Chapter 1 – Now Comes a Wanderer
It goes against my better judgment to talk to her, much less have her in this house. The decision is not mine, however. This is the work of Maelstrom. And as long as he is writing the checks that make my life possible here at Singing Wind, who am I to argue?
It is a very good life.
She is, young, perhaps late twenties, early thirties, blonde with perfect legs; feet on one end and ass on the other. The fact that her ass can only be considered a 9 ½ is only because I have never seen a true 10. Meeting her at the door to my study, I offer my arm to escort her in, the perfect gentleman. I purposely situate her body out of my line of sight. I want only to concentrate on her face. It is not a beautiful face. No, not beautiful, Beautiful is too bland an adjective. She is interesting, intelligent, and smooth. These adjectives work. . She is magnificent, utterly magnificent. Perhaps you think I exaggerate, but this is not the case. I have made a life study of women and fancy myself a connoisseur of feminine flesh and character. To put it in the vernacular of my trade, this is a five million dollar cunt. And this was the strangest recruitment interview I have ever conducted.
“…and he told me I could count on you to fully acclimate me to the facility.” She told me in a flat tone, delivered with even a flatter look on her face. She was sizing me up and at the same time, trying to maintain her dignity. Dignity is a strange thing to women. This one views me as powerful and I am. But she also thinks I’m the lowest form of life on the planet. Be nice to the lowlife, the pervert. How genteel. I may be, too, all that and more. I trade in flesh. I am the first link in the White Slave chain store. Now I find myself interviewing a genuine, card carrying member of the fourth estate, the press, the New York Times. She is sitting across my from me, in my study, wearing a short skit and no panties hoping to entice me. To be honest, I had no idea whether to laugh or laugh uncontrollably.
“My facility,” I intoned just as flatly. “This entire facility, as you put it, is mine. Its conception, construction, and implementation are the produce of my thoughts, dreams and desires. It exists because one man dared to dream a dream and is willing to pay the price of seeing his ideas bear fruit. And yes, you can count on me to fully acclimate you to Singing Winds.” I let these words, the latter delivered with sarcastic mirth and trail off to the proverbial pregnant pause, as I’d heard my aunt say, if not a million times, then close. Her flat look was still plastered to her face but it didn’t go all the way to her eyes, though. Her eyes were flinty. I would not swear to it, but it seemed her breathing had hiccupped, just a small catch. She glanced at her notebook as if she needed to refresh her memory, and I think that is true, in so far as the thread of her memory is unraveling.
“Exactly, where am I?” She asked.
“You are in The House of Singing Wind.” I replied, hinting in my voice that this was an illogical question.
“I mean, exactly where is the House of Singing Wind? Generally speaking, I don’t want to know the GPS coordinates or anything, just where I am.” Her confidence was returning, though not to full force.
“Generally speaking, on Earth. Great pains have been taken to assure my privacy, my client’s privacy and the privacy of my novitiates. You are an investigative reporter. Investigate. The precautions we have taken with you are the same that any client, the hired help, or the newly chosen experience. Blindfold, hood and blacked out windows on my jet. No contact with the crew. Timing the flight won’t help, either. The flight lasts between nine and eleven and three quarter hours.
“Singing Winds has been in operation for fourteen years. I do the recruiting, the scheduling, the transportation, and have personally directed the curriculum.” Curriculum, what a concept! I think the word “program” would be a more likely term, so I correct my self. “I like to think of it as the program.” At this, I see her visibly swallow hard. Her confidence is waning.
“The program,” she repeated, “exactly what does that involve?” I cannot stop the small smile that is tugging at the corner of my mouth. She is trying to be the reporter, always analytical. I wondered how long that was going to last. Perhaps forever, perhaps not past tomorrow.
“It’s a training program, pure and simple.” At this, I stood and clasped my hands behind my back and knew I was about to lecture. And she was completely in my view again. “We train concubines, servants, slaves, fuck toys, whores, sluts, or whatever you want to call uncompensated human beings that are owned, controlled, used, abused and held in servitude. We train them to understand the importance of serving another, completely, in any manner prescribed by the client. What the client desires, we provide. The actual crux of the matter is that each novice is here of their own volition.” I chuckled, “An all volunteer force, if you will, striving to be the best they can. They have the desire to serve, to be of service and to be compliant. We foster that desire, we mold that desire, and we hone it to a fine edge. That is the Program. What is it you desire? You’ve got your full story now, you can write your article and enlighten the world about Singing Wind. You have seen all you will see and told all you will be told.” I turned and started toward the door.
“No, wait!” She implored to me. “I want to have the full picture I want to know what it’s like to be in the House of Singing Wind, the experience, talk to the others. I want my story to be fact based on my own experience not perceptions. I’ve flown here, to God knows where and you’re ready to send me off? Maelstrom promised me a story and I’m here to get it and I mean to get it.” There was fire in her eyes now and the small smile was again licking at the corners of my mouth. She was close to saying what she needed to say, but not quite there. “I want to see what the novices go through, I want that.”
