WARNING! You must be 18 or over to read these stories of rape and non-consensual sex. This story is all fiction and no characters in it are meant to resemble any real person. That’s the legal part. Here’s the important part to me. This is fantasy, by the author, to be shared with readers who share in such fantasies. That is the story’s sole purpose for being here. In the real world, this sort of behavior is simply not acceptable, period, by any of the laws or morals of any humane people. That means you too. If you actually hurt someone without their informed consent, just stop. Take a deep breath and stop right now. That’s not your right. A surprising number of subs exist out there, so take the time to meet one and make your corner of the world a better place. Don’t trash two lives letting your frustrations get the better of you.
In Search of the Lost Sister
New Brighton, capital town of the Federated East West India Territory, enemy territory to unaccompanied ladies and Frenchmen. Louise would have preferred to never lay eyes on the place, even before her sister lost her way there. She was happy on father’s estate. A lot of things used to make her happy. But now she was there, and trying to make the best of it. She clutched the address in her hand, but was soon lost in the warren of unplanned and mostly regrettable architecture that made up the layout of that place.
“You a lost lady?” some little dark boy asked her. He looked like the type she would find. About ten, clad in the same khakis, tee-shirt, and sneakers he’d had since he was eight. Probably ruled his street chums and thus got first dibs on the ‘lost lady’.
“I’m looking for an address, yes,” she said. Inwardly she shrugged. She’d be happy to pay the little pidgin urchin a few shillings to get out of that block. “Seventeen Chestershire Way, flat C.”
“Chestershire, fancy digs, lady. Ceiling fan upper crust. You got business there? You know somebody?”
“I wish to hire somebody,” she said. “I’ll hire you to show me there if you’d like a shilling.” The word shilling seemed to catch the ear of three more boys she hadn’t even see until they moved. And her boy’s lit eyes told her she was overpaying. So be it.
“I take you there, lost lady. You call on Scrubby Biggs any time. That’s me, lady. Anything you need.”
“Thank you. Time’s wasting, Scrubby.”
“Right on, lady. We go now.”
She had a hard time keeping up with the little street monster, but soon they were out of the fouler smelling parts of town and back on actual cobblestone. The local wenches plying their bodies under the eaves an hour before lunch time told her they were in the monied part of the town. She saw the street sign for Chestershire, but couldn’t dismiss Scrubby before they were actually outside the building. “Here it is, lost lady. Flat C is up the stairs. You looking for Mack-Jack?”
“If you mean Mackenzie Smyth, then yes.”
“Mack-Jack, he’s up there. Perfect time to get him. Perfect time. You pay me, lost lady.” She handed the kid a shilling coin. “Thanks, lost lady. Remember, you tell Mack-Jack Scrubby brought you here, okay-dokey?”
“Sure I will,” she said. “I promise.”
She walked up the stairs into the gloom, smelling the accumulation of fifty years of colonial despair in the woodwork. The door was, thankfully, clearly marked, if faded and small-printed. Mackenzie Smyth, Investigations, Licensed in Imp. Brit, USA, Philippines, Singapore, France. She knocked. Softly at first, and then louder. Suddenly the door flew open, almost hitting her.
“Who are you?” he asked. “Client or bill collector?”
“Client, if I’m satisfied you can help me,” she said. “I’m Louise Hilton. I’ve heard you have the skills I need.”
“Like the hotels?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, come on in,” he said. She found the office exactly what she expected. Dark, messy, smelly, and lots of liquor bottles. She sighed, but knew there was no better way. Her friend Charlotte had been absolutely clear on the point. She needed someone seedy or she would fail.
“I’m here to find my sister,” she said. “She left home, without father’s permission, and fell in with a bad crowd here in New Brighton. She squandered the money she had, and in her last letter she said she owed money to bad people. She said she was scared and wanted to come home. But she wasn’t on the transport ship she said she would be on.”
“Well, you’ve put the problem clearly enough,” the man said. “I don’t think I’ve introduced myself.”
“Mack-Jack,” she said. “Mackenzie Smyth, as it says on the door. A little boy told me you prefer Mack-Jack.”
“Yeah, that’s what I go by. What little boy?”
“Um, Chubby, something.”
“Scrubby? Looks like he fell off a Polynesian charm bracelet?”
“That’s him.”
“He’s moving up. I’ll have to toss him a bone. So, a letter you say. Do you have it?”
