Santa Luisa

Synopsis

Few people in the world have ever heard of a tiny Caribbean nation of Santa Luisa. At the first glance, it appears to be an archetypical 'banana republic' ruled by a dictatorial regime. But when Mark Sanders, a respectable American businessman, is invited by a former business associate and an old flame to visit this paradisiac island to explore new business opportunities, he soon discovers that things here may not be quite what they seemed.

President Estella Rodriguez is a mega wealthy narco-baroness who regards Santa Luisa as her own private domain. But she also holds radical feminist views and has little hesitation imposing them on her nation: males are treated as second-class citizens here; they are denied access to education and restricted to working on unqualified jobs. There are no courts here and very few formal laws; officers of the all-female police force run by the president's daughter are authorized to settle civil disputes, administer corporal punishments and use lethal force at their full discretion.

Yet, this small tropical island hides even darker secrets. As Mark's cab breaks down on its way to the airport and he misses his return flight, he has no choice but to charter a private plane. The pilot is a gorgeous blonde called Felicia who shows no hesitation about taking full advantage of Mark's desperate situation and he soon realizes that he's getting much more than he bargained for. This story features hard female domination, futanari and non-consensual sex, so consider yourself duly warned.

Chapter 1

Charter Agreement

"Un momento, señor, un momento," said the Latino driver peering from behind the open hood of the ancient cab, trying to sound reassuring.

Fuck!

The piece of junk broke down halfway between the town and the airport. The air was hot and damp and the relentless Caribbean sun was turning the interior of the immobilized car into a backing oven; Mark was sweating hard in his business suit. But the worst part of it was that his flight would be leaving in 15 minutes.

There were other cabs passing along the road, but all were occupied and none of the drivers seemed to be willing to stop. Damn, he should've taken Carla up on her offer to drive him to the airport instead of relying on local cab service. Perhaps he could still call her and ask her to help him out?

No!

Mark didn't want to have anything to do with the bitch! And she probably wouldn't get here in time anyway... his best chance was praying to God that the driver could fix whatever was wrong with the cab soon.

Carla Sanchez was a Mexican real estate broker with whom Mark did some business in the past... well, he also slept with her a few times. She called him last week, inviting him to some Caribbean island he'd never heard of before and claiming there was a fantastic investment opportunity. He agreed without much hesitation -- even if the business didn't work out, he would at least spend some quality time with Carla. God knows, he needed some distraction from his own marriage problems.

He has done a bit of research on Santa Luisa before the trip. At the first glance, the tiny Caribbean nation appeared a fairly typical 'banana republic', ruled by a dictatorial regime of President Rodriguez as her own fiefdom. Except that there was nothing typical about Estella Rodriguez or 'Doña Estella', as the locals often referred to her. To begin with, she was a

woman

! And not just some woman -- though well in her 50's, the tall brunette still looked as stunning as a fashion model. Well, she could certainly afford the services of the best esthetic surgeons the world had to offer; widow of a Latino multi-billionaire (and, allegedly, the godfather of the Columbian drug cartel) Pablo Rodriguez, she apparently managed to significantly extend her late husband's business in the past 28 years and was now reputed to be the richest woman on Earth.

Some 26 years ago, Estella Rodriguez started buying property on Santa Luisa and soon she literally owned the entire island. She then acquired Santa-Luisan nationality and ran for presidency; she was elected by the overwhelming majority of votes. Surprisingly, there was virtually no opposition from any of the local factions; the former dictator Pedro Alvarado voluntarily resigned his post and named 'Doña Estella' as his desired successor.

Anyway, it turned out that Carla was now working for Estella Rodriguez and she was trying to promote a project of a luxury seaside resort. It might have been interesting... except that 'Doña Estella' was unwilling to offer any property rights on the land to the investors, which Mark found completely unacceptable. Yet Carla tried her hardest to push it through, resorting to her feminine charms rather than business arguments. It didn't work! Sure, Mark wanted very much to get in bed with the Mexican hottie... but not

that

much, not at the expense of making a stupid business decision.

Mark was snapped out of his contemplation by the "clack" sound of the old taxicab's hood closing. "Todo bien señor, vamos," the driver announced, getting behind the wheel.