“No!” I almost barked, “That is not going to happen. Maelstrom does not own this place and I’m not his servant. I’m under no obligation to show you anything. I’ve told you what you wanted to know about this place. Go back to New York and make up what you’d like about Singing Wind. It exists, you’ve seen it.”
In almost a girlish tone she said what I’d known she’d say, eventually, I was taken completely by surprise by how quickly and timidly it came.
“I want to be trained.”
And that was that and I knew an article would never be written.
I walk over and stand before her. I know what my eyes look like boring into her and I am looking quite through her. I can taste the fear stirring in her soul. I can feel the intensity building in the muscles of my face. I can smell her very well now, her perfume, her perspiration, her cunt. I can feel my voice box tighten, ready to take on the raspy quality that comes with “The Voice”. I watch as her hands tighten their grips on the arms of her chair, her knuckles going white. I stop 3 paces from her chair.
“Kneel.” My voice is deep, the word perfectly annunciated.
She does not move, so I repeat: “Kneel.” My voice is even, almost slow. It is not a whisper, it is very conversational with enough conviction to let her know I am in no mood for games. Still, she does not move. As slowly as I can, I close the distance between us and as my right foot comes to rest next to my left, my right hand flashes from my side, a flick, fast as a fighter’s jab, I slap her. The sound reverberates in the stillness of my office. I think to myself that I will never forget this look in her eye. She is stunned, but she does not become hysterical. This time when I say “Kneel.” in the same, even tone of the last two commands, she slides smoothly to the floor into a kneeling position.
“Pleasure me.” Same slow, quiet, melodious tone. Again, she looks at me with an uncomprehending look. “Suck me, blow me, slurp the schlong, smooch the root, give Mr. Johnson a kiss, eat me, do the deep throat, puff the penis, bob the knob, you give me long time sucky-sucky, give me head. Do what your told, when you’re told. Are there any questions?” I slap her smartly again. “No? Well, that’s just fine.”
And deftly, her hands go to my fly to release my cock from confinement, her lips part and she envelopes the shaft into her warm, moist mouth. Her eyes close and, I’m sure her motivation is to get this over as quickly as possible. I make suggestions as to speed, tongue usage, teeth positioning, and she quickly learns to gently and devotedly bring me to climax. Dutifully, she swallows every drop of cum I pump into her mouth.
My orgasm does not stop her ministrations until I gently pushed her mouth from me, the sensation is too intense to deal with for long. I could swear that I see disappointment furrow her brow as I pull my manhood from her lips. Then, she looks up at me. I say nothing for a long moment. “When you are done with something, put it away,” I say. And dutifully, she does. I walk back to my desk and discreetly push a small button. Almost immediately, the door opens and an Asian woman with a dour look on her face walks in. “This is Soledad. You will call her Mistress Sollie. She is going to play show and tell with you. Show you what you need to see and tell you what you need to know. Sollie, this bitches name is Slut. Take very good care of her or we just might need a session with the barbed wire flogger.” Oh, the look on Slut’s face upon hearing this reminded me of the credit card commercial. Priceless. As fast as cat, Sollie places an iron collar on Slut’s neck and slips a leash in place and leads her away. Slut, too shocked and stunned to protest, crawls away on her hands and knees like a dutiful puppy.
Chapter 2 – Li
The morning is hot and muggy and there is little doubt there will be rain in the jungle before noon. From the tree line, we watch as people from the surrounding villes began to congregate in a clearing, a cul-de-sac, one road both in and out. There is little to do but wait and see what is going on. The Laotian-Thailand border is notorious as a portal for arms and supplies from China via Laos, across Thailand into Cambodia and on into Vietnam. What is most curious about this gathering is the predominance of men and children, mostly young women. To my eye, I am certain these are families. Tran Ngo, the team’s translator, sidles up to me to apprise me of the situation, for my ears only.
“These farmers, very poor. Come to sell children. Not come to meet to meet Cong. No guns, no rice.”
I was stunned. “Why?” I asked.
”No money, no food. Girl childs no be married, no money, no buffalo to give to husband’s family, boys too young to work to rice paddies. Farmers has many children, many mouth to feed. If no can work, no can feed. Better sell than kill or starve.” He said this with a matter of fact dignity. This was the oriental way: He would make no judgments. His flat look told me that I was in no position to judge, either.
When his report is finished, Tran evaporates as silent as a ghost just as a mid fifties vintage Cadillac pulls into the clearing. My fist shoots up in a tight fist next to my ear. My index finger goes strait up, waggles back and forth once and then I make the peace sign. None of the men in the team need any explanation for the signal: Freeze, take cues from me, safeties on. Also, the men know exactly who is driving the Caddy. It is Dirty Mary, the mamasan of a bar by the same name in downtown Bangkok.
