Escape from Dominatrix Island

Suddenly the lead guard's leather paddle smacked loudly on one cheek of my ass. Caught by surprise, I cried out in pain. She then suddenly pulled my thong down to my ankles. Her assistant firmly cracked me on the chest with her riding crop and I instinctively stepped backwards. I stumbled, my thong down at my feet causing me to trip.

Although I was able to break my fall, I then lay on my back on the wet stone floor. The lead guard firmly planted one of her boots on my chest and slowly ground in the spiked heel. I squirmed at the pain, which only made it worse.

I reached for her foot, in an attempt to remove her boot from my chest, but then I heard her assistant say,

"No, no, no," in a mocking tone, and felt the cool smooth sole of her boot pressing lightly against my scrotum. Afraid to move, I froze.

"Teacher's pet," said the lead guard in her heavy accent with a condescending tone. Then the two women spoke to me in low voices. I couldn't understand a bit of their language, but I interpreted their words as threats.

They pulled me to my feet and forced me into a dark chamber off the corridor. One of the guards switched on a dim overhead light. There were chains anchored to the wall with cuffs on the ends. They jammed me face first against the wall and secured me with the metal cuffs.

The lead guard began to spank me heavily with her paddle, and I panicked when I heard her assistant close the heavy wooden door. The second guard stood at my other side. The lead guard would smack one cheek of my ass with her paddle while the second guard whipped my other butt cheek with her riding crop.

I struggled against the chains and begged them to be released. Even if they didn't understand anything I was saying, the tone of my voice would have made my message clear.

All of a sudden the door was flung open. I was relieved. Saved by Loredana or one of her elite guards. I looked over my shoulder and was terrified to see another guard dressed in black leather, a single silver stripe on one sleeve of her jacket.

I feared that she had come to join Sorina and Elena's party, but she spoke to them with a sense of urgency. They wasted no time unshackling me and pushing me out into the corridor. The lowest ranking guard, the one who used the riding crop, picked my thong up off the floor and tossed it towards an open window before the three of them walked quickly away down the corridor.

Wiping my eyes on my forearm as I walked to the window, I saw that in a rare stroke of luck, my thong had gotten hung up on the window ledge instead of falling several stories into the garden below. It was cold and wet from having been on the freshly mopped floor.

The elite guard that had been standing watch in the corridor walked around the corner and saw me pulling on my thong. She came over and inspected my buttocks, which I'm sure was bright red, possibly covered with bruises or welts, and shook her head in disappointment.

Later as I was returning to my quarters, Stanimira was coming down the stairs. She told me that some honored guests would be coming to the island in a few days. They would be staying for about a week and during that time I would be confined to my quarters.

"They are important men with money. Staying here is like a fantasy camp for them," she said.

"Maybe one of them can take me off the island," I suggested.

"These men, they are very private," she explained. "Loredana may consider your release, but not at this time. Consider yourself lucky that while confined to your quarters, the other women will be entertaining our guests in the dungeons, and have no time to bother you."

My room was on the level below Loredana's suite. It was sparsely furnished but had a comfortable bed. There was an old fashioned toilet behind a partition and a sink on the wall that had only a cold water tap. A few other rooms like mine were on a small corridor, and shared an open shower stall at the end. At this time, I was the only one living in this private area. I suppose I was the teacher's pet after all.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that a few gifts had been left for me on the small table in my room. A nearly empty bottle of cognac, a foreign brand I had never heard of. Cognac was the only word on the label that I could understand. There was also a thick cigar, the end freshly clipped, along with a disposable lighter and small metal ash tray. These may have been left for me by Loredana, consolation for the rough day I'd had.

A large bowl of cold gruel was also here, the evening meal, which I wasn't interested in right away. After removing my uncomfortable thong, I took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my body like a robe or toga. A sip of cognac from the bottle went down smoothly and I enjoyed the warmth of the strong alcohol as it went down my throat. Then I puffed on the cigar until it was properly lit.

. . . .