Mark looked at his Rolex. Fuck, his flight was scheduled to leave in 10 minutes! "Step on it! Rapido! Rapido!" he encouraged the driver. But it was all in vain! Just as they passed by the airport runway, he saw the AA 777 taking off. "Fuck! Fuck! FUCK!" he banged his head on the back of the front seat.

"Lo siento, señor," the driver looked at him apologetically. "Viejo coche. En Santa Luisa un hombre no puede ganar mucho dinero."

Even though Mark's Spanish was far from fluent, he got most of the driver's remark and his anger was suddenly gone. He felt sorry for the man. Estella Rodriguez never hid her radical feminist views and, from what he'd seen during his brief stay on this island, it appeared that the dictatress had little hesitation imposing those views on her nation. He hadn't seen a single female chambermaid at the hotel where he was staying! All low-profile jobs in the town were done by men none of whom seemed to speak any foreign language. All managerial positions, on the other hand, were occupied by women and all of those Mark had an opportunity to interact with spoke flawless English and appeared to be well educated.

The cab stopped in front of the airport terminal; there were no people within the eyesight and only three cars on the parking lot. "¿Regresamos al hotel?" the driver asked.

"No, wait here! Espera!" Mark said, tossing the driver a ten-dollar bill before stepping out of the cab.

The airport terminal building was just as deserted inside as the parking lot outside; its only other occupant was a pretty young Latina girl in a dark blue airline uniform at the check-in counter who appeared to be busy sorting some papers.

"Looks like I've just missed my flight to Miami," Mark said as he approached her. "My cab broke down on the way."

"I'm truly sorry to hear that sir," the check-in hostess looked up from her papers, "but I can hardly see how I can help you. Your plane already took off and I cannot exactly make it turn back, you know."

"Well, Miss, perhaps you could help me by telling me when is the next flight is," Mark smiled.

"I'm afraid there won't be any other flights to US till Wednesday, sir," the Latina girl shrugged apologetically.

Fuck! Three days!

"I really need to get off this island as soon as I can, Miss," Mark frowned. "When is the next flight

anywhere

?"

"There will be a flight to Bogota tomorrow afternoon," the check-in hostess replied. "No other scheduled flights till Wednesday, I'm afraid."

Bogota... tomorrow afternoon...

Fuck!

Mark took his cell phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket and dialed his lawyer's number.

"Look, Anderton, I've missed my flight, I'm stuck in this rathole for another two or two or three days. You'll have to go to the hearing without me tomorrow," he spoke as soon as the call was connected.

"I'll try to do my best, Mr. Sanders," the voice at the other end of the line replied, "but I'm afraid it might go badly. The judge will be very likely to take your wife's side if you don't show up at the court tomorrow. You are risking to lose your entire fortune." Why was it coming out so damn loud? He must've turned on the loudspeaker by accident.

"Fuck, I get it, Anderton!" Mark replied with irritation, "If I do not get to New York by tomorrow afternoon, Becky's gonna leave me penniless. I better find some way!" With that he hung up.

"I'm sorry, sir, I couldn't help overhearing," he suddenly heard the voice of the Latina check-in hostess. "You seem to be in a lot of trouble?"

"You could fucking say that!" he snapped.

"Perhaps I can help you, sir!" the girl beamed. "This is going to cost you some extra money, of course... but there might a way for you to get to New York City by tomorrow!"

"I'm all ears, Miss," Mark replied.

"You see, there's a small private company here offering air taxi services," the uniformed Latina said. "They've got a good business jet, they could fly you to Miami, or even all the way to N.Y.C. if you are willing to pay for it."

"Where can I find them?" he demanded.

"Oh, Miss Felicia, the first pilot, she just went to check on her plane like ten minutes ago," the check-in hostess replied. "Her plane is out on the airfield; you should have no trouble finding her."

"You mean you'll simply let me walk out on the airfield, just like that?" Mark stared at her at her in disbelief.

"Why not?" the girl shrugged. "It's not like we've got lots of traffic here and you do not look like the kind guy who might cause trouble. And well, even if I somehow misjudged you and you

are

contemplate making trouble, just remember that this is a small island and the cops can be here in no time. I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want

that

." She gave Mark a meaningful wink.