“Looks like Mamasan’s on a mission to buy some new hookers.” Miller says. “Fresh meat and I’m three months from mid tour R&R.” He said this almost disgustedly. Virgins go for a premium bar fine and are very sought after on their first night working the second floor at Dirty Mary’s..
I flash “on me” and say out loud, “The smoking lamp is lit.” I pull a Lucky from my pocket and made a big production of lighting it, not caring if the clicking noise of my Zippo carries into the clearing and I begin walking toward the gathering crowd. The sight of five men carrying weapons sends a ripple of tension through the group, but they quickly realize that we are not Thai Federal Police and they relax. Dirty Mary recognizes Miller right away. I suppose spending the paychecks saved for five months in a week at a whorehouse can really popularize a person and she breaks out into a ever widening grin.
“You number one, GI, Millersan!” she cries out. That just about did it for me. I had the urge to butt stroke her upside her toothless head. I hate the way the gooks are always slipping into Japanese sounding Pigeon English; always calling us “Number One”. I am pretty sure that number is signified by the middle finger, but I ignore her.
I motion for Tran to get his ass over to me and point to a farmer standing next to a young girl. “Ask him how old she is,” I order. Tran did and the farmer went into a diatribe that lasted a lot longer than just stating a number.
“‘He say, she fifteen and very strong. Can pick grass out of rice patty long time, pick rice too. She good cook and make many baby, all boy.” The look on my face upset the farmer and filled him with fear. This seems to be Dirty Mary’s cur to begin to examine the girl. It reminded me of grizzled old ranchers examining breed stock before an auction at stockyards back, back in the world in Oklahoma. She fells the girl’s breasts through her rough blouse and pulls back her woven hat to pick at her hair and part her lips to look at her teeth, teeth that were perfect in spite of never having been seen by a dentist in their lifetime. Then, she began to dicker with the farmer. I looked a Tran and he said “She say she give 500 baht.” Twenty-five American dollars.
“Tell him I give one thousand,” and so the price war began. Back and forth the bidding goes until the figure reaches ten thousand baht. Finally, Dirty Mary gives me a disgusted look and spits at my feet. “You no come to my bar, no more, Lieutenantsan!”
“Not a problem,” I said, and spit right back at her feet. I paid the farmer who without another look at his daughter, turns and walks away, towards the woods and Laos. Mary makes an awful sound in my direction and Tran starts to translate. I hold up my hand him. “I know what she said, Tran.”
I walk away, also back toward the woods, to the Landing Zone where we’ll be picked up. Tran just looks at me and then says “You boo koo dinky dau!” “Yep, Tran, one crazy motherfucker, I just spent ten thousand nickels, five hundred bucks on a human being!”
I awake with a start and come instantly alert as I always do when I have this dream. You can take the boy out of the jungle, but you can’t take the jungle out of the boy. A soft hand caresses my cheek and I look into two limpid brown pools of light that are Li’s eyes. I think she knows what I am dreaming about but she never says a word, and snuggles closer to me, placing her tiny hand on my chest. I am awake and will be for the rest of the night. I patiently wait for her breathing return to a rhythmical steady beat before I leave the bed. I have a lot to think about, the least of which is how Li came to be in my life. The dream that was not always a dream sometimes disturbs me.
I leave my private wing of Singing Winds heading towards the staff cells; I want to talk to Sollie before I leave. Without knocking, I walk right in to her room. Even if there were a lock on her door, I knew it would be unlocked. I reach into my pocket for the Zippo that has been in my pocket for the last thirty years, minus the four months three years ago when it took a little vacation to Bradford, Pee Ay, back in the good ole’ You Ess of Ay for some of that good old lifetime warranty service. Made it the U.S. of A may not mean shit in Detroit, but Pennsylvania is a whole different ball game.
I could have turned on the lights, but when talking to Sollie, especially, I find candlelight soothing. I open the lid of the lighter slowly and quietly and light a taper on her bed table and this does not wake her. On the other side of her bed, leaning against the wall I make out a shape. Picking up the candle, I move to the other side of the bed and can’t help but smile. No wonder Sollie doesn’t wake up seems she was busy far into the night.
Leaning against the wall is a rough cross with a limp body tied to it. The eyes are closed and I can see the eyes rapidly moving in REM dream-sleep. Ahh, the dreams of Slut; these are dreams that could interest me. Softly I touch her lips and an involuntary shiver courses down her body but she does not wake. She is beautiful, her breasts are full and pendulous, with a light sheen of perspiration that glistens in the candlelight. I can see that she is wearing a chastity devise. I don’t need to guess that her cunt and ass are filled and well filled at that. The slickness on her thighs also says that I don’t have to guess that it might be KY jelly. I return to the far side of the bed, lean down and give Sollie’s cheeks several light taps. Her eyes pop open and move side to side rapidly, unfocused. Finally, her eyes settle on my face and she recognizes me. She quietly slips out of bed and onto her knees. I sit on her bed feeling the warmth of her body still in the sheets. She knee walks forward and settles between my thighs, Idly I begin to stroke her black hair as she looks into my eyes with a shy smile that lights her entire face.
