are not of age to do so.  This story is a part of
a collection of related fantasies which deal with rape and
violent torture of a non-consenting nature.  The content of these
stories is entirely based on fantasy and not to be confused with
reality or construed as an endorsement of the activities
depicted.  While some of these stories contain characters who are
subjected to various situations including slavery, abuse, and an
assortment of other unspeakable acts against nature, remember
that both the victims and perpetrators are characters and not
real people.

MY TIME ON THE ISLAND

To this day I can still vividly remember every single damned
minute of my four months on that island.  While I definitely
wasn't among the innocents who passed though that place, there
was no way I could've been prepared for what happened to me
there.

I was a well proportioned, attractive young woman when I left
what I suppose most would call home.  My mother spent more and
more time drunk and my dad, well he could have been any one of
several men she hung around with at the tavern where she worked. 
As a teen I began to spend more time in that tavern, since we
lived in an apartment above it, and early on began to learn what
my pretty young body could do to men and how I could get nice
things from them all for just a few minutes of carnal effort.  To
this day it still amazes me how easy it was to get those big
rough guys to fight with each other just to earn a few minutes of
attention from my little pussy.

Actually what I really learned while I was there was how to run
the tavern business.  I was soon doing the ordering, bookkeeping,
making the daily deposits, and doing the taxes besides cleaning
and maintaining the operation.  Unfortunately one night when I
was about eighteen, mom caught me maintaining one of her good ol'
boyfriends and after an intense encounter I ended up leaving
there for good.  I never saw the place again but the assorted
skills I had learned while working at that bar allowed me a
pretty decent living for many years.

I did a lot of work on my back during that time, carefully saving
my money with the hope of opening my own entertainment club.  I
wanted a place where a male customer could feel comfortable and
which would provide a safe and fair refuge for young working
girls like myself, maybe allowing them opportunities to make a
little extra money on their own.

Then I met Jack and my plans quickly changed.  Jack became my
manager, my pimp.  He introduced me to drugs.  He also treated me
like shit, took all my money and kept me dependent on him in
order to stay alive.  I'm still not sure how I ended up like that
but eventually the only way I could stay ahead was to steal a
little free lance work on the side, at least until the night that
Jack caught up with me.

That was one ugly night.  He beat me, raped me, and because he
decided I wasn't submissive enough to him and he already had all
my money and property, he sent me away to be "reconditioned" as
he called it.  I know he had sent some of his other girls to a
place where they were put through all sorts of sexual torture
when "they got out of line," as he would say.  They weren't the
same person when they came back.

All I remember was laying on my bed after he had finished with me
and Jack making a couple of phone calls.  Within about ten
minutes there were these two goons standing over me.  One of them
had a needle and the other was carrying a body bag and as soon as
the one gave me an injection the other was stuffing me in the
bag.  When I woke up I was in a small holding cell in the slave
quarters on that little island somewhere out in the Caribbean.

The slave quarters was located in an older small T-shaped
barracks structure which contained several cells where the women
prisoners were held while we were receiving their dehumanization
"treatment".  It also had a chamber which was used for various
unbelievably grotesque activities with which I became very
familiar while incarcerated there.  Along with that was a
kitchen, a communal shower, and the living quarters for the
guard.

The guard was a huge ugly guy, at least seven feet tall and
weighing well over 300 pounds, who used to regularly take the
prisoners to his bedroom to provide him with entertainment and to
"persuade" them into being more submissive.  He usually tied his
victims up, gagged them, and then used various instruments which
he kept on the walls of his room to torture them before finally
fucking them and then falling asleep.

One of his favorite devices was a small cattle prod device which
he usually wore in a holster on his belt.  He would use this
thing on his victim both externally and internally, but his usual
approach was to ram it into her vagina.  The other way he seemed
to particularly enjoy this thing was to drive it into your rectum
while he was fucking you and then powering it in time with every
stroke of his oversized cock.

