Island Getaway Ch 02

For what seemed like the six hundredth time in the five minutes since she'd exited from the hotel into the alley, Abigail used one hand to tug down on the hem of the tight leather miniskirt that barely managed to contain her ass. In her other hand, she held the pink rhinestone purse that contained the remnants of the makeup she'd used to disguise herself, the top-secret documents she'd found, and the $250 she'd just been paid to suck a stranger's cock.

Abigail turned her head to the side and spat, hoping to get rid of the salty taste of cum and cock that she still had in her mouth, though she wasn't sure if she was actually tasting it or if it was all in her mind.

She'd thought her vacation had been going poorly when her flight had been delayed and it had only gotten worse when she finally got to her hotel and discovered she'd ended up with the wrong suitcase. Then she'd found secret documents in the suitcase and everything had really gone to Hell. Now, the news was calling her an international terrorist and she was being hunted by armed soldiers. She'd fled her hotel room what now seemed like hours ago and had taken the documents with her as they might be the only thing that would stop her from being killed, even if she had no idea what they actually said.

Then, she'd been mistaken for an escort while trying to hide in the hotel bar and ended up sucking a stranger's cock in front of two armed soldiers to hide her identity, something she'd never imagined even in her worst nightmares.

As she crossed a street a block from the hotel she began to feel her immediate fear of being killed slip away. She'd done it! She'd escaped! She was in a foreign country where she knew nobody, didn't have a phone or any ID, and was wearing a skimpy outfit she'd normally never be caught dead in, but at least she'd dealt with her immediate problems.

The humid evening air caused sweat to drip down her skin and walking down the street caused her feet to hurt enough that she desperately wanted to remove the tall, black stiletto heels she wore, but being barefoot outside at night seemed like an even worse idea.

Suddenly Abigail felt a rough hand on her bare shoulder and realized that the shouts of "Hey girl!" she hadn't been fully conscious of hearing had been directed at her.

The hand gripping her shoulder spun Abigail around, causing her to stumble in her heels and for her breasts to shake and threaten to pop out of the (very) low-cut leopard-print blouse she was wearing.

To her horror, the figure who towered above her (even in her heels) was one of the armed soldiers who'd watched her give a blowjob in the hotel. Up close, Abigail could see the man's muscles under his dark gray military uniform and the rifle slung over his shoulder.

She wanted to scream. This was it. She'd been caught and she was shortly going to end up dead. But the scream died in her throat as she struggled to even breathe.

"You're coming with me," the soldier said, pulling Abigail along as he began to stride away.

Tears began to form in Abigail's eyes once again both from fear and the pain the soldier's grip on her arm was causing. But after a few steps, a sliver of hope shot into her mind as she realized that the soldier was leading her away from the hotel. To where, she didn't know, but it was all she had to hold on to.

"Where are you taking me?" she managed to stammer out.

"Shut up, whore," replied the soldier, his grip on her arm tightening. Abigail realized that even if she managed to break free of his grip, there was no way she could escape.

As they walked in silence, Abigail struggled to keep up with the much taller man, stumbling multiple times in the unfamiliar heels she wore. They soon approached a dark blue SUV with heavily tinted windows.

"Get in," the soldier said, pulling open the SUV's back door. He pushed Abigail inside and slammed the door behind her as she went sprawling across the seats. Outside she heard the soldier talking through the window to the driver.

"Found her working the hotel, didn't think she was one of ours, so called it in."

"Never seen her before," replied the driver.

He turned around in the seat and grabbed the purse Abigail held. "No!" she cried, as the man ripped it from her grasp despite her attempts to hold on.

As Abigail's eyes adjusted to the dim light inside the car she saw the man fish her now mostly empty wallet out of the purse, pull out the $250 she'd been paid for the blowjob, and give about half of it to the soldier.

"Good work," he told the soldier who turned and walked back towards the hotel. The driver pocketed the rest of the money before throwing the purse--and the documents it contained--back at Abigail.

The man started the engine of the SUV and began driving. Abigail dove for the door but found that it wouldn't unlock and the windows refused to go down.

"Where are we going?" Abigail managed to ask, realizing her questions had become quite repetitive.