“I have it here,” she said, taking out the beaten piece of paper and unfolding it. He took it and perused it closely. He even fumbled through his desk drawers for a couple of minutes to produce a quintessential large magnifying glass which he used to examine the paper by the window in the harsh sunlight. He finally handed it back.
“You should hire me,” he said.
“Oh. Okay. I was hoping we’d talk more first.”
“Talk, yes. Fine. Here’s some talk. Your sister is almost certainly in the hands of Soka Po Larkin. He’s a big-shot mulatto doll-trader in these islands. Runs girls out to all the big estates and plantations. Maybe your father does business with him.”
“With a kidnapper?”
“Your family estate, does it hire pickers? Farm labor?”
“Of course.”
“And does your father hire whores for them?”
Louise blushed, but nodded. “They have women there. Father says they need them.”
“Yeah, well then he does business with a doll trader. Maybe Larkin, maybe not. So let’s be clear on at least that much. Half those girls, they probably didn’t volunteer. They’re probably picked up in village raids. Or if they’re white, they probably got nabbed, hooked on opium, and sold off. In a year you wouldn’t recognize them as European stock. Ever go down to the picker’s quarters?”
“No. Not at all,” she said.
“It’s an eye opener.”
“Doll trader?”
“Doll. Dame. Chick. Lady. Babe. Dish. Whore. Whatever. Something with a chest that you can dress up or down as you like. Doll trader.”
Louise felt vaguely disgusted. “How do you know this Po Larkin has her?”
“Things in the letter. Mainly these,” he said, pointing to the little reflective spots on the paper.
“Glitter?”
“Cheap glitter. The kind they started making in the States a few years ago. Larkin’s the only doll trader that likes the stuff so far. He coats his girls with the stuff, makes them sparkle when they’re naked. Some guys hate it. The rest pay extra.”
“You are very perceptive, Mr., Mack-Jack.”
“So, we doing business or not? What I’ve given you is free. The rest will cost you. Feel free to shop around if you like.”
“No, I’m convinced I’ve got the right man for the job.”
“All expenses paid. Five hundred pounds up front to get started. Five hundred when I return her.
“This is acceptable,” she replied. “But I’m going with you when you get her.”
She expected an immediate refusal, but he just rolled his eyes. “Why do you dames always want to come along? You can’t wait until I get back from somewhere?”
“She’s my sister. She’s hurting. I want to be there to help her as soon as possible. And I want to know my money is being spent wisely.”
“You’re the client,” he said with a shrug. “You want to tag along, so be it.”
“Well, thank you for being reasonable. So, what do we do now?”
“We get ready to travel. I’m going to go grab lunch because I haven’t eaten today. Meet me in two hours at the docks, berth G-17. We’re going on a trip.”
“Where to?”
“To Soka Po Larkin’s operation, of course. See, if he took her, which I’m sure he did, she went there. She’s either still there, or he sold her and she’s at her final home being raped, possibly as we waste time talking.” Louise blushed and felt queasy at his blunt language. “Either way, the answers are there. I’ll brief you on our cover story on the way. For now, but the names Louise and Charlotte Hilton are off limits. Don’t even think them. I’ll give you a cover name. But first, I require some food. Berth G-17, two hours.”
Louise left the office feeling highly unsettled. She’d pictured Charlotte sitting in a room somewhere, maybe waiting for a ransom note to arrive at their family’s estate. If she’d thought father would pay it, she wouldn’t have come to New Brighton. But Mack-Jack’s words opened up a whole new horror. Rape. She could barely think the word. Rape by those savages, which would be even worse. But even if it was just by the colonials, that was, it was unthinkable. Charlotte was always the wild one. But, no. That was too much. It would kill her! Surely she would be ruined by such a thing.
She had planned to eat, but now found food repulsive. Her stomach was twisted up in knots. She ended up hurrying to the docks to just wait at his boat. But as she tried to find the berth, she realized her mistake. The G row was all sea-planes. She walked out to spot 17 and looked at the aircraft in front of her. She’d never seen a plane up close. Her best look at one had been when she was twelve, and one landed in the bay outside the estate with an important messenger on business. How she’d begged father to let her just row out and take a closer look, but he would have none of it. Now she could see one up close and marvel at it. Stand in awe of it. And wonder how such a contraption could possibly leave the earth. The two big wooden propellers seemed sturdy enough, but could they really haul that chunk of iron through the water and into the air? Obviously they could, but it just seemed so surreal.