While the guard was a bit kinky, he was nothing compared to the
Nazi faggot whom they called the doctor.  This German didn't just
hate women but had become somehow dedicated to the complete
subjugation of the female gender.  To accomplish his agenda he
had set up an experimental lab where he was allowed to carry out
various torturous activities on selected female slaves while they
were being held on the island.  Actually, I'm pretty certain he
wasn't any sort of real doctor since his lab projects seemed
solely devoted to the debasement of a woman's sexual being into
one of sadistic recreation and the production of saleable
products.  The fact that he called his place the dairy and we
prisoners were the livestock kind of gives you the idea of what
he was about.

The one positive thing about him, since he thought of us women as
animals rather than people, was that he really didn't care about
the rule of silence.  It seemed that the one thing our captors
were most concerned about was controlling our ability to talk
with one another.  Isolation meant easier control and insured
subservience with less chance that us prisoners would be able to
organize any form of resistance.  While he didn't seem to care
about us talking, the other males on the island, particularly the
guard, enforced the rule of silence with a vengeance.

The German's dairy idea had apparently grown out of some drug
experiments he had been performing on the female prisoners in
order to enlarge their breasts since even a temporary enhancement
would bring higher prices for the ones they would sell.  The
stuff he was using was primarily derived from a synthetic
prolactin hormone and combined with something called BGH used for
dairy cattle in order to boost milk production.  While he never
really succeeded in increasing breast size, between the cattle
hormones and the other chemicals he was using, he managed to be
able to trigger one's breasts into temporarily expressing milk.

Since that kind of chemical stimulation wasn't remotely natural
it turned out that it was also rather short lived.  In order to
maintain ongoing milk production, one would have to be subjected
to massive daily doses of his synthetic hormone serum which
besides stimulating your mammary glands had the definite side
effects of making you real tired all the time, unbelievably
thirsty, and it temporarily interrupted your menstrual cycle. 
Then eventually, after a month or two, you would start getting
these horrible cramps, your glands would just give out and you
would dry up.  Once that happened you wouldn't be able to produce
again for at least another couple months so they would either
send you back to your pimp as "reconditioned" or just sell you
off and use another slave.

Since the German had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of young
women to experiment on, he began to force two or three of us at a
time to produce milk which he would then market to his perverted
customers.  In order to facilitate his little dairy operation, he
built three tables on which he would strap his female victims
with her breasts passing though two holes cut in the table top. 
You were then milked with a small milking machine which I believe
had been originally designed for goats but which was modified
with human breast shaped suction cups.

All things considered, the milking process was at least a
comparatively pleasant experience.  I mean it at least relieved
the soreness in your breasts caused by the daily hormone
treatments and compared to all the other things they did to you
on that island, it produced a rather relaxing sensation
throughout your body.  I know that I was able to produce at least
a quart of milk a day and I think the other women must have been
about the same.  With that much product available to him, it
didn't take his twisted mind very long to figure out other uses
for our personal yields.

The first thing he did was to start producing butter.  In order
to do this he first began adjusting the quantity of the hormone
injections to boost ones's volume of milk output so that he would
have enough to work with.  Then he set out to figure a way to
have us women churn it for him.

His twisted solution was a steel cylinder which was shaped kind
of like a large dildo, about two inches in diameter and around
eight inches long.  You always knew if you were going to be doing
churning duty because before they would hook you up to the
milking table you would first get an enema to clean you out. 
Then you would be strapped to the milking table except that
instead of your legs being together like when you were milked,
they would be moved to two other hooks spread wide apart so that
your cunt was wide open and easily accessible for their little
perversions.  Once they figured you were secured enough, the
cylinder thing would be filled with cream, coated with some sort
of glue substance, forced up into your vagina and then chilled to
promote the butterfat to coagulate into butter inside the
cylinder.  Of course he also expected you to supply the churning
motion which he facilitated by sending electric shocks through
the dildo device and through two electrodes which he would clip
on to the lips of your pussy.

