Chapter Seven
It was an island fortress, surrounded by dangerous reefs. There was only one safe way in, and only a handful of boatmen knew that way. No casual pleasure boater was likely to find it. Just in case someone did, the dock was marked with a sign that was clearly visible from some distance. It read: Trespassers will be shot. The guardhouse on the dock made this claim credible.
When the boat docked, John and Sarah unloaded their human cargo and led her, still bound and ankle tethered, up a path leading into the jungle. The slack in Kim’s ankle rope flapped about with every step, making her progress awkward. She was hardly aware of it. Her mind was filled with the bitter knowledge that her chances of escape were growing smaller all the time. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to create this private penal colony, (or penile colony, she told herself with black humor). The same precautions which kept others out would also serve to keep her in. Her best hope now was to convince someone that she really had made a mistake in coming here. As though reading her thoughts, Mistress Gyve began to lecture her.
“We are taking you to see Mistress Aldona. She is part of the triad which rules our little community. Master Lestrade organized Domain twenty years ago. His right and left hands are Master Rayburn, who manages the business of the island, and Mistress Aldona, who manages the slaves. If you are wise, you will show her humility and respect. Don’t tell her any silly lies, or she will have the truth out of you soon enough.”
They only traveled a short distance. The jungle was only allowed to grow along the beach as a screen, and had been cleared from the interior. In moments they stood before an iron gate. To either side of the gate, as far as Kim could see in both directions, was a high, stone wall. On top of the wall were three strands of electrified razor wire.
An armed sentry opened the gate from the inside. He greeted John and Mistress Gyve as old friends. Then he turned his attention to Kim. In spite of the events of the last two days, Kim was shocked by the rude liberties he took with her body. His hands roved over her nakedness, testing the firmness of her flesh and the tightness of her orifices. He didn’t even speak to her, but addressed his remarks to the two who held her forward for his inspection.
“Class A, isn’t she?” he asked. “Nice ass, how long before she’s ready?”
“She is a trouble-maker,” said Mistress Gyve. “I’m afraid her training will be long and difficult.”
“That’s okay,” said the sentry. “The ones who come in struggling make the hottest slaves in the end. The day will come when she will bring the whip between her teeth when you haven’t asked for it; just because she is feeling neglected. When you use it, she will purr and raise her ass high to invite more.”
“Never!” said Kim with sudden rebellion. She winced as the fingers inside of her body probed deeper.
The sentry just laughed. “When you come out of the training center, I will be waiting outside the door. You will see me and remember this day, then you will fall to your knees and beg my pardon, and ask me humbly to fuck you up the ass.”
“Never!” she said again. She wanted her voice to be firm, but a quaver crept in. How many slaves had entered this gate with similar words of defiance? No doubt the sentry’s amusement was inspired by experience.
Beyond the gate was the city, one unlike any Kim had ever seen. All of the buildings were nearly new, and built in a similar style. Kim mentally dubbed it modern Gothic. Though none of the structures were more than three stories tall, they were imposing, and made her feel smaller and more naked. Masonry was the favored building material. Statues stood everywhere she looked; menacing gargoyles, bound nudes, and a fountain where the center-piece was the figure of a naked woman who writhed in the throes of some great pleasure or pain.
The people on the streets seemed to pay little attention to Kim as she passed, as though the sight of a woman wearing nothing except handcuffs and whipmarks was a common one. Her guards might have been walking a dog instead of a captive. Kim realized with dread that she was entering a city- state where slavery was legal and normal. If she were to attempt escape she would find sympathy nowhere, but would most likely be returned to her proper owner by the first citizen who encountered her. She would be treated like a lost dog. Worse than that, dogs are seldom punished after they are found.
In spite of her situation, Kim gazed about with a newswoman’s eyes, observing and taking mental notes. Domain appeared to be a caste society. Rank was clearly defined by dress. The ruling class dressed as affluent people in tropical climates do everywhere, in loose, light colored clothing, short in the sleeve and open at the collar. Brown uniforms indicated security people. Those who performed the physical work wore leather collars and little else, usually only the gear needed to protect them from the hazards of their occupation. A girl selling hot dogs in the park wore an apron with nothing underneath. A stone mason worked under an umbrella to shield him from the sun, wearing only steel toed shoes and a collar.