Before I was on the island I worked for a powerful man. An underworld figure, you might say, and he ran a large operation that I won't elaborate on. There was a lot of corruption within his organization. Opportunities for employees to run their own hustles on the side, or skim a bit of the profits. I was one of those who took advantage of my position. One of many, I might add, and I thought it went unnoticed, or was at least accepted within reason.

I was with a group of employees that had been invited by our boss to go on a cruise on his yacht. There was plenty of good booze on board, as well a number of pretty ladies that were available for our pleasure.

An old friend was on board as well. For his own protection I won't mention his name, but we had been friends since grade school, and fell in with that certain criminal operation at the same time. My friend was smart, but had no ambition when it came to getting promoted. As I moved up in the ranks, over the years we saw less and less of each other. I was thrilled to find out he was working as a crewman on the yacht. There would be plenty of time to catch up on things and laugh about the old times.

To my surprise, on that cruise he was always preoccupied with his work and we had almost no time to socialize. It was a few days into the voyage when he waved me off to a private corner and gave me some news.

It seems that my employer was unhappy with me and the other guests on his yacht. The pleasure cruise was a trick to get us isolated, with our guard let down. Our boss planned to kill those who had stolen from him, or wronged him in other ways. My friend wasn't sure if our bodies would be dumped at sea and some phony accident reported, but those details didn't matter.

I thanked him for taking the risk to tell me the bad news. Though I tried to be stoic, inside I was panicked. The yacht had been out of sight of land for over a day. No escape seemed possible. I drank heavier than usual that night.

I'd been having a pretty young Asian lady share my bed for most of the cruise. She didn't stir when I woke at about five in the morning and had to vomit. After washing up a bit in my cabin's tiny bathroom, I knew I was still too panicked to fall back to sleep. I pulled on some sweatpants and a bathrobe, and restlessly wandered the outside decks.

At the stern there was a hot tub, a bar, and plenty of seating. The area was vacant now, and I walked over behind the bar to grab a bottle. Any one of them would do.

Suddenly, to one side of the yacht and off in the distance, I saw a bright yellow light. It flashed twice and there was a long pause before it flashed twice again, and so the pattern repeated. A lighthouse! Far to one side of that beacon, I could barely make out some dim white lights. Houses, streetlights, I didn't know, but it was dry land and not far away.

Setting the bottle of liquor back on the bar, I quickly moved to the very back of the boat. A jet ski was parked there on a launch ramp. During the day, younger men often rode on it behind the yacht, jumping the wake to impress the ladies. It was too far to swim to that lighthouse, so I would use the jet ski to make my escape.

Launching the watercraft was clumsy, and I nearly fell into the churning wake behind the yacht. I waited until it pulled away before daring to start the engine, concerned that someone else might be wandering the decks and hear the noise.

It had been years since I had ridden one those machines and I rolled groggily in the waves until I could figure out how to start the engine. I was horrified to see that the fuel gauge showed the tank was nearly empty. I nudged the throttle and turned towards the lighthouse.

Running at a modest speed in hopes of conserving fuel, it seemed to take forever to get towards land. I realized that in my haste to make an escape I had forgotten to pull on a life jacket, even though there had been several hanging near the launch ramp. A gas can was probably close by in a locker and I cursed myself for not taking just a minute to think my escape plan through before shoving off.

As I got closer to land, I saw that the lighthouse was located quite a ways off from the white lights, which I assumed were houses or buildings, and I veered off towards them. The early morning was still dark with clouds and it was difficult to make out much detail of the shoreline, which appeared to be nothing but high rocky cliffs.

The gas gauge was hovering over the empty mark and the waves grew more intense as I neared land. I was scanning the base of the cliffs for any sign of a beach or any place to land safely when the jet ski hit something on the bottom, nearly throwing me over the handlebars.

In the dim morning light I saw the tops of jagged rocks momentarily exposed when the waves subsided. Too far from shore to swim in the surf and the rocks, I desperately tried to get the watercraft turned around and back out to deeper water. I was successful after smashing the bottom of the machine into a few more rocks, which made awful grinding sounds on the fiberglass hull.