The result was that the shocks you were getting would violently
contract your reproductive muscles, alternately clamping and
relaxing on the cylinder device, creating the motion which would
in turn churn the butter inside.  While the size of the thing
wasn't any bigger than the giant guard's or any number of cocks
I've handled before, the repeated shocks burned like hell as they
tore at your flesh and the muscle cramping just plain wore you
out.  Fortunately the chilling of the cylinder had a sort of
numbing effect and after a few minutes your whole lower tummy
would become deadened even though the spasms would still continue
in time to the electric pulses.  However, this numbness quickly
wore off after the churn was removed and then you would be pretty
tender down there for a few days, or until it was time to churn
some more butter.

Well anyway, when I arrived on the island they had just "retired"
one of the women in the dairy operation and I guess since they
liked my tits or I had been marked as a "bad girl," I was
assigned to the German.  He was just then getting involved in
building a new laboratory and dairy so we were to be located in a
temporary storage area while they completed their renovation and
installed the new equipment.

My first night there I met, or rather fucked, the big guard.  The
German had just finished giving me a really complete
gynecological exam and I was pretty exhausted and just a bit
sore.  But it was just a quick bang and then he said he was tired
and took me back to my quarters.  I didn't get to experience his
toy assortment until sometime later when he caught me talking to
the prisoner in the cell next to mine.  We had begun planning our
escape but luckily he didn't figure that part out.

Bellowing at me for talking, he dragged me out of my cell and
took me to his room.  Once there I was tied down, spread eagled
on his bed.  He used some kind of cotton cord on my wrists and
ankles which he also used to tightly wrap around my breasts,
obscenely bloating them, and then he ran it through my crotch,
spreading open my vaginal lips.  I managed to stay silent while
he clipped clothes pins on my nipples but when he started shoving
his finger into my cunt I made the mistake of screaming at him. 
Actually I called him "a shit."  This really pissed him off so he
put a big piece of adhesive tape over my mouth and proceeded to
work me over with his little electric cattle prod.

He burned my nipples, my clit, thighs and pussy, and then started
to fuck me with the thing.  Needless to say with my arms and legs
securely tied down to his bed all I could do was squirm and cry
but I was very careful not to make any more intelligible sounds. 
The prod's shock was both tingling and hot and it hurt like hell
and every time he stuck the thing in me it discovered nerve
endings I didn't even know I had.

He worked me over, taking photographs of my agony until my
extended thrashing and sobbing must have eventually satisfied him
and so he pulled the thing out of me and replaced it with his
engorged cock.  I really didn't enjoy his penis rubbing against
my freshly burned cervix but tried not to arouse him any more by
actively resisting his rape of me.  Maybe that was my mistake
because he soon reached over and picked up his cattle prod device
again and jabbed it clear up my ass.

When he powered the thing it stung ten times worse than it had
before.  I started groaning and twisting in a vain effort to
escape its pain when I noticed that the giant was grunting right
along with me.  He must have been getting secondary shocks
through me with the only difference being that with my body
blunting the force of the pulses, he seemed to be enjoying it
and, of course, he was fully in control of it.

Fucking me even harder with renewed enthusiasm he kept
rhythmically powering his torture device stuffed into my rectum. 
Then with a series of howls he climaxed, finally letting go of
the prod which he left in me while he filled my cunt with a huge
wad of his stinking cum.

After he finished he just fell asleep, still laying on top of me
and leaving both his cock and that electric probe rammed up into
my bottom.  His penis shrunk back to its soft spongy size and I
managed to push the prod out of my rectum before falling asleep
beneath him while laying in the puddle of his cold jizz.  The
next morning he woke up, untied me and took me to the showers
before walking me back to the dairy for my daily hormone
treatment and milking and then to my day job in the kitchen.