Transportation was provided by slaves pulling rickshaws. As one male ‘horse’ trotted past, Kim noticed the bright tail swishing behind him. She blushed and looked away when she realized how the tail was anchored.
There were women who wore red silk scarves and met the eyes of men who passed them. They had the bold gaze of hookers.
There were men and women in steel collars who wore handcuffs and sometimes ankle chains. They were invariably led on a leash in the hands of a Master or guard. Kim turned her head to look at a pretty brunette who was led past her and saw that her eyes never left the ground. Her back was crisscrossed with angry welts, and her left buttock was marked with a scar that could only be a brand. Kim saw her own prospects with dread. She was a Class A slave, the lowest of the low. She would suffer to entertain others, and be led about on a leash.
The streets of Domain were arranged like the spokes of a wheel. The hub of the wheel was a small, grassy park. As Kim and her escort approached the park, she saw a silhouette there that sent a chill down her spine. At first, she thought that she was looking at another bizarre piece of statuary, then she was close enough to see that the figure was breathing.
A scaffold had been erected in the park. On the scaffold, stretched tight as a bowstring between two upright posts, was a naked girl. Her head was hanging in exhaustion, her body a latticework of welts.
Mistress Gyve pushed Kim up to the foot of the scaffold and pulled her head back by the hair so that Kim was staring up at the girl. She was close enough to see a drop of sweat fall from the girl’s nose.
“Look well,” advised Mistress Gyve. “This is a runaway. At sundown she will be taken into the training center, the building directly behind her. There she will spend a week in solitary eating bread and water. When she is returned to her owner, she will no doubt be punished again at his discretion.”
Still gripping Kim’s hair, Mistress Gyve impelled her around the scaffold and toward the doors of the training center, a grim building of black stone and barred windows. Armed guards with cruel smiles opened the doors when they saw Kim coming. There was an inscription chiseled in granite over the door.
Lasciate ogni speranza vol chentrate
Kim recognized the Italian, and mentally translated from Dante. “Abandon hope ye who enter.” This was the gate of hell.
Curiosity is perverse. We wish to know the worst details of bad news. Remembering the brunette who had passed them on the street, Kim glanced over her shoulder to look at the scaffolding and saw the backside of the girl spread-eagled there. On her left buttock, overlaid with whip marks, was the unmistakable scar. She had been branded.
The training center swallowed Kim.
It could have been a modern office in a major city. At a glance, Kim saw computers, fax machines, and tasteful prints on the walls. She would have sold her soul for ten minutes alone with the telephone that rested on the desk. Behind the desk sat a tall, severe woman, who regarded the naked girl with a merciless gaze. Across the wall behind the woman were six television monitors. Five of them were switched on, each displaying a similar scene. Kim scanned the row of screens and saw naked girls in chains. One was pacing to the limits of the chain on her ankle. One slept. One girl had a hand between her legs and was obviously pleasuring herself. One was curled up into a ball with her face in her hands. One was splayed across the floor on her stomach. The sixth screen was dark. As she watched, Kim saw the girl who was masturbating look up as though startled. Three men came into view and pulled her to her feet.
“Eyes front!” barked Mistress Aldona. “You aren’t here to watch television.”
Kim looked at the woman in front of her. She was leaning forward intently, the better to see the prisoner.
“You people have made a mistake,” said Kim.
The rubber whip struck her flank. “You don’t have permission to speak!” growled John.
Kim gritted her teeth against the pain and ploughed on, knowing that this might be her last chance at a fair hearing.
“I’m not Charlene Weaver. I’m a reporter trying to get a story. I thought Domain was some sort of cult. Send me home and I won’t tell anyone about this place.”
She spoke in a rush, hoping to keep the pleading out of her voice. Her shoulders were tensed against the blows she expected.
They never came. Mistress Aldona looked beyond Kim and held up a hand to stay the whip.
“What is this about?” Her question was directed at those behind Kim.
“She’s lying,” Mistress Gyve sounded bored. “The smart ones all try it sooner or later.”
Mistress Aldona pressed the intercom button. “Jane, bring in the Charlene Weaver file.”
They waited. Kim was elated. In a moment, they would know the truth. She wondered if she would be able to get home as soon as tonight, and if she would be able to keep Domain a secret as she had promised.
A girl entered the room wearing only a leather collar and carrying a manila file.