She was still standing there when Mack-Jack appeared. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “Two hours is what I said,” he said.
“Is it a problem to be early?” she asked. “You weren’t leaving without me, were you?
He smiled, his first sign of humanity since their meeting. “No, that’s a good way to not get paid. But it means you have to wait while I prep her.”
“I’m happy to watch. I’ve never been this close to an airplane before.”
“You’ll be sick of it before this is over,” he said. She stood aside and watched as he attended to a variety of mechanical checks, the purpose of which she couldn’t fathom. She had to admit that the active pilot in front of her made a better picture of a man than the hungover gumshoe from back in the office. She could trust this one better, and not just out of necessity. Finally, he was done.”
“I’ll get your bag,” he said. “And then if you’ll just let me assist you up and in.” She stepped in, and it felt like stepping onto a moderate sized vessel. It floated and bobbed the same. She happily took her seat as he fired up the engines. And immediately was overwhelmed by how loud they were.
“Yeah, we’ll have to shout for the next few hours,” Mack-Jack said. “Wait until we’re in the air. You say you’ve never flown?”
“Never.”
“Then you’re either in for a treat or for the worst sickness of your life. Either way, here we go.” She gasped as the plane surged forward, cutting through the water faster than any boat. And then there was the impossible sensation of gravity’s shifting and the earth falling away in front of them as the nose lifted up and the plane followed. She stared out the window, not even able to see the big propellers, they moved around so fast. But looking down, that was the clincher. She looked around in desperation, but Mack-Jack was holding the sack out for her already. When she was done, he opened the side window and tossed it out into the sea.
“Alright, here’s the situation. I’m going to go as myself. Too many of Larkin’s people know me anyway. I can’t fake being someone else. But I’m going there seeking information on one of Larkin’s competitors, Maurice ‘Hob Nob’ Desjardins.”
“Why can’t anyone have normal names?” Louise asked.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Nothing. I’m sorry. Please continue.”
“Soka Po Larkin hates Desjardins with a passion. When I say I’m seeking the daughter of the French Micronesian governor, Larkin will be happy to dish. But it will take some time to convince him I’m legit, and that’s time I’ll use to poke around, maybe snoop through some files. You will simply pose as my secretary and assistant. I don’t suppose you can do anything secretarial.”
“I certainly can,” she said. “I wasn’t raised to be a useless appendage, you know. They save that sort of thing for royalty back in London.”
“Heh. Well put. Your name is Mary Vern. This is the first time you’re in the field with me, which is true so it won’t be hard to fake it.”
“Sounds good. I do home Charlotte is still there, though.”
“If you see her,” Mack Jack suddenly said very loudly and firmly, “Keep your eyes down and say nothing! In fact, make sure she doesn’t see you, or the game is up for all of us. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
“Yes, I understand,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “Then let me run over some more basics.”
Louise sat and listened as he went over various minutia of how to act the part, from who to make eye contact with to when to sit down. She got the distinct and unsettling impression that Soka Po Larkin was only semi-civilized, presenting the veneer of sophistication to hide a savage disposition. She had to fight the urge to cry at thinking of how Charlotte must be suffering at his hands. Yet she had to walk in and pretend utter nonchalance, even if Mack-Jack had five naked, glittery white-slave women fawning over him in public with her standing right there. It was going to be tough.
So it was with great trepidation and determination that she watched as they landed in a bay outside a fortified plantation the likes of which she had never seen. There were so many tall walls. So many men with guns. So many scary people with scars and tattoos. And she had to stand among them soon, acting like nothing was hideous.
She was surprised to see a motorboat coming out to meet them, as Mack-Jack hadn’t radioed in. They must get a lot of sea-plane visitors, she figured. He opened the door to greet the boat as it neared.
“Ahoy,” Mack-Jack said to the man. “Mack-Jack Smyth here. I’ve done business with the big guy before.”
“That name is known,” the man said in a strong accent. “You may come ashore with your dame.”
“She’s my assistant,” he said.
“Naturally,” the man replied with a big, partially-toothed grin. Louise stepped down into the boat with both men’s assistance, and soon they were pulling up to a dock.
On the beach she saw better that there was a lot of activity, with people out on the sand swimming, relaxing, drinking, and all attended to by totally naked women. Most of them were, as Mack-Jack had described, oiled up and glittery, sparkling in the sun. More than half were darkies, she noted, local girls of ill-repute. But others, though mostly tanned, were clearly colonials. White women. Naked white women oiled up and sparkly, standing holding shade umbrellas or waiting to deliver cold drinks. Standing at attention, fearful, resigned, or just plain dazed. She felt her heart fluttering at the sight of the poor creatures. What a way to fall low. What a way to die inside a little each day!
