A Chapter from "The Club on Dorado Cay"
Our Story: Blonde, buxom, thirty-something Kim, about to spring a surprise divorce on her philandering lawyer husband, has been kidnapped by a white slaver and sold to The Club on Dorado Cay. A highly secret and exclusive establishment on a remote Caribbean island, The Club maintains a stable of captive women for the use of its extremely wealthy and debauched clientele in their sadistic games. In the following excerpt Kris encounters two of the younger members of The Club.
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To her surprise life for Kris seemed to settle down quickly to a quiet, even slightly dull routine after the coming out. She had expected, after having been presented to the membership, to be immediately hauled into some horrific torture session, as Alyx had been. Instead, every night for a full week she was requested by an older gentleman who seemed mostly interested in dressing her up in a babydoll, having her sit on his lap while he watched television or a movie, and then giving her a spanking, rather ineffectually, before drifting off to sleep. If he received any sexual satisfaction from the activity Kris could see no external sign of it. Once she was selected with two other women to serve drinks, in the nude, at an afternoon function. There had been some bottom pinching and fondling, but their main duty had been to serve drinks and serve as eye candy. Other than that there seemed to be no great demand for her services. She wasn't sure whether to be relieved or insulted. Alyx had already been subjected to several rather nasty scenes and was starting to make some comments about it.
Then one of the other women clued her in. The elderly gentleman was one of the oldest, and wealthiest, members of the Club. He had requested sole access to her during his stay on the island. But now he had returned home.
The next day, immediately following lunch, Madam Elspeth came into the lounge.
"Kris," she said in her no nonsense allowed manager's voice. "Your presence has been requested for the afternoon. You're to be at the main pool in twenty minutes. Take a quick shower, sunscreen everywhere. Miranda has laid out your costume on your bed."
"Who is it, Mistress?" Janine asked. She and Kris had been playing cards. It was mid-week now and there weren't many guests in residence.
"It's none of your business, but it's Muffy and Buffy," Madam Elspeth replied. She turned and went back to her office.
"Muffy and Buffy," Janine echoed with a chuckle. "Glad they didn't want me."
"Muffy and Buffy?" Kris asked.
"Ever see an 18 or 19 year old Valley Girl type wearing a T-shirt that says 'Princess in Training'"? Emily asked, looking up from the book she was reading.
Kris nodded.
"Well, these little bitches should have matching T-shirts inscribed with 'Junior Sadistic Bitch Princesses in Training to Run Women's Concentration Camps'," Emily said. "They're spoiled rotten and have allowances larger than the total income of Iowa. And they just love to make people miserable."
"I think it's a mother thing," Lauren added. "Did you ever see their mother? She's got a personality that'd give a snowman frostbite."
"I've seen her a few times. I don't think she's into the perv stuff, so the girls must take after their daddy. But she's got a personality that's twisted in its own unique way. You can just sense it when she looks at you. He made her watch while he worked on me one night. I really got the impression that it was my ass he was flogging, but he was thinking about her's. If you look at the slaves the girls prefer to pick on you can see a pattern. More mature looking, motherly types. No offense meant, Kris."
"None taken."
"Lotsa luck, dear," Emily added as Kris went back to her room. Twenty minutes later she was back at Madam Elspeth's office, dressed in the minuscule yellow string bikini she'd found on her bed. It barely covered her mound and any sudden forward lean would most likely have released her breasts. Why, she wondered, would Muffy and Buffy want her in such an outfit.
Mistress Elspeth led her out of the Slave Quarters and across the grounds to the pool enclosure. Entering, they approached two young women, stretched out on recliners, one reading a magazine, the other reading a book. They both were slender, small-breasted blonde-from-a-bottle types who might have come straight from a sunscreen ad in a teen girls' magazine. They were obviously sisters and looked so much alike they might have been twins. Kris guessed they were in their late teens or early twenties and her first reaction on seeing the skimpy two piece suits they wore was "Does your mother know you wear those?"
"Kris," Madam Elspeth said, "meet Muffy and Buffy. Girls, this is Kris."
Madam Elspeth removed the collar from Kris' neck and left without another word.
"Hi, Kris," one of the girls purred. Kris thought it was Muffy. "Nice to meet you. You get to be our slave for the afternoon. Lucky you."
The other girl tilted her head forward and peered over her sunglasses at Kris. "So, Kris," she said, "let's be clear on one thing, shall we? While you're our slave your name is not Kris. It's slave-slut. Or maybe slut-slave. Which do you think sounds better? What do you want us to call you?"
Kris thought for a moment. Neither sounded particularly appealing.
"Slave-slut?" she ventured.
"Wrongo!" the girl responded with a nasty sounding nasal intonation. "You're our slave. You don't get to pick your name. You don't think at all. We'll call you craphead if we want. Is that clear?"
"Yes," Kris replied, a bit exasperated.
"Yes, WHAT?" the girl responded, half rising from the lounge chair.
"Repeat after me," Muffy, said, "Yes, mistress."
"Yes, mistress," Kris said.
"Gawd! Why do they always give us the stupid ones," Buffy said to Muffy. Then she spoke to Kris again. "Another thing, slut-slave. You're our slave. You don't get to pick your clothes. I don't like that suit. So lose it."
It was a set up, Kris thought to herself. They specified this suit just so they could have a hissy-fit about it. She undid the bikini top and let it drop, then the bottom. She looked at the girls. They were both obviously inspecting her.
"Well?" Buffy asked, drawing the word out.