“Thank you, Jane,” said Mistress Aldona. “You may go to lunch now. No pastries today, you’re starting to put on weight.”
The girl blushed and murmured, “Thank you, Mistress,” before she left.
The mention of food set Kim’s stomach growling. Maybe she would have a chance to grab a bite before she went home.
Mistress Aldona studied the file, then held it out so that Kim could see it. Kim stepped forward and looked at it. Charlene Weaver’s name was on the file, and most of the biographical data was hers. The physical description was not. There was a photo at the bottom of the page. The naked girl in the photo was flashing a carnal smile as she sprawled on a bed and held out her breasts toward the photographer.
It was Kim.
She remembered the photo, and the golden afternoon when, after indulging heavily in wine and sex, she had playfully tossed her camera to her lover and dared him to take her picture. When she saw the picture; Kim knew that she had been betrayed, by whom, and why.
“Cell six,” said Mistress Aldona.
There were ghosts in the cell.
She fought the guards desperately all the way there, squirming, kicking, and trying to bite. They handled her like a child who was having a tantrum. Arms held her fast as the ankle chain was locked on. When they turned to go, she charged the door, only to be thrown flat when she reached the end of her chain.
Mistress Gyve paused at the door.
“The video camera in the corner sees everything you do, so I would caution you against playing with yourself. It is not allowed. Meditate on the sins of lying and talking out of turn. When we come back you will suffer for them.”
The door clanged shut.
Overhead, the light bulb always burned. There was no window. Time was meaningless without the sun and moon to chart the progress of her days. Food came from time to time, pushed through a slot in the wall by hands she never saw. It was never enough, and hunger became her companion.
She spent hours tugging at the chain with short jerks and long, slow pulls which left a sheen of sweat on her body. She began to feel that being free of the chain would be a victory of some kind, but it was thick and well anchored, suitable for an elephant. Defeated, she sank into apathy.
She sang songs she learned as a child, recited poetry, made plans to escape, and dreamed of rescue.
***
Larry was sitting on the toilet.
“I didn’t see you come in,” she said.
He just laughed, “Looks like you finally got what you really deserve.”
“Nobody deserves this. What did I ever do to you?”
“You said you loved me. I believed you. Did you really convince yourself you got your own column because you were such a great writer? You knew the editor and I were friends. I’m only surprised you didn’t sleep with him, too.”
Kim began to cry. “I did love you, but things changed. It wasn’t ambition. I’m not that cold blooded.”
“We’re both cold blooded, sweetie, but I’m the one who came out on top.”
“No! You’re wrong! I never meant to hurt you!”
“Meditate on the sin of lying,” he said, and vanished.
Was it drugs in the food, she wondered, or just the long time in isolation doing this to her? She tried to remember stories of other prisoners she had heard about, to strengthen herself with thoughts of how they had endured. The only thing which came to mind was her interview with a psychologist who told her anyone could be broken in time, if the correct methods were used.
“I see that they put you where you won’t do any more harm.”
It was Charlene. She was different now, no longer a timid girl, but a mocking presence in the corner of the cell.
“Tell them it was a mistake!” Kim pleaded. “You know who I really am!”
“Sure I do. You’re the bitch who broke Larry’s heart. You don’t remember the time you passed the water cooler while we were talking about you. You were too full of your own self-importance, chasing a hot tip on some political scandal probably. Larry was cool. He ignored you. He was making a point of ignoring you in those days. I had to pretend to fill my cup again so you wouldn’t notice how guilty I was looking. Most of what I told you when you came to my apartment was the truth. I didn’t tell you Larry was the man I was leaving town with. He knew curiosity would get the better of you. Now you pay.”
Charlene dissolved and Aunt Sarah took her place. She held a full enema bag with a nozzle like a huge cock.
“You naughty girl,” she said with disdain, “Uncle Emil said that you would end up in a place like this.”
Kim remembered her summer at the farm, the long nights when she had to touch herself to ease the desire kindled by her throbbing bottom. She remembered how Aunt Sarah’s hand had sometimes caressed her vulva before inserting the nozzle into her anus.
With a furtive glance at the camera, Kim jerked her hand away from her crotch. Was fear an aphrodisiac? Was she only seeking comfort and relief from boredom? Had an undiscovered facet of her personality been revealed under stress?
When they came for her, they found her crouched in the corner, sobbing.
She thought they were another hallucination.