The driver said nothing in response. Abigail, not knowing what else to do, buckled herself into the seatbelt and waited.

Ten minutes later, the car came to a stop. The door next to Abigail opened and she heard a curt "Out!" She scrambled out of the car and found herself standing on a busy side street filled with neon-lit bars.

Abigail thought about running but before she could she caught sight of the tough-looking man wearing sunglasses, khakis, and a leather jacket who'd opened the door for her.

"Move," commanded the man Abigail realized must be the driver. He pushed Abigail's back and she tripped forward, barely managing to keep upright in her heels as she was led into a dark bar with loud pop music and conversations coming from every direction.

As Abigail was led through the bar she noticed that the only women in sight were half-naked: either serving drinks or dancing on stage in front of crowds of men. She felt hands grasp at her ass as she walked past tables where men sat being served by hostesses dressed even more skimpily than she was, before being led down a hallway and into a dimly lit room where she was pushed onto a plush red velvet sofa.

"Here's the one what was reported," said the man who'd led her here.

"Thank you, Reginald," replied a smoky, feminine voice, "That will be all."

The driver left the room, closing the door behind him.

"Now who are you, my dear?" The way the voice said "my dear" did not bring Abigail any confidence.

Abigail's head swiveled around to face a woman in her 60s sitting behind a desk and smoking a cigarette. Her long, straight hair was dyed platinum blonde and she wore a semi-sheer green dress with black lace accents that was so low-cut it showed off her large breasts ("They must be fake, right?" thought Abigail) even more than Abigail's top showed off hers.

Abigail felt her mouth opening and closing, but no words coming out.

"I don't take kindly to people working my territory without my permission." the madam (for that's what she was) stated, her voice dripping with authority.

"I'm sorry, there's been a mistake," Abigail stammered. Her mind had run through countless possibilities of where she was being brought, but she'd never expected to be brought to a brothel and accused of being a hooker.

"The only mistake was you poaching my clients," replied the madam. "But, please," she gave Abigail a wicked grin. "Why don't you try to explain yourself."

"I almost missed my flight and they lost my bag and I got someone else's bag and I found some documents and they're trying to kill me and they say I'm a terrorist and I had to escape and--" Abigail babbled.

"A terrorist?" The madam looked at Abigail quivering on the couch. "What's your name, girl?"

"Abigail."

"Abigail Thompson?" inquired the madam, her voice now tinged with curiosity.

Abigail nodded.

The madam picked up a remote and used it to turn on a large television mounted to a wall. She changed the channel to a news broadcast that, after a moment, showed the photo of Abigail from airport customs with "International Terrorist" across the bottom of the screen.

"Remove your glasses," said the madam, walking over to Abigail, who quickly removed her large round glasses, not even pretending to protest.

The madam roughly grabbed Abigail's face in one hand, turning it this way and that in the dim light. Her eyes narrowed as she studied Abigail intently, skepticism etched across her face.

"Yes, underneath that smeared makeup you do seem to be Abigail Thompson. However," she paused to take a drag on her cigarette. "You don't look like a terrorist to me." She paused again, looking intently at Abigail. "But just

what

are you?"

"I'm a teacher!" cried Abigail. "On holiday!"

"A teacher?" the woman laughed. "Dressed like that? And whoring yourself out? No, I don't think that's right either."

"I'm not a hooker," Abigail pleaded.

"Did you or did you not get paid to suck the cock of a man you didn't know this evening at a hotel?"

"I...did," said Abigail in a very small voice, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

"But you claim you're not a whore?"

Abigail's mind whirled, what could she possibly say that would convince this woman she was telling the truth?

"I just wanted to have a holiday..." she replied.

The madam's left eyebrow raised. "And yet you ended up working as a prostitute on my territory? No, that sounds a little too convenient."

The madam walked back across the room, her heels clicking on the tile floor, and returned to the chair behind the desk. Her eyes bore into Abigail, scrutinizing every aspect of her appearance.

"No, I think you're an undercover police officer who's been sent here to spy on me as part of a government sting operation."

"I'm not--I can't--I don't--" Abigail didn't know what she could say. "Please, believe me, I'm not a police officer and I'm not a terrorist. I need help. I'll do anything."

"Anything?" the madam pursed her lips.