They followed the man up off the beach, through a gate into the main plantation. Walking along the path to the big house, Louise couldn’t help but look to each side. The activities on the lawn, though few in number, were vastly more shocking than the ones on the beach. True, there were two men seated at a table in the distance, playing a card game while a naked woman stood behind each of them to shade them and produce drinks from an ice box. But elsewhere she saw a woman strung up and hanging by her wrists. She was spread-eagled, bound harshly. Even from that distance, Louise could see the bloody rope burns on her wrists and ankles. And it was no surprise, as behind her a large black man was thrashing her with a whip. She was so far away that her screams were muted, but Louise could see how she jerked and twisted with each blow. Long welts were visible up and down her body, the whole front side of which was visible to anyone on the path.
Elsewhere, she saw three naked women crawling through the grass. They were crawling down extra low, and it looked like they were dragging their breasts along the ground, rubbing their nipples along the grass while their arm muscles burned. A single man walked alongside them with a whip. He was yelling something she couldn’t hear.
And then she saw another naked woman staked out in the grass, spread wide, sparkling and shiny. There was nothing particularly interesting, and Louise thought she was probably just put there to think about her offenses, maybe get a little sunburned. But then she saw the anthill right beside her. She couldn’t see ants from that distance, but as the woman seemed to cry out into what Louise now saw was a flesh-colored gag in her mouth, she could guess with horror something of what the woman was enduring.
At the door of the plantation house, there were two more naked women, just standing at attention by either side. Their gaze was distant, making no eye contact. The three of them went inside and to a sitting room. “Please wait,” the man said. He left, but no sooner was he gone than a naked woman walked in. A darkie, but her English was fine.
“May I serve you a refreshment, master?” she asked Mack-Jack.
“Scotch if you’ve got it, doll,” he said. “And a soda water for my assistant.”
“Of course, master,” she said with a bow. “Right away.” She backed out of the room.
“Is that…” Louise started to asked.
“Say nothing!” he hissed under his breath. “We’re never alone here.” She clamped her mouth shut, but was dying to ask questions. She felt like she was in some surreal dream brought on by malaria and cheap curry. All that female flesh on display, lewdly shown and punished for anyone to look at! How was this desirable even for a pervert? How could any white woman take it? Or even one of the natives? This wasn’t how their culture raised them.
The girl soon returned with drinks on a tray and left them with a silent bow before backing out of the room. Louise was glad for her water. Her throat felt dry. And as she saw the sun getting low on the horizon outside the picture window, she felt a knot forming in her stomach. She had a feeling the place became scarier at night.
“Mack-Jack, you scurvy devil!” Both turned as a new man, dressed all in white, walked in.
“Federico, you old bulldog. How the hell are you?” Mack-Jack asked. “I thought you would have bought your own island with a hundred serving girls of your own by now.”
“Retirement is always further away than it seems, my old friend. Ah, but who might this be?”
“This is Mary Vern, my new assistant. I’m showing her some of the, well, realities of working for me.”
“Hello, Mr., um, Federico,” she said, as practiced.
“Just Federico. Federico Xavier Mulholland, at your service.”
“Working for Mr. Smyth has been, shall we say, an eye-opening experience, and a somewhat stomach unsettling one as well.”
Federico laughed. “Yes, to a proper woman, it would be. The depths to which these women have fallen is shocking. Even scandalous. Or would be, if it didn’t make me rich. But don’t worry, dear lady, you are inviolable here as long as you are a guest of Soka Po Larkin. So, Mack, what’s the story this time. I hope you aren’t looking for one of your lost causes here?”
“No, not after last time. The boss and I had a good heart-to-heart. I’m looking for information to help find Evangeline Ravel. She’s gone missing, and I think Hob Nob might be behind it. I figured the boss wouldn’t mind dishing on that topic if he knows anything.”
“I wasn’t aware that doll had gone missing,” Federico said with a wan smile. “I’ll pass along your request, of course. But you shall be our guest tonight, and tomorrow we shall see if the big man has time for you.”
“Thanks, Fredo. I knew I could count on you as soon as I saw you come in.”
