Outside, beyond the confines of the house, the waves crashed against the shoreline. To reach the island, as I learned later, you had to guide your boat carefully into the one harbor where access was possible. That was one reason why the island wound up in the hands of one man; it had been regarded as useless, uninhabitable, until he found the one place where a boat might safely moor. Then, using his own money, after buying the island from a speculator, he widened the access point just enough so that his own craft could slip ashore, guided by his own experienced hands. Now I myself was below the level of the sea beyond, down in a basement. It was hewn from the hard rock that composed the island. The weight of the house stood above me, around me, imprisoning me in its depths. And within this sanctuary from the sea, I stood stark naked. I flicked the whip I held against my aunt’s nude, agonized bottom. She ran with panting breaths upon the treadmill, shrieking at every mark I made upon her fanny. I painted her bottom a cruel red with the whip’s sharp tail. Beyond, bouncing on the bench where my boyfriend lay, could be seen the twin lovely white bottoms of Chrissy and Pauline. Chrissy’s faced me directly. Pauline’s could be seen with a glance at a cleverly placed mirror. Both women huffed and puffed as they used my boyfriend to bring themselves to orgasm. His tongue pierced Pauline deeply in her cunt. His penis, rock hard as the walls which enclosed us, thrust much more deeply into the cunny of Chrissy. Both women’s long hair bounced and tumbled on their shoulders and backs as they worked themselves into a frenzy upon my boyfriend’s jutting organ and tongue. I wanted to rescue Brad, he seemed so used by the women, as if he were just an object. I wanted to run over to where they were sitting on him, using him like some obscene bench, equipped for their pleasure, and use my whip on their fannies. But I could not. John, the man who bought and built this island, watched my every move. With his dark hands he regulated the tempo at which my aunt had to run. He adjusted the treadmill’s speed, making her run faster or slower. He called out to me to whip her when he felt I was dawdling. And if he felt I was whipping her too quickly, not giving her time to savor each stroke as I applied it, he commanded me to slow down. Steve watched his wife fuck my boyfriend. He frisked his long penis, hating seeing her pleasure herself on another man, and yet excited by it. Perhaps that’s why they’d chosen to come, to test themselves. To test their love for each other by participating in a party where everyone had to fuck everyone else. “Mmmmfff!” my aunt begged over the bit that was jammed into her mouth. I couldn’t make out what she was saying. John, however, apparently could, for he replied, “You will be permitted to get off the treadmill, white girl, when you have filled up this bag with pee.” A long plastic catheter ran from a bag lying on a table up between my aunt’s legs. It penetrated her urethra and trailed all the way up into her bladder. There, a small inflated bag of air kept it in place inside her bladder, while permitting an open-mouthed tube to receive her pee and communicate it down the long catheter into the receptacle bag on the table. It was a bag just like one wears after surgery, except my aunt had needed no surgery. John had thrust the bag up between her healthy young legs to add to her torture. I watched with horrified eyes as my aunt, her bottom flayed, suddenly released a stream of yellow urine down the clear plastic tube and deposited it on the table. It sloshed in the yellow bag lying on the table, rocked by the rhythym of her running legs. Rebecca looked down at the contents of her bladder, now displayed for all to see upon the table. Her bare bosoms jostled on her chest. Her flat tummy drew in with fright. Her ribs stuck out along her sides, looking succulent, as if she might be barbecued. We would eat her after her run, savoring the bits of flesh that clung to her well-cooked ribs. I shivered. I was a prisoner, and yet I was tasked with tormenting my aunt. I let the whip fly again, hurting her bottom, making her shriek. I was getting the hang of it. I could make the whip strike her fanny while avoiding her thighs, leaving them unmarked so we could enjoy their tanned beauty, even as I turned her poor bottom into a mass of red-ribboned welts. Her back, too I managed to avoid, concentrating solely on her ass. It was so soft, so tender and lovely, the skin white where I had not struck it (hardly anyplace now). The bottom was the seat of a female’s beauty, I thought. While the back and the legs