Running parallel to land, in what I thought was safe water, the engine coughed a few times but kept running. The gas gauge was below the empty mark, but what concerned me even more was that the jet ski seemed to be riding lower in the water, wallowing any time I tried to steer and avoid the main force of the waves.

I thought I noticed a break in the cliffs. It might be a path to the top or perhaps a dry waterfall, and I spotted what looked like a thin strip of shoreline at the base of the cliffs. I turned in towards land, the jet ski nearly rolling over on its side. The engine coughed once but sprang to life as I punched the throttle.

There was a hint of sunlight now, and I managed to dodge some underwater rocks. I blasted the little electric horn. If anyone was up on the cliffs I wanted them to know I was approaching, just in case there was no way for me to climb up from the shore. Leaning back as far as I could to keep the nose of the sinking watercraft out of the water, the engine sputtered badly, and suddenly I was flung off the machine and into the churning surf.

Dazed, disoriented, I surfaced and a wave crashed into my face as I tried to take a breath. The jet ski was nowhere to be seen. I'm sure I had smashed the bottom on another underwater rock and that was the final blow that caused it to sink.

Fighting off panic, I was able to orient myself and start swimming towards shore. Several times my body was tossed by the waves into jagged underwater rocks. When at last my feet could touch the bottom, I was farther out from shore than I would have expected.

I cursed myself for not having worn shoes as I tried to walk carefully on the rocky bottom, waves periodically knocking me off my feet. It felt like I walked miles before I painfully stepped onto the shore, which was a narrow strip of small sharp rocks at the base of the cliffs.

Sitting down on a large boulder to rest, I realized that at one time it had fallen down from the rocky face above. Another boulder could fall at any time, but I didn't care. There were bloody cuts and gashes on my arms and legs from being slammed against the underwater rocks. My feet were sore and lightly bleeding from numerous small cuts.

I pulled off my soggy wet bathrobe. Using a sharp edge of the boulder, I was able to cut through the hem of the robe and tear it into wide strips, and I used those to wrap my injured feet. Improvised bandages, but also protection against the rocks, as it looked like I would be walking the rocky shoreline, after I rested for a while.

Later as I slowly picked my way along the narrow shore, I hoped that I was heading in the right direction towards that gap in the cliffs that I had seen from out on the water. Up close, all I could see was the nearly vertical rock face in both directions.

Then I spotted three people approaching along the shore. From the way they were dressed I assumed they were a security patrol of some kind. Most surprisingly, all three were women.

They wore what looked like leather motorcycle jackets. Two of them wore black jackets, while the third woman's was a shiny silver metallic that gleamed brightly under the sun. All of them wore black leather shorts, and black rubber knee high boots with flat heels, like a horseman might wear.

The woman in silver was out in front, middle aged, the oldest of the trio, her long dark hair pulled back in a thick ponytail, appeared to be the leader and had three black stripes on one sleeve of her jacket. She held up one hand as if to command me to stop walking towards them, and called out to me in a language that I didn't understand. I tried to speak to them but they didn't understand me.

The woman in charge pulled a pistol from a holster on her belt. It looked like a Russian made Makarov. I had no use in my job for guns but most of my coworkers carried them. A few were gun fanatics and I know that they had an interest in Makarov pistols at one time. I stopped walking towards them and held up my hands.

The group of ladies stood a comfortable distance away from me. After the woman in charge had tried to talk to me in what I think were several different languages, none of which I understood, she removed a large walkie talkie from her belt with her free hand. It looked like a piece of military equipment, several decades old. I assumed she was reporting in to someone. What sounded like a female voice responded and they conversed for only a short time.

Clipping the walkie talkie back on her belt, she gave orders to the two other women. They approached me. One was a blonde, and the other had auburn hair. Each had a single stripe of silver on the sleeves of their jackets. They were both attractive enough but had a cold and aloof attitude.