The man snapped his fingers and yet another naked woman appeared. Besides the oil and glitter, she was pierced in dozens of places, including all over her breasts and even between her legs, with big bone hoops dangling everywhere. “Show our guests to the Mathilda bungalow,” he said.
“A-once, masta,” the woman said. She sounded pidgin, but she was clearly white. Maybe French. Or Spanish. Louise wished she had a better ear for accents. “You coma this way, masta an lady,” she said to the two of them. She walked awkwardly with the vaginal piercings, but seemed determined not to slow their walking pace. Louise noted that still another naked girl had appeared carrying their baggage. They went outside to the back of the estate where there were various other buildings, all electrified, and they walked to a pleasant, modest one with two bedrooms. She was pleased with that.
“Wooda you masta prefer supper here or on da beach?” the girl asked.
“I’ll eat on the beach, but I think my assistant would prefer to stay in tonight,” he replied. He was correct. The last think Louise wanted was to mingle more with this society of sex slaves.
“She will be served soon,” the girl said. “I am Miki, please to be of serving to you.”
When the girl was gone, Mack put his bags into the larger bedroom. “We need to maintain appearances,” he said. “If you had the larger bedroom.”
“I understand,” she said. She just wished, but didn’t want to say, that he would stay in the house with her. She didn’t want to be alone, and she had the feeling he was vanishing so he could sample the girls. That that were captives didn’t seem to be an issue. Mentally she resigned herself to the fact that for most men of the lower classes, that was just not an issue. They would rape.
He soon left, and her supper came shortly, brought in by two naked women. Of course. They looked around, expecting a man.
“He’s gone,” she said to them. “He went to the beach for supper. It’s just me. So, um, if there’s anything you want to tell me? If you want someone to know you’re here…”
“You must not say that!” the white one said. She was looking around. “They might be listening. Even now.”
“Are you here against your will?” Louise whispered. The woman nodded. But Louise had nothing further to say. She could hardly promise them safety, or escape. The woman was, she saw, well-marked with scars on her back and front, partially concealed with tattoos. “How long have you been here?” she asked.
The woman didn’t answer, but her eyes welled up with tears, which she quickly wiped away. “If you require anything further, miss, that button on the wall will call a servant to you. Please push it at your leisure at any time.” With that, the two hurried out. Louise at her meal in silence, distressed and uneasy. The food was delicious, and she didn’t feel any odd effects. It wasn’t drugged. She was up for another hour, during which daylight turned to dark night. It was still early, and the bungalow had a decent collection of novels and other books on the shelves. She was very tired. It had been a long, exhausting day. Before it was even eight o’clock she ended up lying in her bed under the ceiling fan, staring out the window at the starry sky, letting the sea breeze cool her slightly. As she lay there, she realized she could hear both laughter and screams from different directions. It was truly hell’s paradise.
Her slumber was disturbed twice after she fell asleep. The first came when she heard Mack-Jack stumble in. He was not alone. She guessed by the moonlight that it was three or hour hours later. Her door was closed, but she heard at least two female voices with him. The second came when she woke up with a man’s hand over her mouth. She saw him backlit against the window, and two other people in the room watching while something sharp and painful was jabbed into her arm. Then she fell back asleep.
She awoke with her head in pain and her throat dry. She looked up into the glare of a bare filament bulb in the ceiling over her. She was lying on the floor. On a hard surface. Her eyes flitted around, her head slower to follow, but she soon saw that she was in a brick-walled chamber on a hard cement floor. And she was both attached to the floor by her hands and feet, and she was naked. Completely, utterly naked. She tried to move her arms, only to hear chains rattling and feel the harsh solid restraint on her wrists. As the horror of what was happening hit her, she felt strongly nauseated and began breathing hard. There were two men in the room! Men seeing her naked!
Her jaw shivered. “I, I, I, I,” she stammered, trying not to vomit. Tears welled up and flowed down from her eyes. “Please! P-please!”
“You just calm down, doll,” one of them said. “We’re just holding you. The boss will tell us when we get to fuck that tight, juicy pussy of yours!”
“Oh god!” she moaned and turned her head to puke. Up came the remains of her supper, onto her arm and shoulder. Her body convulsed. She was so dirty. So revolting. She was naked and those men were looking at her and talking about her and thinking about raping her. Raping her! It was too much and her body revolted the only way it could. By sickness. But after a minute she had nothing left to repel. Dry heaving was causing her pain, and she finally recovered. She looked back at the men and found them grinning at her. She turned away, flushed with such shame as she’d never imagined.