might go uncovered, the bottom remained covered always, except for a lover. Then it was revealed and, like the cunt, given over to the lover for his own private pleasure. Now, though, my poor aunt had been deprived of her privacy in that special place. Her cunt was visibly moist and John, guiding her steps, could peer at it between her running legs with abandon. And her bottom was at my mercy. I was no better off. I was nude, like my aunt. I wore a dog collar around my neck and, incongrously, a short bib also, with Tweety Bird on it. The bib though was too little to cover my bosoms, which hung freely beneath it, the perkiness of my nipples showing my excitment and easily seen by anyone. My tummy stretched between my breasts and my cunt, tight and scared. My legs stood slightly apart, showing my pussy. Behind me, my bottom huddled against the chill of the room, shivering with the prospect of being whipped by my aunt. John had promised that I would whip her, and then she would whip me. “Oooh! I have to go to the bathroom too!” I told John. My voice felt abject. I disliked having to tell him my needs, but I’d drank too much at dinner and now I could feel it sloshing around in my tummy whenever I swung the whip. I put my hand to my pussy. John looked past my aunt and regarded me. “There is no toilet down here,” he told me. “But I have a second bag,” he said. He lifted up an empty bag and showed it to me. “As soon as she’s finished, I’ll put you on the treadmill. I’ll thread the bag up between your legs and you can pee while you’re running, just like she is.” I trembled. I rubbed my cunt briskly with my fingers. “Oooooh! I don’t want to pee into that awful bag!” I told John. And I could hear Pauline’s voice, inside my head, in response, though in reality she was swooning at this moment upon my boyfriend’s face, and incapable of speech: “That’s the purpose of our party. To try new things, to challenge ourselves.” But I still didn’t want to wear a wicked bag, and have to pee in it. “Whip your aunt,” John ordered me. “Give her another stroke, or it’ll be worse for you when it’s your turn.” “Oh, noooo!” I cried. My voice was sorrowful. But I let the whip sing across my aunt’s fanny again, scoring her anew. She shouted, she ran with quick steps. She wanted to reach back and protect herself with her hands, but they were cruelly bound above her head with leather restraints. No other man, not even my boyfriend, could have put me in this predicament, I told myself. But John was black, huge, with a 12-inch-penis. He had rippling muscles and implacable dark eyes. What he commanded, he got. And in his case, he loved nothing more than finding white girls like me and my aunt and making us be his slaves. Technically, it was still just a party. We were celebrating ourselves and each other. We were here by choice. But in reality, there was no way to leave. Not without John’s permission. We were here for the duration, until he got bored with us. Only he could guide us back home on his boat. Only he could command with authority the dogs who roamed the island. We would do his bidding for several days yet, suffering or not, as he chose. He would judge our performance and punish or reward us according to how well we obeyed. “Whip harder!” Pauline called gleefully from across the room. She was in the throes of ecstacy now. She bounced on my boyfriend’s face and watched me with half-lidded eyes. Chrissy, her ass facing me, even deigned to give me orders. “Yes, harder!” Chrissy cried with delight. She shrieked as my boyfriend’s penis, thrusting up inside her, took her over the edge. They were wanton, Pauline and Chrissy. They were brazen with lust and loving every tortuous thing they could do to my poor boyfriend. They clutched at him with their legs. They worked their hips upon him as if he were some exercise machine, like the other machines down here, built to order, made to fuck. Steve, watching, loosed his sperm suddenly, spewing it into Pauline’s hair. She turned. She grabbed at his cock with her open mouth. She caught his big thing between her teeth, and sucked on him, biting him and making him wince. He groaned. My boyfriend, both women sitting on him, called out some obscene phrase. Then, with a shudder, he fired his sperm up into Chrissy’s womb. I couldn’t see it directly but the lewd woman called out to all of us that Brad was fucking her. “Oooh! He’s giving it to me! He’s sperming me!” Chrissy’s high-pitched voice cried with frantic delight. Pauline, hearing it, jammed her crotch down more fully on Brad’s face. It was as if she, seeing her friend getting spermed between her legs by Brad’s cock, expected him to