No, attracting attention of the local cops was definitely something one would be well advised to avoid. As with all qualified jobs on the island, police service seemed to be exclusively reserved for females. Upon coming to power, President Rodriguez abolished all courts of law, vesting the police force with the authority to uphold order and settle disputes as they saw fit. The officers were entitled to administer corporal punishments and use lethal force at their sole discretion and most would do so with little hesitation -- Mark has witnessed with his own eyes as two policewomen have beaten a man in the streets to death.

"No, Miss, I won't cause any trouble here," he smiled to the pretty check-in hostess. "And thanks a lot for the tip."

* * *

Once out on the airfield, Mark had little trouble locating what he was looking for; a sleek Embraer Legacy business jet stood little distance away from the terminal with her hatch invitingly open. The sign "FUTA Aviation" along with the national flag of Santa Luisa were painted across her hull. As he climbed up the gangway, he was greeted by a stunning blonde who towered well over six feet tall. Her outfit consisted of a black uniform jacket with four golden stripes on its sleeve, a black pilot's cap, a white blouse, a slim-fitting black miniskirt and a pair of plain black high-heel pumps. Her eyes were concealed by gray-tanned Ray Ban 'aviator' sunglasses.

"Hi, you must be Felicia?" Mark smiled at her.

"Hi!" the blonde smiled back and extended her elegant hand. "Yes, I'm Felicia Alto, CEO of FUTA Aviation, Incorporated, what can I do for you?" Her long fingernails were painted bright red and filed so that they ended with sharp points which made them resemble claws of some predator.

Alto...

that name sounded vaguely familiar, yet Mark couldn't quite remember where he heard or read it. "Mark Sanders, pleasure to meet you," he shook her hand gently. "I'd like to charter your plane."

"Sure, hun," Felicia offered him another smile. "Sixty grand to Miami, eighty grand to New York. Payable upfront."

"Eighty thousand!? US dollars!? For a four-hour flight! Are you crazy?" Mark stared at her in disbelief.

"Well, hun, ten grand an hour is pretty normal for a baby like this," the blonde shrugged. "But chances are I'll be flying back empty, so I'm charging you for the return trip as well -- I think that's pretty fair. And it's not like you've got an awful lot of choice anyway," a predatory grin appeared on her lips. "Juanita told me you absolutely couldn't afford to wait for the next scheduled flight and the

only

other plane on this island with enough range to fly to the States is the presidential jet... which is obviously not for hire."

Fuck!

The bitch at the check-in counter obviously called the pilot lady and told her everything about Mark's predicament. But what did he expect? The two were probably besties for all he knew. But what was done was done... Felicia Alto was Mark's only chance to get to N.Y.C. in time for the court hearing and they both knew it. He had no choice but to accept her terms.

"Fine, New York City, eighty thousand," he said. "I hope you accept checks?"

"Absolutely!" Felicia grinned triumphantly.

"How soon can we leave?" Mark demanded.

"Oh, I'll call the groundcrews and have them prep the plane as soon as I have your check and your signature on the Charter Agreement," the pilot lady smiled. "It's not like they've got a lot of work right now so shouldn't take more than an hour. Come, Mr. Sanders, let's get the paperwork done," she gestured Mark to follow her inside the cabin.

The interior was fairly luxurious, though nothing extraordinary for a business jet of this class. There were three pairs of comfortable seats facing each other and a three-seat sofa. Felicia reached into one of the overhead compartments producing some pre-printed forms, then sat into one of the seats cross-legged motioning Mark to take the seat across from her. With a habitual gesture, she protracted the folding table from its wall niche, laid down the papers and quickly filled appropriate blanks with the flight route and the fare. "Now, Mr. Sanders, I just need your full name and legal address here and here," she pointed at the blanks at the top of the page, "and your signature right here," her sharply pointed red fingernail slid to the bottom of the page. "Then you make a check for the full amount of fare payable to FUTA Aviation, Inc., Santa Luisa and we are all set."

Mark quickly scanned the principal terms of the Charter Agreement before filling the blanks and signing it. The document appeared to be fairly standard and he didn't bother to read the small print on the reverse. Then he made the check and handed the papers to Felicia.

"Nice doing business with you, Mr. Sanders," she smiles radiantly. She then produced a smartphone from the inner pocket of her uniform jacket, quickly spoke with someone in Spanish and hang up. "The groundcrews are on their way," she commented. "Now all I need is my co-pilot and my flight attendant..." she dialed another number briefly spoke to someone again. Mark thought it was Italian this time, though he wasn't completely sure -- all Latino languages sounded similar to him.