They roughly removed the remains of my torn bathrobe, checked the pockets of my sweatpants and patted me down like police officers might do. One of the ladies took a pair of shiny handcuffs which had been hanging on her belt, and she cuffed my hands in front of me. She said a word I didn't understand and pulled me towards a small boulder a few steps away. I assumed she wanted me to sit down on it, so I did.

Satisfied that I was detained for the moment, the woman in charge holstered her pistol but remained at a distance. The two other women stood closer to me. One pulled a pack of cigarettes, looked like some foreign brand, from a pocket of her jacket. She handed one to her coworker and took one for herself. After they both lit their cigarettes, as the one lady was ready to put the pack away she turned to look at me, holding up the pack of smokes as if to offer me one. I only smoke on occasion, but it seemed like we would be waiting there for a little bit so I nodded yes.

She handed me the cigarette from her lips and then lit a fresh smoke for herself. That would be the only gesture of kindness that I would receive from the ladies who dressed all in black.

We waited there for what seemed like a long time, the woman in charge periodically speaking with someone on her walkie talkie. They all spoke with a heavy accent which to me sounded eastern European, although I thought they might be Russians since the one lady carried a Makarov pistol.

Then a second patrol showed up. Another group of three women, but they came from the same direction that I had. As with the original three I had met, there were two younger women dressed all in black leather. An older woman who wore her brown hair loose down past her shoulders, had a jacket of silver leather, but she only had two stripes on the sleeve. She also wore a Makarov pistol and two-way radio on her belt.

The two women in silver spoke quietly for a while. The new ladies in black leather eyed me with suspicion. The second woman in the silver jacket spoke to me, probably in a few languages.

"I can't understand you," I said with disgust.

"You understand now?" she suddenly asked in English. "How many others with you?" she demanded to know.

"I'm alone," I told her, though she didn't seem to believe me.

"No other comrades? Amigos? Companions?" she asked with an accusing tone.

"I rode here from a yacht, on a jet ski. It crashed on the rocks," I explained

The two women in charge conferred in their foreign language. The ladies in black leather, who had been casually smoking cigarettes now backed away from me slightly, suddenly now on guard.

"This jet, ski. It is small vessel?" the woman who spoke English asked with a tone of suspicion. The other leader had walked a few steps away and was radioing to someone on her walkie talkie.

"The jet ski, it's a," I stuttered and tried to think of words she would understand. "It's a small watercraft. You ride it like a motorcycle. Like a motorbike," I held up my cuffed wrists and hands as if they were on handlebars.

After the women in silver conferred with each other, they spoke to their assistants who then tossed down their cigarettes and circled around me.

"We see no wreckage of your craft," the women told me with hostility. "You come with us."

I was taken along the narrow shoreline in the direction I had been heading. One of the ladies with a silver jacket took the lead, while the second one brought up the rear. I was in the center of the group and surrounded by the women in black leather. While I'm sure they could see that my feet were injured, they hustled me along at a brisk pace.

We eventually reached a gap between the two cliffs. It may have been the same one that I saw when riding in towards the shore. Here, a wide channel wound its way down from above, with a small stream of water splashing through it. On one side of the channel, there was a steep and narrow trail, sometimes with steps cut into the rocks.

As we made our way up the trail in single file, I had a nice view of one young lady's ass, seemingly molded with perfection into her tight black leather shorts. Although the women gave the impression of a military operation, the clothing that they wore, it seemed to have a fetish quality about it. A dominatrix look. I know that some men are really turned on by that fantasy but it never did anything for me.

Regardless of who these women were, I was hoping they could get me to an airport, or some transportation that could get me to an airport. I could make a few phone calls, get some money wired, and buy a plane ticket to get back home. Of course I would still be on bad terms with my employer, but once home I could pack up some things, get some money out of the bank, and lay low for a while. There was the chance that I might have to live the rest of my life in obscurity, hiding out from the organization I worked for, but I was hopeful that wouldn't happen.

At the top of the cliff, what looked like a medieval castle or old stone fortress loomed above us. We entered through a dimly lit tunnel, where the stone ceiling arched high overhead, and I was taken to a room that seemed to be their medical infirmary, though all the equipment looked really old.