“Relax, lady. You’ll live longer. And when the time comes, I promise you’ll enjoy every inch of it!” The two of them laughed as Louise desperately tried to keep herself from further dry heaving. She lost control of her bladder, though, and was soon sending an arc of urine up and down between her legs.
“This whore is like some kind of fountain!” the quiet one said. “Always squirting something.”
“I’ll be squirting something back into her. And so will you, friend. So will you.” The quiet one nodded with a satisfied look on his face. Louise threw her head back and cried out in horror and anguish at the situation. Their talk was revolting to her, and the prospect that they would actually touch, actually, really, she couldn’t use the word, even in her thoughts. Actually rape her. That would be it. The end of everything, even if she got back home with Charlotte. No more life. No more events. No suitors. No friends calling. No servants allowed in with her except old crones. No looks of affection from either parent. Nothing but crying in her room while she waited for death to take her.
The wait was interminable. The men didn’t say much, and none of it was to her. But eventually the door opened and a fully Polynesian man walked in, followed by another nude woman and some men. They gathered around Louise. She had no choice but to take their stare. Looking up from the floor was a terribly degrading position to be at, and she wished she could just crawl on out of there and forget everything that happened. But she couldn’t.
“This is the slut that came in with Mack-Jack. She said she was his assistant. Mary Vern. She’s lying.”
“Do you have any final wishes, ‘Mary’?” the big Polynesian man said. She guessed he was Soka Po Larkin.
“I didn’t do anything!” she whimpered. “For the love of God and Jesus, please, please just let me go! Please.”
“Oh, no. You stay. We will train you,” the disgusting blob said. “What of Mack-Jack? Is he here?”
“He is, boss. We’ve got him locked away. He didn’t want to talk when we started on him a couple hours ago. But the band saw convinced him otherwise. And we already know who she is.”
“How is that?”
“Jerune here is real good with faces.”
“Yeah, boss,” a man who accompanied him in said. “I got a look at this one and I knew what she was here. I figure she’s either a sister or cousin to Charlotte Hilton. Thing is about sisters, a lot of time they look like sisters.”
Louise clenched her teeth, trying not to cry more in front of these despicable men. She’d let her sister down, assuming she was there. Which she was.
“Bring the sister in.”
Louise looked over expectantly and there she was at the door. Charlotte. Totally naked, and glittery. And covered, just covered in long cuts and scars and bright red welts, and even some purple ones. She gasped at the sight.
“You bastards!” she cried, shaking her chains. “How could you! Over just some lousy money!”
“You have quite the mouth on you,” a man said. “But you won’t for long.”
“Give her a demonstration,” Larkin said. “I trust the sister is ready?”
“She’s hooked, line and sinker. Hey, Charlotte, slut, you see me?”
“Uh huh,” Charlotte said.
“Get on your knees and lick your sister’s pussy for us.”
Charlotte looked down and saw Louise. For a moment there was no recognition at all. But then she noticed Louise lying there. “Get on your knees. Lick your sister’s pussy for us.”
“I, I,” she stammered. “I could, I do something else? Suck man?”
“Do you want your next hit?”
“Yes! Yes, master. Please! Give it to me.”
“You want your opium, you lick some cunt.”
“Charlotte!” Louise cried. “No! Don’t do it!”
“I have to lick it,” Charlotte said slowly. She got down on her knees at Louise’s crotch, slowly leaning in.
“Charlotte! No! Try to fight it! Don’t let them rule you!” But then she felt it. A tongue. Her younger sister’s tongue, pushed to her gaping slit, moving with deliberate slowness up from the bottom to the top, sliding in enough to touch Louise there, at that special spot. She couldn’t have been more disgusted, but then the special spot, the clitoris she eventually figured out from books in the family library, started to do its work, and she shuddered. “Oh god, let her stop! Please, you creeps! You bastards! Let her stop! Let her stop!”
“Go deeper, Charlotte,” her handler said excitedly. “Get that luscious tongue of yours down in there.” At one Louise felt the tongue go deeper, burying itself disgustingly in her vagina, swirling around her innards. Charlotte’s lips were pressed to her own vaginal lips, pushing as hard as she could to get in. Louise bucked and writhed under the assault but couldn’t get away or drive her sister off her.
“Enough of this,” Larkin said. The man snapped his fingers and Charlotte stood up, her face as blank as ever.