"Excellent!" Felicia said as she ended the call. "Terry and Ranny shall be here soon. They are my sisters and my business partners; you see, that's what the acronym 'FUTA' in our company name stands for: Felicia, Urania and Teresa Alto."

"I guess I'll take a walk outside while the plane is being prepped," he got up from his seat.

"Absolutely not!" Felicia was on her feet barring his way before he knew it. "I cannot have a passenger wander around the airfield while the groundcrews are working, that's against safety regs!" She retreated toward the hatch and tapped some buttons on the wall panel; it started to close.

"Are you planning to boil us alive, Miss Alto?" Mark frowned.

"Nonsense," she smiled sweetly, "the batteries should have enough juice to keep the AC running for an hour or so, lemme turn it on." She tapped some more buttons on the panel. "There you go, hun! We'll be quite comfy in here, you'll see."

Immediately, Mark felt streams of cool air coming from the ceiling vents. Felicia took off her uniform jacket and cap and tossed them casually on one of the seats. "Oh yes, much better," she moaned. Mark followed her example and took of his jacket as well. Then he started loosening his tie.

"Oh, you wouldn't mind keeping that on for me, Mr. Sanders, would you?" Felicia gave him a very sultry look. "I've always found guys wearing neckties so incredibly sexy! Such a shame it is going out of fashion."

"How could I possibly disobey captain's orders!" Mark grinned at her, moving his hands away from his collar.

"Such a good boy!" Felicia chuckled. She then started unbuttoning her blouse, exposing her ample cleavage arrested by a sexy black lace bra. She positioned herself directly below one of the AC vents and started waving her hand, drawing cool air to her bosom. "Oh Goddess, this feels so good," she moaned with pleasure. "But I do need to get out of that skirt! You wouldn't mind if I took it off, would you, Mr. Sanders?"

"By all means, Captain," Mark grinned. Felicia's directness and apparent lack of shame were so sexy and refreshing. He was already rock-hard. Maybe radical feminism wasn't such a bad thing after all?

Felicia reached for the zipper of her skirt and in a fraction of a second it went off, exposing her shapely thighs and black lace thong and Mark couldn't help staring. "Like what you see?" she grinned seductively at him.

"Oh god, you are the most beautiful woman I've ever met!" Mark admitted honestly.

"Flatterer!" she chuckled. "But I like that. And since you've been such a good boy so far, why don't you get down on your knees and eat my pussy?"

"Captain's orders?" Mark gave her a coy grin.

"Captain's orders!" Felicia grinned back predatory.

With fake obedience, Mark got on his knees and crowded toward her. This was promising to be fun!

"Take off my panties! With your teeth!" she ordered.

Eagerly, he complied. He gently griped the top of her thong with his incisors and carefully lowered it all the way down to the floor.

"Such a good boy!" Felicia commended him, casually stepping out of his panties and spreading her tighs as wide as possible. "Now, get your handsome face into my crotch and make your captain feel good!"

Again, Mark complied without hesitation. He positioned himself beneath her and started caressing her nether lips with his mouth. He tried to grab her ass cheeks, but she slapped his hand. "No, sweetheart, I do not want to feel your hands on me! Just your lips and tongue!" she said sharply. "Now, play with my clit!"

Her hands grabbed his head and she started thrusting his pelvis into his face as he wrapped his lips around her love button and started nibbling on it and caressing it with his tongue. "Oh yes, such a good boy!" she encouraged him with a pleasureful moan which made him redouble his efforts.

But soon he realized that something was terribly wrong. Felicia's clitoris was growing! It started filling Mark's mouth and he could no longer reach its tip with his tongue. He yanked back his head. Apparently, her grip on his head wasn't very firm, so he broke free easily. And there he saw it... from the spot where the beautiful blonde's clitoris has been minutes ago was protruding a monstrous phallic appendage! It didn't look anything like a man's cock... the skin was red and smooth; the organ didn't have a bulbous glans but ended with a pointed tip instead; if anything, it resembled an oversized dog's penis. But damn, it was

big!

Definitely longer and thicker than any dick Mark had ever seen in porn, leave alone his own manhood.