“Rough night?” I ask. Her smile broadens and just as suddenly she is serious. “Are you sure this one should be here?” She asks softly, nodding toward Slut. “There’s a lot of spirit in her. I’m not sure if she’s taking training because she wants it or because it gets her what she wants.” I knew exactly what she meant. “Sollie,” I said, “Don’t question her motives, and just train her to the best of your, and her, abilities.” I think she wanted to talk more about this but she knew the discussion was over. It is now time to listen to me.
“I’m leaving this morning; I’m going to see Maelstrom about this one and run some other errands. Don’t try too hard to break this one. And be extremely careful, I don’t know yet if this is someone’s property. Not that I really care, but if she belongs to Malestrom then it’s going to cost him the same she would fetch at auction to training her. Just in case, leave something out because Maelstrom thinks he can finish a slave’s training regimen.” We smiled at each other at this. “If that’s the case, I think this one might be at Singing Wind for a very long time,” I added and Sollie nodds in agreement.
I crane my head back as if to look at the ceiling and begin to rotate my head, eyes closed, feeling the gravel in my neck and spine grate bone to bone as I try to relax. I feel Sollie’s hand go into the fly in my silk pajamas and slip inside. I looked down at her and lightly grab her wrist to stop her. “Li’s already taken care of that,” I said. Rolling over on my side, I stretch out on Sollie’s bed. I am awake and know I won’t fall back asleep, but I am exhausted, the way I always feel after the dream. Sollie crouches at the end of the bed and begins to massage my feet. I close my eyes and give into the sensation she is sending up my sciatic nerve that culminates in a tingling sensation just behind my right ear. I roll onto my back and I feel her take my toes between her warm, moist lips, sucking my toes, pulling them between her lips as if they were tiny cocks. She runs her tongue between my toes and then licks up their lengths. She takes all five on each foot into her mouth at once and runs her tongue around each one. She then began to lick the entire foot with deliberate, long, tongue strokes. I raise my head and look down at her, her features softened by the glow of the candle, her face serene in her devotion to the worship of my feet. I lay back, closed my eyes and completely lose myself in her ministrations. She works on, sensually and methodically, into the night.
I wake, again, to light streaming through the high window of Sollie’s cell. I am in her bed, covered up, feeling snuggly warm. Slut is not tied to the cross any longer and I am quite alone in Sollie’s room. I throw back the covers and get to my feet, stretching broadly. I feel totally refreshed and alert, not totally unlike the mornings I awoke in the jungle a million years ago: Totally ready for any contingency. Briskly, I leave the room and head back to my quarters. Have to get a move on. Today, I’m to be a traveling man.
Chapter 3 – Changelings
Gently, Sollie tucks her master into her bed as the graying sky of morning was brightening her cell enough to see with out a light. Slut, tied to her cross is still sleeping the sleep of the dead. Sollie can see a ropy line of spittle falling from the corner of Slut’s mouth dribbling onto her left breast and this makes her smile. Picking a pair of soiled panties from the hamper next to her dresser, she retrieves a roll of duct tape from the bottom drawer. Moving silently to the sleeping form tied to the cross, she tears off half a foot and sticks it to the lower edge of the cross piece. She reaches out and pinches Slut’s nostrils causing her mouth to open and stuffs the balled up the panties deeply into Slut’s mouth and quickly secures her mouth with the tape.
Slut’s eyes flash open almost immediately wondering why this Filipino bitch would not leave her alone. The gag in her mouth did not allow for any noise to escape her. Solly moved close to her ear and spoke softly,
“Look in my bed.”
Slut did as she was told surprised to see the man she had met only the day before, the one who had sent her into hell with this bitch from hell who has seemingly worked her over the entire night. Just as quickly, she realizes that Mistress Sollie has not been working on her all night; she has been asleep standing tied to the cross. Her eyes go back to Mistress Solly. What surprised most is that that is exactly how she is thinking about this Asian woman: Mistress Sollie.
“Make one sound that wakes him up and your whole day will be irreversibly fucked up in the first 30 seconds you are awake.”
Slut thinks to herself that the day is already pretty much fucked up waking up tied to a cross, with a pair of panties taped in your mouth, wearing a chastity belt with a dildo up your ass and cunt wearing only what must be really nice bruises on her ass and tits being ordered around by what her brother (who’d done a tour in the Marines) would call a LBRPFM’s, which is short for Little Brown Rice Powered Fucking Machines. No, she thinks, days do not come any more fucked than this. “Understand?” Solly barks softly.
Slut nodded dumbly.