I had volunteered to work in the kitchen so that at least the
food we were eating might be somewhat palatable.  The German had
us on this strange diet and while I'm certain it was nutritious
enough, it tasted like crap.  Besides, I figured my milk was only
going to hold out for so long and then I'd need something going
for me or I would find myself back at home getting beat up by
Jack again or worse yet as some third world drug lord's
disposable sex toy so I decided to make myself as useful as
possible.

After we arrived in the kitchen the guard left to go back to his
apartment while I prepared lunch.  One had to be especially
careful working in the nude in the kitchen, especially when you
were frying things.  That also applied to being extra careful not
to break anything on the floor because we weren't even allowed to
wear sandals.  The result was that we learned to be very clean
cooks.

While I was working, I noticed that he had left a ring of keys on
the countertop.  The keys included the one which fit our cells
and the outside door.  Knowing that I couldn't steal the key, it
occurred to me that maybe I could make a copy of it.

I had to think fast because I didn't know when he would return. 
The first thing I saw was a small piece of hard cheese, probably
made from human milk.  Taking the slice of cheese I quickly
pressed the key into it, making a clear impression of its cut and
then returned the keys to the counter top.  Next I had to figure
out what in that kitchen might be available that I could work
into a key and decided on a plastic knife.  There were many of
them and they wouldn't be missed.

Quickly I took the knife and cheese, carefully wrapped them up
tight in a clean plastic bag and, there being no other place to
hide them on me, real carefully stuffed them up into my vagina. 
Just as I finished, he returned.  I was quite certain he hadn't
noticed anything and calmly went about fixing lunch.  Finally,
after eating, he led me back to my cell and locked me in.

The cell doors had deadbolt locks which required a key to unlock
them from either side.  I suppose it was just as important to
keep the prisoners in the cells as to keep the island's guests
out, but anyway it gave me a lock that I could test my plastic
key on.

I retrieved the cheese and knife and was relieved to find both
them and myself still unharmed.  Using the cheese as a guide, I
spent that afternoon working the plastic knife using the sharp
edges of my metal cot until at last that evening I finished it. 
Carefully sliding it into the lock in my door I slowly twisted it
and could feel the cylinder turn in the lock.  I had a key.

The guard was off that night and the German hadn't been around
for several days.  I had overheard that he had gone off somewhere
to secure some new torture equipment for his laboratory and
wasn't expected back for at least a week.  It seemed that night
would have to be the night.

I got word to the other women in the slave quarters that sometime
after midnight we would make our break.  At the time there were
only three of us housed in the building and as I had figured, my
key fit their cells just as well as it had worked in mine.  It
also fit the door which let us outside.

We created some makeshift clothing for ourselves out of some
towels and bed linens we found, took some food and water from the
kitchen and headed for freedom.  Our next problem, once out of
the building, was to figure out where freedom was and how we
could get there.

In the moonlight we could see that the slave quarters building
stood alone on one end of a relatively small  island.  We walked
along the shoreline through the palm trees until we came to a
small bay across which there was a dock and a small boat.  Since
we had placed our supplies in plastic trash bags before leaving
the prison building, we went ahead and placed our wraps in the
bags as well, sealed them and swam the short distance across the
bay.

Reaching the boat we quietly determined that no one was around it
and that it appeared that there wasn't anyone in the warehouse
buildings next to the dock.  So deciding that it was safe, we
climbed into the boat, found some oars, and quietly paddled out
of the bay before starting the motor.  Not knowing where we were,
we really didn't know where to go.  Then, deciding that since it
was after midnight the moon would be setting in the west and
since we knew we were in the Caribbean, we figured that would be
the direction to head.

Leaving the bay, we at first sailed north to get around the
island but seeing lights beyond the hills on the shore, we turned
to the south and went around that end, past the slave quarters we
had just broken out of.  All appeared dark there, encouraging us
that our escape had as yet been undiscovered.  It felt so good to
be free.