Moments passed in tense silence as the madam weighed her options.

"Let's see you prove yourself to me. Your actions have shown you're willing to suck cock as part of your cover, but maybe something a little more," she paused, licking her lips. "Permanent will scare you into telling the truth."

"Come with me," the madam stood and gestured at Abigail, curling her finger towards herself.

Abigail jumped from the couch, almost toppling over in her heels, a glimmer of hope in her mind. She followed the madam across the room towards a different door than the one she'd entered through.

Abigail stepped through the door after the madam and into a hallway lit with bright fluorescent lights. A faint mechanical buzzing filled the air and there was a lingering scent of antiseptic.

The madam led Abigail down the hallway and through another door into what at first reminded Abigail of some sort of medical examination room. A large padded black leather reclining chair similar to something you might see in a dentist's office filled the middle of the room. Next to it was a stool covered with the same material, while along one wall was a padded table, a counter with a sink, and numerous implements Abigail couldn't identify. The walls were covered with colorful framed art and photographs of people, though Abigail was too preoccupied to notice any details.

The madam gestured for Abigail to sit in the chair. "Stay here," she said before disappearing through the door.

Abigail sat in the chair, her feet dangling above the floor. She pulled her legs up towards her, unbuckled the ankle straps on the stilettos, and carefully set them down on the floor. Full of relief she was no longer strapped into the shoes, she sat fiddling with the purse, not sure what else to do,

After a few minutes (long enough for Abigail to begin panicking about what was going to happen to her but not long enough for her to work up the courage to try to leave) the madam returned with a woman in her 20s wearing a long-sleeved black shirt with tattoos poking out from the sleeves and neck and purple streaks through her short black hair.

"Hi there," said the woman, one hand raised in greeting. "I'm Mina."

"Hi Mina, nice to meet you, I'm Abigail." Her teacher's training had kicked in automatically, causing her to introduce herself politely, even under the current circumstances.

"Start with the tongue," the madam said to Mina, clearly not interested in small talk or niceties.

Mina quickly went to the counter, washed and dried her hands, put on latex gloves, and began sterilizing equipment.

"What--?" began Abigail, still not sure what was going on.

"As I said, I'm curious to see how far you're willing to go in order to keep your true identity a secret," said the madam. "Now stick out your tongue."

Mina approached Abigail and sat on the stool next to the leather chair. In one hand she held scissor-like metal tongs while in the other she held a long piercing needle.

"Lay back in the chair," said Mina.

Abigail hesitated. "What else can I do?" she thought. "If I refuse, the best thing that could happen is that I'll be kicked out, and the worst..." she shuddered, not wanting to think about the soldiers hunting for her.

She swallowed hard, lay back in the chair, closed her eyes, and stuck out her tongue, bracing herself for the pain.

Abigail felt her tongue grasped in the metal tongs and then the quick sharp pain of the needle sliding through her tongue. She tried to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

"Stay still," said Mina, calmly.

Abigail felt a cool piece of metal slide through the center of her tongue and a moment later heard "It's done" as her tongue was released from the tongs and allowed back into her mouth.

Breathing heavily, Abigail opened her eyes to see the madam smirking and Mina holding up a hand mirror.

"Take a look," said Mina.

The first thing Abigail saw in her reflection was the heavy makeup she'd hurriedly applied to conceal her identity smeared across her face. Her eyes were surrounded by a black and blue mess that was the remnants of the eyeliner and eyeshadow she'd applied mixing with her sweat and tears. The bright pink lipstick she'd applied was smudged around the edges of her mouth and made it clear she'd recently been sucking cock.

Cautiously, Abigail opened her mouth and saw a glint of metal between her teeth. Sticking her tongue out she saw a plain steel ball in the center of her tongue and a matching one on the other side of the barbell that emerged from the bottom. It seemed strange to her as, even in her wildest days (which hadn't been that wild), she'd never thought of getting a tongue piercing.

"Okay, you never would have chosen this," she thought. "But, it's not too bad, right? I can take it out later."

Abigail let her tongue retract into her mouth and moved it around, feeling the strange new sensation. She breathed a sigh of relief that was cut off as she heard the madam's next words.

"Navel next."