Taking a leash from a hook on the wall, Solly clipps it deftly to the collar around Slut’s neck and unties first her ankles and then her wrists. As she is lowered to the floor her shoulder joints make a loud popping sound. They are numb and leaden. Sollie gives Slut a hard look. “You know what position you are to be in when you are on the leash,” she hissed.
Slut dropped to all fours and is promptly and unceremoniously led out of the cell and into the morning light. Sollie keeps her moving at a rapid pace and Slut finds she can not keep up and quickly adjusts by coming up off her knees and onto the balls of her feet moving in a crab like fashion. Awkward as this was, she finds that she can now keep up with her Mistress. Abruptly, Sollie stops. Intent on keeping her balance, Slut does not realize this until the leash became taut and spills her on her face.
“Pay attention!” Sollie snaps. She grabs Slut’s collar and jerks her to her knees. Roughly, she rips the duct tape that covering her mouth and Slut can not stifle a cry and involuntarily a hand goes to her mouth to rub her lips. Her breath is coming in ragged gulps as she tries to catch her breath and spit the panties from her mouth. Slut has been in constant torment since leaving the study yesterday and Mistress Sollie has given her little respite since coming into her charge. The sleep she’d had on the cross had been poor, at best and fatigue was now her constant companion.
“We are now going into breakfast. I know you haven’t eaten since yesterday, but don’t bolt your food. Eat what you are given and don’t you dare ask for more. As a matter of principle, don’t talk at all. That is unless being tutored in manner is what you want from me, then, well, just piss me off.” Sollie gives Slut a sardonic and wryly sadistic smile at this while looking down at the wretched form of Slut, kneeling in the sandy grass with puffy eyes and raw knees, generally looking pitiful.
Slut thinks she wants to do more than just piss Mistress Solly off. She wants to grab a handful of hair and jerk her to the ground and give her a taste of her own medicine, but something tells her this was not even a remotely good idea. These thoughts, against her will, telegraph to her face. Sollie smiles, reached out and twists her left nipple cruelly saying, “You better think again. That good idea you are thinking right now may not be such a good idea in reality.” And Slut blushes bright red and tears began to course down her face. How in the name of fuck can she know what she is thinking?
Sollie turns and with hard tug on the leash, Slut begins to follow at a slower pace. They enter a building through a large doorway and she is led to a low bench before a long table and is given the order to stand. To her amazement, as she looks around the room, she is surprised to find the room filled with at least ten long tables and each has at least a dozen women standing just as she is. On the table before each place is a bowl of what can be best described as mush. A small bell rings and the women, in mass, sit in their respective places. Sollie has to give a small jab into Slut’s back to get her to follow suit. When she sits, the dildo from chastity device in her ass is noticeably uncomfortable and she is shocked to realize that her bodily needs are becoming pressing: She has to pee very badly. She sees that all the women have lowered their faces into the bowls and are eating. Sollie grabbed a handful of Slut’s hair and shoves her face into the bowl and she began to lap at the contents so as not to drown. Sollie says in a low voice “I’ll see you tomorrow, behave.” And she is gone. Slut does not see Mistress Solly for the next eighteen hours.
* * *
Slut is amazed that the contents of the bowl tastes delicious and she begins to eat greedily. She raises her eyes enough to see the girl across from her looking at her, her face and nose sticky and covered with the creamy mush.
“It’s breadfruit,” the girl whispers. No sooner than this is said, a hand pushes the girl’s face back into the bowl roughly.
“You want to eat or you at high tea this morning? Shoot the shit on your own time!”
Looking up, Slut sees a very large woman standing behind the girl holding her face in the bowl and then grabs a handful of hair and lifts her face from it bringing her to an upright position. The girl, her face now covered completely with her breakfast, opens her soft brown eyes and smiles softly at Slut.
“Thank you mistress for correcting this wayward bitch,” she says in an even voice. The woman only grunts and gives the girl’s head a shove. The girl only smils again and resumed eating.
She points a riding crop at Slut and barks, “Get your face back in that bowl if you know what’s good for you,” and then walks on.
Trying to take in as much of the scene as possible, Slut does not finish her meal before the small bell rings and once again, in unison, the women all rise. She can only look back at her unfinished meal and frown. The women deftly step back over the benches and reached their hands out to either side to clasp the hands of the women to either side. Slut did like wise. The women on her side of the table executed a left face, while those opposite performed a right face maneuver and the women file out two abreast for where Slut knows not.
* * *
Waking up in Sollie’s bed, I leisurely stretch out before leaving her cell and walk toward the beach rather than my quarters. Once on the beach, I contort my body with exercise to stretch out my leg and back muscles before I start out at an easy gait. Quickly tiring in the loose, dry sand, I ease down past the tide line on to the hard, wet packed sand and pick up the pace. I watch for my markers and in just over 13 minutes I punch out two and half miles thinking about nothing other than the blue in blue of the South China Sea off to my left. The hot, humid morning has me drenched in sweat and as I slow to a cooling walk, I can smell Sollie on me and that, perhaps, is also tinted with the smell of Slut.