We didn't move too quickly because we were afraid of running into
coral reefs which we suspected ran throughout these Caribbean
island chains.  Also, we didn't have much fuel and wanted to
stretch it as far as possible.  But as dawn began to break in the
eastern sky, our boat finally did run out of gas.  Just ahead of
us was a small island and so we started to paddle toward it.  

I was just our luck that when we were within only a few yards
from shore a single engine seaplane flew over us.  We knew we had
been spotted because the plane turned and flew around us for
awhile before landing next to the island we had just reached. 
The island was really just a small strip of sand with a few palms
on it and there was no real place to hide so we just stood in the
open and watched the plane land.  It taxied up to the beach and
stopped and who should step out of the plane but the German.

It seemed that he had received a radio report of our escape as he
was returning to the island to set up his new equipment and
seeing the boat he had decided to land to investigate.  We were
quickly led by gunpoint into the plane and flown back to the
island and then back to the slave quarters.

The big guard wasn't particularly pleased to see us again since
no one had ever broken out of his jail before and he was now the
subject of considerable ridicule from the other males on the
island.  Fortunately for us, compared to all the things that
could have happened to us at that point, the German made it clear
to him that he still needed us for his dairy and that the guard
couldn't abuse us in any way that would affect production.  What
this really meant was that we would only be subjected to regular
and frequent raping by the guard which he was only too willing to
carry out.

Since it was pretty clear to them that I was the ringleader of
the escape, the other two women being much too young and
obedient, I was subjected to a number of other punishments by
both the German and the guard.  The little plastic I.D. collar
that had been put around my neck when I had first arrived on the
island was replaced with a heavy black leather one and for about
the first week or so, both my arms and legs were permanently
placed in shackles.  The guard also decided he would experiment
on my genitals with hot glue and candle wax between his now
violent rape sessions but the real "fun" the German reserved for
himself.

He told me that I was lucky that I hadn't tried to escape while
someone he called "the chief" was around.  Apparently he had been
away for some time but was expected back within the next few
weeks to take over the entire white slave operation, including
the dairy.  I came to find out that the German and the chief were
more than just friends but had been lovers for several years and
between the two of them had been responsible for this entire
slave operation.

"You know the chief would've shot the three of you through the
head when he caught up with you," he added.  "Or maybe he would
have used his little trademark."  Apparently he had murdered
several people, men and women, by using a sawed off shotgun in
their crotch.  I wasn't particularly interested in the details
although the German was delighted to tell me about them.

My punishment was mostly composed of longer and more strenuous
milking and churning sessions.  For example, following the escape
attempt, I ended up doing all the churning for several weeks for
considerably extended lengths of time.  In addition, the German
took the opportunity to do some experimentation on me with the
hormone serums.  First he tried remixing the formula to attempt
to boost dairy volume.  For these experiments I found myself in
the dairy twice a day, morning and afternoons, doing double
milking sessions.  Then he began a series of hormone experiments
to obtain increased butterfat.

He started closely monitoring my physical responses throughout
these sessions so that he could track just exactly how much
torture he was putting me through.  This included measuring and
weighing all my food and water going in along with all my
personal waste coming out the other end.  When I was in his lab,
he taped electrode things to me so that he could read my blood
pressure, respiration and heart beat, and the probe he stuck up
my ass was supposed to record my temperature.  They really didn't
bother me too much but I think his biggest discovery came the day
that he left me hooked up to the monitors while I was doing the
churning.  With just the first couple of jolts from his churn
device, I managed to blow out his whole damn monitoring setup and
he was a lot more careful to disconnect me from then on.

While I survived his stepped up dairy routine better than his
more valuable and delicate electronic equipment, all of the
injections he was giving me left me pretty groggy most of the
time and very sore throughout my chest which was being profoundly
stimulated to lactate as well as in my butt from all the needle
pricks and enemas.  While still in chains, I know that I managed
to give him a few good kicks while he was spreading my legs apart
on the table for the churning sessions.  I would have one loose
leg from the time he untied it until he could get it stretched
out and tied down again.  That was when I could jerk my leg out
of his hand and try to whack him in the face.  Perhaps that was
what inspired him to decide to try something new by beginning to
work on his plan to expand his slave produced dairy product line
by using me to make his cheese.