"Okay," Abigail whispered, closing her eyes and taking slow, deliberate breaths. She tried to focus on the cool air filling her lungs and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Her hands gripped the armrests of the chair, knuckles whitening in an attempt to anchor herself.

"I need you to undo your shirt," said Mina.

Abigail opened her eyes, let her grip on the armrests relax, and sat up in the chair. She reached down and unbuttoned the sleeveless leopard-print blouse, feeling even more exposed.

"Here, I'll hang it up," said Mina. Abigail removed the shirt and passed it over before thinking of what she was doing. Now, wearing only the red super push-up bra, she lay back down on the chair, feeling the cool leather against her skin.

"Good," said Mina, picking up a marker from the tray of sterilized instruments to her side. "I'm just going to make some small marks where the piercing will go."

Abigail nodded, her mouth suddenly dry and her throat tight with anxiety. Mina sterilized the marked area above Abigail's belly button, deftly grasped the flesh in a clamp, steadied herself, and brought the needle close. Abigail squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for the pain.

"Deep breath," said Mina.

The needle pierced through Abigail's flesh, a sharp sensation that made her involuntarily jerk in the chair. The pain was intense, but it passed quickly, replaced by a dull throbbing as Mina slid the jewelry into place.

"Looks good," said Mina. "Check it out."

Abigail slowly opened her eyes to see a reflection of her midriff in a mirror Mina held. She saw a plain metal ball above her navel while emerging from her belly button was a sparkling red gemstone and dangling silver chain connected to the other end of the curved barbell. She shuddered at the thought of something like this bringing more attention to her no-longer-that-flat belly.

She wasn't fat by any stretch of the imagination and she was proud of the fact that she was thinner than most of the other teachers she worked with--though she had to admit that wasn't saying much. However, she had hoped to lose a few pounds before her vacation and hadn't been successful. In her luggage (wherever it was) she'd packed the bikini she'd optimistically bought in the hopes of wearing on this trip and a one-piece bathing suit that would cover the slight belly pudge she was self-conscious of.

She was still trying to accept that the reflection was of her when the madam's voice cut through the room. "Nipples. Both of them."

"What, but, no--" began Abigail.

"Ah, so you do have limits after all, my little spy," said the madam. "Now let's talk about why you've been sent here."

Abigail took a deep breath.

"No, it's, um, it's okay. Go ahead," she consented reluctantly.

Unprompted, Abigail reached behind her back and began to unhook the bra, feeling a sense of relief as she let her large breasts sag down onto her chest. She passed the bra to Mina who set it on a counter behind her.

"Oh, those are good piercing nipples," said Mina. "Nice and big!"

Abigail blushed, shocked that despite everything she had even deeper reserves of embarrassment available to her. Her nipples weren't that big, were they?

Mina carefully positioned the clamps and Abigail tried not to whimper as the cold metal pressed against her sensitive nipples. As Mina pushed the needle through first one and then the other nipple, Abigail gritted her teeth and tears sprang to her eyes from the pain and humiliation.

"Almost done," Mina murmured reassuringly, sliding the final piece of jewelry into place.

Abigail opened her eyes to see the madam looking her over with a critical eye. She tried to resist the urge to cover herself, but her hands quickly found themselves over her breasts, where she could feel the cold metal of the nipple piercings between her hands and her chest.

"Don't be shy," said the madam, laughing.

Abigail felt exposed and vulnerable under the gaze of the madam and she felt her heart pounding in her chest.

She looked at her reflection in the mirror that Mina held up. As she removed her hands, she saw that both of her nipples were now adorned with plain silver hoops that, truth be told, were a standard size. But to Abigail, who at that moment felt their weight gently pulling down on each nipple, they seemed massive.

Abigail was barely conscious of Mina giving her cleaning instructions for the piercings when the madam walked up to her and inspected the piercings in a way that made her feel like a piece of meat.

"Yes, very good," she said. "Though really, how permanent is a piercing? These can be removed easily, can't they?"

Abigail realized this question was directed at her and nodded, not sure where this was going.

"Maybe a tattoo will convince you to tell me the truth."

Abigail felt her blood turn cold in her veins. A tattoo? She wasn't morally opposed to them but the idea of getting one in this situation made her feel nauseous.