Back at my quarters, I shower and change into a freshly pressed white Panama suit. Li has laid my clothes neatly out on the valet before the triple tailor’s mirrors and I can not help but admire the figure I cut. I am not a vain man, in the least, but I am amazed at how a tailored suit makes a man look. I think of Charles Laughton or Sidney Toler, the actor who played Charlie Chan and how good they always looked in a Panama suit, I never thought I would look so good. Knowing that Li has never seen a Charlie Chan movie or has any clue as to whom Charles Laughton might be, I am struck by her sense of style.
Just out the door my quarters, I found a jeep waiting on the cobblestone drive. In the driver’s seat is a young blonde woman and sitting in the rear seat is a dark, mysterious Hindu goddess. She is dressed in a cream silk blouse and dark A line skirt. The driver is naked save for a collar with a silver tag engraved ‘Cocksucker’. Not a word is spoken as I get into the front seat as the driver puts the jeep in gear and smoothly speeds out of the drive to the road leading toward the airfield. The trip takes less than 5 minutes even though the car never reaches a speed above 15 miles per hour. As the field comes into view, I can see the Gulfstream sitting on the tarmac as a lone figure completes a walk-around inspection as the tail strobe light flashes in the gathering sunlight of morning. I know instinctively that the inspector is Tommy Milkman, a bright, handsome lad, who you might mistake for preppy if it weren’t for his deep southern drawl, a true Son of Georgia. Tommy had learned to fly in the Air Force, flying lumbering cargo planes. He had longed to slip the surly bounds of Earth in the cockpit of an F-16, but had only qualified to fly the Military’s version of the Douglas DC-9, great training if your dream was to fly forever and ever for an airline, but that really sucked if you had the need for speed and Tommy had the need for speed very bad.
In the cockpit was J.D. McAlester. Mac had been my roommate at the Boat School, the Naval Academy, and captain of the crew team. He had been an Aerospace major, while I am a mere English major. He had dreamed of the sky since his childhood. From the time he was ten, every thought, every action was designed to get him into the cockpits of jets. And it had worked. F-4 Phantoms in Vietnam, almost becoming an ace and later he flew F-14A Tomcats. However, the Tomcat had bitten. In a training exercise, the immense weight of the aircraft over powered by a pair of Pratt and Whitney TF 30’s had managed to flat spin. By the time recovery of the aircraft had quit being an academic probability and had became a firm impossibility, the decision to eject had already been made by the Naval Flight Officer, a man who J.D. will only speak of by his call sign, Zippo. Coming out of the cockpit with the force and speed of a rocket strapped to their asses, the men were accelerated by ten gravities of thrust. Zippo’s body was never recovered while J.D.’s Martin-Baker ejection seat worked as advertised to float him into the Mediterranean Sea safely. He was cleared by the Board of Inquiry but, never the less, the injuries he suffered that day prevented him from ever sitting in the driver’s seat of a jet aircraft again, that is, until I bought him this Gulfstream, with a severe warning that eternity would be a nightmare of epic proportions if he killed me in the goddamn thing. Truth was, he was my best friend: If we died together, we’d toast the devil with his own scotch and spit in his eye.
Pulling along side the aircraft, Cocksucker brought the jeep to a smooth stop. I gave the driver’s left nipple a pinch and a tug and said with a smile, “Thank you, Cocksucker.”
“The pleasure is mine, Milord.” She says with a sweet smile, enjoying the manipulation of her nipple a little too much.
As the other passenger unloads my traveling case along with two suitcases of her own and lugs them toward the plane, I go strait over to Tommy waiting by the cargo hatch and exchange pleasantries as we wait for the girl to bring the luggage. Setting the three cases on the ground near the plane, she gracefully drops to her knees to bend forward to kiss Tommy’s shoes. I stifled a laugh as this is one of those things that is an embarrassment to Tommy and he can only look at me sheepishly.
“Get aboard,” I tell her and lightly touch her forehead as she rises to her feet.
“Where to Boss?” He is clearly relieved that the girl is leaving to board the aircraft.
“Hong Kong, Miss Singh has a date at an auction this evening at the Hilton and then we’re all going to get a massive steak and really drunk at Ned Kelly’s Last Stand on the Kowloon side. J.D.’s buying.”
“Does he know that?”
“Not yet,” I smiled, “you can break that part to him.”
And with that, I board the plane to take my seat.
Chapter 4 – An interlude between worlds
Tommy came through the cabin door after securing the fuselage compartments, folded the stairway and started to close the hatch behind him. Miss Singh came up behind him and lightly touched his arm. He turns and almost immediately the blush he had had outside on the tarmac was back. She can see it and his eyes, eyes that said he was a man unaccustomed to being in close proximity of such a beautiful woman, one that responds in a way that no woman in Tommy’s world ever responds. I watch as his Adams apple bobs in a very long swallow. She looks directly into his light blue eyes with her soft doe eyes.