His first step in the cheese making process was to place me in a
tall chair with my feet chained to the back legs, spreading my
own legs wide apart and efficiently exposing my sexual organs to
him.  He then took a rubber bladder with two hoses sticking out
of it and with a strange looking metal tool started pushing the
thing up into my vagina.  It wasn't so bad until he reached my
cervix and it felt like he was trying to force the thing all the
way up into my uterus.  The discomfort was more than I could bear
and I started screaming which only seemed to encourage him to
continue further until he was confident it was all the way in.

He then took a pump device and large pan of milk off a hot plate
on the counter and set it on the floor in front of me.  "Its
yours," he said.  "A whole liter worth."  Pouring a small amount
of what he called starter into the milk, he dropped a hose from
the pump into the bucket, hooked the large hose coming out of me
to the pump and switched it on.

The milk must have been close to body temperature because I
couldn't feel it as it started to flow through the tube.  That
didn't last long because very soon I could feel the pressure of
the growing bladder expanding inside me.  At first it was
frightening but soon the growing pressure became steadily more
painful as I watched him force my tummy to bloat larger and
larger as the pressure filled the bladder.

He laughed at me as I began to grow hysterical.  "Don't worry,
you can take it," he said.  "I've done this lots of times before. 
Used to use these things for making butter."

Just as I was preparing to blackout, the bucket went dry.  I was
holding a full liter of my own milk.  The German then looked at
me and then said, "Hold on.  We gotta keep it stirred."  With
that he hit a switch and the chair began to shake, agitating my
abdomen and the bladder inside me.

This must have gone on for several minutes.  I know I peed on
that chair and felt like I was about to take a dump when he
stepped in front of me with a large syringe.  Picking up the
little hose he injected the contents into the bladder.  "Rennet,"
he said, "makes the cheese curds."

This time I had to endure the shaking for at least a half hour
while I could feel the mixture inside me coagulating into curds
and bumping against the stretched skin of the bladder. 
Eventually he stopped the chair and pump and then drained the
whey out of the bladder into the bucket, thankfully reducing its
size within me.  While I was still incredibly sore, it was such a
relief to watch him as he pulled the bladder containing the curds
out of my racked body.  Opening the bladder he tasted one and
remarked that it was pretty good, soft and squeaky like they were
supposed to be.  I declined the opportunity to sample one so he
put them in the refrigerator, unhooked me from my chair and took
me back to my cell.

The next couple of days were relatively uneventful, just the
normal dairy sessions, although I could tell that my milk was
beginning to run out.  I was getting these incredible cramps
every time I would get my injections and I noticed that my milk
was getting thinner and that I just wasn't producing as much
volume.  The German knew what was happening too and he started
talking to the other males about finding a place to send me.  It
seemed that Jack didn't want me back.  I guess I shouldn't have
been surprised since he already had everything I owned.  But
before I was to be sent away he had one more project for me to
do.

One morning, following my regular milking and churning session,
the German left me strapped to the milking table still spread
wide open.  He left the room for a short time and then returned
with a strange looking tank device with a long lever arm attached
to it.  He inquired if I liked ice cream but since I knew better
than to respond he continued to tell me that he loved the stuff
and that I was going to help him make some.

He explained that the device was an ice cream maker that he had
built and that instead of a using a crank, he was going to have
me supply the power using the lever sticking out of the top of
the unit.  He then picked up what appeared to be a small leather
bicycle seat with two shiny metal shafts protruding from it and
placing it against my bottom he slowly guided one of them into my
asshole and then the other larger one up into my cunt until I
could feel the saddle firmly against my pussy.  Running a small
strap around my waist he secured the thing in place and then he
hooked it up to the lever.