“Fix?” she asked dimly. “My fix?”
“Wait in the corner!” the man snapped, pointing her away. “Assume the position.” To Louise’s additional disgust, she saw what that meant as Charlotte went to the corner, knelt facing the walls, and put both hands behind her head with her legs slightly spread out.
“Oh god! This can’t be happening!” Louise cried.
“Oh, it’s happening. We are grateful, Miss Hilton. We usually have to take much effort and time to bring in girls. Especially white colony girls like you. They do not normally fly in and volunteer as you did, with blatant lies about their purpose as your friend Mack-Jack did.”
“What blatant lies?” Louise asked. Larkin stepped aside, barely containing his laughter at something.
“That story about Evangeline Ravel,” said Federico, stepping into her view with a naked, bound, gagged, and blindfolded woman on a leash beside him. “It was patently false. And there’s no way Mack was trying to find dirt on Hob Nob.”
“I don’t understand,”
He tugged the woman’s leash. “Meet Evangeline Ravel,” he said. “We kidnapped her a week ago, and are using her as a bargaining chip in some negotiations. She is hosting twenty cocks a day in her pussy while her daddy decides if he’s going to be reasonable.” He started laughing. “Boy, there are twenty other high-class women Mack-Jack could have used as story bait and we’d have been none the wiser. Someone up in heaven decided he’s had just too much good luck in his life.”
“Alright, enough of all this,” Larkin said. “Charlotte Hilton owes me money. I see now that I will never be paid, so I will take both sisters permanently as partial payment. Finish Charlotte’s training and sell her somewhere. Put Louise through the training and sell her as well. To the Japanese fleet. That should put an end to her pestilence. In three weeks I want no evidence on my island that they ever existed! I have spoken!”
He turned and stormed out. Many of the others followed but one of the men. Jerune. He stayed behind and leered down at her while taking off his belt. “I’ll just bet you’re a virgin,” he said. “God, some days I just love my job.”
“No! Oh god! No! Don’t!” she cried as he got down and mounted her. She saw his manhood, sticking up at her, disgusting, full of hair and sweat. She nearly gagged, but now it was pressed against her holy spot. She let out a long whine and then a loud cry as he pushed it slowly but surely inside of her, tearing through her virginity with a sharp agony, and then parting her sides painfully and quickly.
“Nice and tight, like a whore should be,” he grunted as he pushed in and out. Louise just felt sick, and hurt, and destroyed. She was a fallen woman now. A whore in the eyes of the Lord. She was still crying lightly but steadily when she felt it, the sensation of something hot flowing into her, deep down in the wrong place. She gave it an extra loud whimper as she looked up onto to see his hairy, ugly face still hovering over hers. But then he pulled out, wiping the tip of his thing off on her pubic hair. She continued to sob as he put his pants back on. “Boy, you really didn’t take that well,” he sneered.
“How should I take it!” she cried.
He grinned even wider. “I’m just saying, if you didn’t like that, you’re really going to hate the next part.”
With a snap of his fingers, a line of men filed in. The one at the head of the line took his place. All of them were naked. Sweaty. Gnarly. Mostly island natives, blacks, Filipinos, and a few of the more mangled whites to be found. Fat, scrawny, with deformities, toothless, slimy. Louise stared for a moment in slack-jawed horror before letting out a loud and long scream as the chain of rapes on her body began, and the line stretched out the door and out of her sight.
Elsewhere, in a bare room aboveground, with bars on the windows, Mack-Jack sat on the floor nursing his bruises and lost teeth. As he sat needing to piss, the door opened and Federico walked in. He brought in a chair, which he sat down on, looking down at his old friend. “Mack, why must we keep doing this?”
“She was a client.”
“Was, that’s the operative word. I trust you’ll put any thoughts of Louise Hilton and her sister out of your head? They are out of your reach now, forever.”
“Yeah, so I gathered.”
“Normally we’d have to kill you.”
“But you never do.”
“No, we never do. Because you have skills in high demand, and you take any client.”
“Yeah, that’s right.”
Federico smiled. “There’s this socialite in Manilla. Soka Po Larkin wishes to have her as one of his honored concubines, but she has rebuffed him and even gone into hiding. If she were to be found, and perhaps flown here naked and chained on your plane, your involvement in the Hilton sisters affair could be forgotten.”
Mack grinned wryly. “What’s her name?” he asked. “Tell me what I’m starting with.”