“I will secure the door,” she says softly, so softly that in the distance between us, two seats, I can only make out the word door. Tommy slowly nods and turns and goes into the cockpit and gently closes the privacy curtain behind him. I imagine that he has sat down in the co-pilot’s chair rather quickly. Seeing him with a hard on would keep J.D. in stitches for months. Tommy does not care for the world on the other side of the island and I respect that. While he respects what it is I have built here and why I do it, it is something that he keeps a respectful distance from.
Miss Singh has been known for the last two years as Knob Bobber. Before that, she was known as Amahdee and twelve hours from now she will be known, as Linda, The Pretty One, for the rest of her life. She now stands at the door for a long time looking out taking in the scene and breathing in the warm, tropical air deeply. She makes no sound. The auxiliary power unit comes on line and the sound level rises noticeably and the cabin lights momentarily flicker. The unit begins to spool up as high pressure air makes it way to the compressor sections of the plane’s engines. At this, Miss Singh tugs on the tether to close the door and locks the handle in place. When she turns, she is crying. The sobs deep inside her chest are being restrained, but not very well. The tears, large and free flowing course down her cheeks streaking her makeup. Without looking at me, she takes her seat and buckles herself in. The jet turns at idle speed for about two minutes, taxies to the end of the runway, turns and accelerates in one fluid maneuver. Three minutes after engines start, we are in the air and “feet wet”, over the water. Miss Singh’s sobbing does not abate and her tears seem ceaseless.
I reached over and touch her arm. Her eyes meet mine. Her tears freshen.
“I cannot go, I am not ready,” she says.
“Yes,” I say simply. And with tears streaming unashamedly down her face, she laughs. A deep laugh, a normal, funny laugh, as if hearing a joke.
“Yes, I’m not ready or yes, I’m not?”
“Pick one,” I smile, “because what I think is of no import. It’s what you think that counts. Remember your first days here? Think about then, how badly you wanted this day to come.”
“First days? How about the better part of the first year! I wanted to be taught to be something other than me. How could I know that what I needed was to be taught to be treated like property? How would I know that I would love that? No, I don’t think I’m ready. I know I am not ready.” She said the last with conviction.
“You’re ready. Open the window shade and take a look.”
I touch the key to the intercom and bark “J.D., turn around. Give the island a flyby then do it again at 90 degrees.” I meant for it to sound like a request but it sounded more like an order.
He did just as I’d asked. We cruise the island about a mile off at just over a thousand feet up. I watch as Miss Singh cranes her neck to see the island come into view, watch it pass, and crane her neck again to see it pass behind us. After a long slow turn, the island comes into view again and she does the same again. Some time after it has passed from her view, forever, she closes the shade and turns to me. The tears are back and I soften.
“You can live your old life until we land.”
With that, she stands and slowly slides down the zipper of the skirt and lets it fall. She carefully unbuttons her blouse, removes it, and carefully folds her clothes so not to wrinkle them. She then unhooks her bra and slips from it and stands naked before me. She is not wearing any panties. From my jacket pocket, I take out a collar with a small silver tag that reads “Knob Bobber”. She kneels before me so that I can place it back on her neck and I am greeted with the sweetest smile I have ever seen.
* * *
Slut and the others silently leave the dining hall two abreast into the morning sunshine. The sound of an airplane draws her eyes skyward and she watches the small jet aircraft pass from left to right. She wanted to stop and watch it but when she slowed down the woman behind her ran into her and dropped her mentally back into reality. She knows it is the same plane that she had boarded in Honolulu, what, two, three days ago? She is dawdling and can tell the girl behind her is growing impatient with her as she is squeezing her hand sharply.
She fells like a schoolgirl again, walking in line with other girls, holding hands front to back, going to the lavatory in the library building at her elementary school, Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrow. As she looks as far up the line as she can, she sees that they all wear the same uniform. A lack of uniform actually, but uniform all the same. Each woman wears a polished black collar adorned with a silver tag and four inch black stiletto pumps. She is the only one different in the fact she is the only one wearing a chastity belt. This fact brings a new thought. Is this because she is new or is this because the belt signifies dunce?
She takes in her surroundings and is surprised at the campus like atmosphere. The courtyard is a quadrangle, surrounded by 6 buildings that she can see with an unknown number behind her and she dares not to turn to count buildings. Further, she cannot see anyone who appears to be in charge. They are crossing the quad two abreast, marching in step the only noise is the clicking of their heels reverberating off the surrounding buildings in unison. This made her remember Sister Rose, who, while strict, had made school somewhat fun. Sr. Rose had taught the girls to hum the theme song from the Adams’ Family Show” in their heads to help them stay in perfect step with a proud march. And just as suddenly she realized that tune was playing in her head and she was walking in perfect harmonious step with what she guessed to be fifty women.