He took the power box that they used to generate the electric
shocks for butter churning and hooked one wire to the saddle and
the other to a small rectangular wet pad.  He taped the pad to my
stomach and pressed the push button on the box.

I screamed as the first shock ran through my lower body between
the pad and the metal shafts inside me causing a sudden reflexive
wrench of my waist.  He stopped and moved the pad a bit lower and
pressed the button again.  This time the spasm caused by the
electrical pulse was even harder.  Still not satisfied, he moved
the patch once more to right above the point where the crack to
my pussy begins and as he hit the switch I screeched from the
severe jerk that this latest shock caused as it tore though my
lower body.  All things considered it wasn't really more painful
than the butter churn pulses but it seemed to hit a whole
different set of muscles and kind of felt like someone was either
cutting me open with a jagged knife or punching me in the gut.

The German laughed as he left the room and returned a little
while later with a bucket of ice, a bag of salt and a pitcher of
his ice cream mix.  These he added to the tank and then reached
down to the box and hit the switch.  The familiar electrical
pulse feeling coursed through my abdomen, rhythmically flexing my
torso at the waist and then allowing it to relax just before
hitting it again.  Although it felt like it was going to make me
throw up I had resolved not to.  I don't know why but I figured
that if I didn't throw up it would somehow prove to me that I
still had some strength and dignity left and would prove to him
that he hadn't broken me.

At first there wasn't much hindrance to my movement, but as time
went on, the saddle began to offer more and more resistance as
the ice cream mix thickened in the tank.  Whenever the German
would notice that my periodic spasms were weakening, he would
reach down and twist a little more on the dial on the power box
increasing the intensity of the electrical pulses flowing into
the shafts which were still securely driven into me.

Eventually he had the thing turned up as high as it would go and
each strike was not only violently wrenching every muscle in my
abdomen but the metal shafts were brutally distending the
openings of my rectum and vagina to the point where it felt like
they were about to tear me open.  It didn't take too long before
I finally passed out.  When I awoke, The saddle was gone as was
the rest of the ice cream machine and the German was working at
his bench cleaning up.  I hadn't thrown up.  I won.

He unhooked me from the table and while I could barely walk, led
me to the showers.  Now the showers were the only good thing on
the entire damn island.  The shower room was a small tiled
chamber with a floor drain and two nozzles.  It was the one place
you could be alone and where you could just enjoy the warmth of
the water for several minutes as it washed away all the residue
and vivid memories of your ugly ordeals in that ghastly place. 
For some reason, the males had an extensive supply of shampoos,
conditioners, soaps, cosmetics and most anything else you could
think of there and we were free to use any of it.  The place felt
so luxurious, and so out of place.

Eventually he returned with a couple dry towels and once I dried
off led me back to my cell.  On the way back he told me that he
was done with me.  They were going to begin to tear apart the
dairy that night to renovate it and install the new equipment.  I
stayed in my cell for the next few days and was pretty much left
alone until one evening I finally met the boss for myself.

He showed up with the guard and took me from my cell to another
larger cell for my transfer off the island.  On the way the boss
told me that I'd been sold to some African prince.  He said they
found this guy special just for me and that I was sure to like
him.  The prince was the dictator of a small African country who
had a reputation for doing some real perverse things with his
female captives.  Like for instance, he would entertain himself
by taking one of them, tie her down, paint her pussy with animal
scent and let large animals have sex with her.  He preferred
lions and gorillas but used any number of native animals.  He
also was fascinated with expanding Styrofoam and once he grew
tired of his surviving captives, would fill their sex organs with
foam until they hemorrhaged or literally came apart.  Then he
would eat them.

With this great news he pushed me into the cell.  It contained
six mats on the floor, four of which were occupied by other
women.  Two of them were my co-conspirators and the other two
were women I had never seen before.  They were from South America
somewhere and one of them spoke English.  We sort of stared at
each other for a while and slowly and quietly became acquainted. 
And then I got to meet my replacement.