The last two girls at the rear in each column suddenly dropped the hands of the girls in front and sprinted to the front of the formation to open and hold the doors of the building directly in front of them. The column of two marched directly into the building with out missing a beat, proud and strong. Just as the last of the women passed the portal, the door guards quickly closed the doors and the formation broke up in to a cacophony of sound as the formation dissolved and every one in the group relaxed.
Slut stands there in disbelief as the women begin to chat, sit on the floor and take off their stilettos and massage their feet and calves. The girl next to her, who is still wearing the breadfruit mush on her face, points at Slut’s chastity belt and says “Want some help getting that thing off?”
“I don’t know if I’m allowed.” She says dumbfounded.
The girl just smiles. “Yes, you are. It’s bath time and for the next six hours nobody will tell you what to do….” She trails off and reaches for the silver tag on Slut’s collar and reads the inscription. “…Slut,” she finishes. “This is our time and my name is Allpussy.” She sticks out her hand and with a growing smile shakes Slut’s hand.
She then spins Slut around and begins to work on the buckles of the chastity belt.
“So, you got orientation from Sollie? Oh, I know that because she has her initials
tooled into this thing. I hate this fucking thing.”
As the strap that runs between her legs falls forward, it relieves the pressure on the dildos that impale her. Allpussy reaches around from behind and plucks the dildo from her pussy and holds it up before her face. It is made from polished ebony wood and despite of the fact she has probably worn it for over eight hours, it glistens with moisture from her cunt. Allpussy leans close to her ear to speak to her in a low tone of voice.
“If one of these comes out of any of your holes in Mistress Sollie’s presence, you’d best take it in that pretty little mouth of yours and lick clean as Buddha’s cock. She loves to see them worshipped.” Allpussy then brushes the wooden cock across Slut’s lips. Slut gets the idea and opens her lips and takes the object into her mouth and begins to lovingly clean it. Before she could get fully into the act, Allpussy spins her around again and pulls her close so that they are cunt to cunt. The chastity belt drops to the floor, and reaches around and pulls the second dildo from Slut’s ass. Holding it next their faces, Slut turns to look at it. Allpussy says, “This one too!” Before Slut can do anything, Allpussy tosses the dildo from her ass over her shoulder and wraps her arms around Slut’s neck in an intimate embrace. “Give me a kiss,” she smiles, “I just saved you from a future ass whipping, though you might get one anyway for already knowing what to do. She’s pretty anal retentive that way.” With that, she pulls Slut into a deep, deep kiss.
Abruptly, Allpussy breaks the kiss and takes Sluts hand pull her into a short tiled hallway ending at a wall that seemingly goes nowhere. Just before the end, however, she sees two openings on each side that open into a larger cavernous room with whirlpool baths dotting the tiled deck and beyond those, an Olympic sized swimming pool. On the other side of the pool there are row upon row of massage tables, some already being used as slave girl works on slave girl while in the whirlpools, slave bathes slave. Two slave girls approach them each takes Slut and Allpussy in different directions. Slut reads the tag that tells her new companions name is Fuckface and she is leading her toward one of the baths. Gently, she assists her into the warm, bubbling water, places her head in the cushioned notch at the end and drapes her hair behind her.
Not a word is spoken as Fuckface picks up a brush and starts to brush out Slut’s hair, gently, lovingly. Slut raises her eyes and tilts her head to look at the girl, upside down. The face is serene, as if this girl were lost in a fantasy, perhaps brushing the hair of some long forgotten doll. Slut breaks the silence.
“What’s your name?”
“Fuckface,” the girl says touching her tag.
“No, I mean your real name.”
The girl lets out a small sigh and then the hint of a smile sneaks onto the corners of her lips. “Slut,” she says, “that is my real name. Whatever you called your self before, whatever I called myself before, well, those people don’t exist anymore. I mean, did you really like the person you were before? If that person is still in you and still has a name, I don’t want to know it. If you were happy before you got this name, then, why are you here?”
She wanted to say to get a story, but, she didn’t. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t know what to say. Certainly, she was surprised. Malestrom had told her everyone here in training was here of their own free will. Hell, she’d had been forced to ask, no beg, for the privilege to entering this compound. However, compound didn’t sound right. After all, there were no fences, no guard towers and she hadn’t even seen a lock on a single door.
She needed to think on this, just like she would need to think about the similarities she was beginning to feel with her younger days at Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows, remembering the nuns, the order, the discipline and the symmetry.
What surprised her most, however, was the peace of acceptance she was beginning to feel. At first, she had thought perhaps that too much was happening too quickly and then she thought that that wasn’t it, either. It was getting a story. Originally, she thought she could and she would endure anything for a story. And then the truth finally comes to her: The story is getting her. She looks back at Fuckface. “Thank you.” She says simply and closes her eyes. In Manhattan, a spa day of this magnitude would run close to a thousand bucks. She decides to just enjoy it and worry about tomorrow tomorrow.