The lights had been out for a while when I heard keys and then
the door swung open.  A young blond was pushed into the room and
the door slammed behind her.  She kind of looked around the cell
and seemed really lost so I told her to sit down.  She found the
empty mat and sat down facing me then asked where she was.  Well
if she didn't know, I wasn't going to tell her, me with my
horrible contaminated body looking at that poor young girl about
to face unspeakable indignities, so she just sat there trying to
figure out what was going on.

She was really a pretty little kid, couldn't have been much older
than sixteen, and my stomach turned just thinking what was
probably going to happen to her.  I don't think she had any idea
what she had gotten herself into.  Then I noticed her looking at
the bruises on my wrists and ankles from the milking table straps
and so I figured that I had to tell her at least something about
the place when we heard voices in the hallway outside.

From what they were saying, there had apparently been some
mistake and since we five women were already sold, this innocent
little adolescent they had stuck in our cell was going to be
given the hormone treatments and put on the milking machine.  I
suppose it bought her some time before being sold but there was
no way she was ready for that.  They were going to kill her for
sure.

The giant and this other guy opened the door, grabbed her by the
arm and dragged her out.  I really don't know why I decided to do
what I did next but something inside me told me that I had to
tell her something, to warn her somehow.  I knew that big son of
a bitch guard would be all over me if I said anything but I
figured what the hell, if I stalled the guard she might at least
get through the night without getting raped.  Besides, at that
point I pretty well knew that I'd be dead within a couple of days
anyhow and anything they could possibly do to me now wouldn't
really matter anyway.

I leaned over toward the door and shouted to her the first thing
that came to my mind which was something like not to let those
sons of bitches get to her.  Well I don't know if she understood
me or not and no sooner did the words get out of my mouth than
that big asshole was right there by the door.  He reached in the
cell and grabbed me, jamming his cattle prod right into my cunt
and let it fire.  The first hit really hurt and the second one
completely knocked me out.

When I woke up I was on a plane, strapped to an airplane seat. 
Someone had put a white bathrobe on me and I was no longer
wearing the leather collar I had been given.

We were in the air for several hours when I noticed that we were
no longer over water and the plane was beginning to descend
toward what appeared to be a jungle.  Just then there was an
explosion and the plane shuttered.  We had been hit by gunfire.

The pilot made a quick circle and set the plane down in a small
grass clearing.  He shut the engines off, opened the door and ran
from the plane into the forest.  Very soon he returned, being led
by gunpoint back into the clearing.  Apparently the prince didn't
have a lot of friends in this part of the jungle.

The soldiers shot the pilot after screaming at him for a while, I
suppose looking for information, and then started unloading the
supplies in the airplane.  That's when they found me.  Of course
I thought they were going to gang rape and then kill me but
instead they were extremely polite and took me back with them to
their village.  There I found out that they were revolutionaries
bent on overthrowing the prince and actually felt very sorry for
me.  I wasn't the first female captive they had liberated from
the prince, apparently many of their own wives and daughters had
already suffered from his grotesque perverted diversions.

They ended up taking me to another larger village where there was
a convent of nuns and I ended up staying with them.  At first I
felt very strange, I mean I was this hooker living in a convent. 
But I came to know these women as a very kind, forgiving, and
compassionate family where I actually began to feel peaceful and
part of human race again.  I even found out that I wasn't the
only one in the convent who had "done it all" before coming
there, although I think I was the only one with former
professional status.

Well to make a long story short, I'm living and working with them
now, teaching in the village.  I guess I always wanted a life of
service and somehow this one seems so much more fulfilling than
working in a tavern.  I've even made up with my mom.  She still
can't figure out how or why I ended up deciding to live my life
in a convent but I tell her that I haven't really changed, I just
think of giving of myself in a little different way now.