perform the same jetting feat with his tongue. In the event it was Steve who spermed her, filling her mouth with his seed as my boyfriend’s tongue wedged deeply into her cunt. “Oh! I have to pee!” I said insistently to John. I rubbed my fleecy cunt harder. I did have to go, but I wanted to cum too, and I hoped I could use the cover of needing to pee to masturbate myself to my own orgasm. My aunt, her arms strung up above her head, ran with a frantic motion. I supposed she too wished she could frig herself, make herself cum, in unison with the others. John, casually stroking his cock, suddenly spurted cum all over my aunt’s belly. “Ahhh, that’s better,” John remarked to himself. My aunt looked down at herself and the mess he’d made. “What’s the matter, bitch? Don’t you like having a black man’s sperm on you?” John asked. He laughed. “I should have made you get off the treadmill and pumped it up between your legs.” “We don’t want any nigger’s sperm,” I told John. He glared at me. “You’ll get more than a cuntfull of sperm from me, little girl,” he said. “I’m too young. And your penis is too big, nigger,” I said to him. It was true, too. I was only 13 and he was, like, over 20, too old for me even to count. I could count the numbers, of course, any girl could do that, but I had no idea what it was really like to be that old. Fourteen seemed a long ways off to me. I wouldn’t be that age until December. Twenty, or however much over 20 John was, seemed an impossible age to understand. It didn’t stop him from glaring at me, though, knowing I was still little and probably couldn’t take him up between my legs even if I’d wanted to. “Just wait, bitch,” John said to me. He finished rubbing himself and spurting his sperm all over my aunt’s belly. White stuff dripped down between her legs and drooled off her crotch, as if she herself were a man, but it was all John’s sperm that now dripped down between her running legs on to the moving treadmill. “Ahhh,” Chrissy said, across the room, receiving the last thrusts of my boyfriend’s cock. Pauline sighed with delight. “God, that felt good,” Steve admitted. He pumped himself into Pauline’s lips, savoring the chance to rid himself of his load of sperm. We’d played for so long. At last some of us were getting what we’d cum for. Except me, of course, and my poor aunt, running on the treadmill. I rubbed my slit with increasing urgency. I had to pee, but I needed something else too. I wasn’t sure how I’d get it now, with all three men having just spent themselves, but it didn’t stop me from trying anyway. “You’re just a big, black nigger!” I told John. I looked at him with a frankness that spoke volumes. I didn’t just want to tease anymore. I wanted to be taken. I was desperate for him to jump on me and grab me and do to me what my boyfriend had just been forced to do to Pauline and Chrissy. “That’s it!” John swore. He let go of his cock and grabbed the slender catheter that ran up between my aunt’s legs. He turned off the treadmill. My aunt gasped and clung to the bar over her head. The treadmill slowed, stopped. My aunt panted with relief. As I watched, mesmeraized, John carefully removed the catheter from my aunt’s body. He pinched it off with a plastic clip so that her pee, collected in the bag on the table, wouldn’t run out onto the floor. Then he stood up. He unfastened my aunt’s hands. With a whoosh of relief my aunt collapsed over the front of the treadmill, where the controls for it lay. The treadmill started again, by accident, but it trundled along at a slow speed, and she walked on it, breathing deep and hard as her body recovered from its exertion. “EEEEEk!” I yelled. John, checking that my aunt was okay, turned to me. “No! I’m sorry!” I cried. He darted at me. I swung my whip at him, but it was like trying to defend yourself with a whip against a charging rhinosaurus. The whip bit his shoulder. He ignored it. A moment later he’d scooped me up off the floor and was glaring into my eyes as I wiggled in his arms. Like a dolt, I dropped the whip, leaving myself defenseless. “Now I have you, white girl,” John said to me. “Oook! I’m very, very sorry I called you a nigger, sir,” I said to him in all honesty. He glanced at my bare bosoms, wobbling like stiff-nippled jello on my chest. “Chloe, I’m going to set you down on the floor and I’m going to put a catheter up between your legs, just like I did to your aunt,” John said to me. His voice was surprisingly gently. I felt the steel of his muscled arms cradling me and suddenly wanted very much to comply. “Yes, sir,” I said. I shivered. “Must you whip me too?” “A little,” John said, again amazing me with how gentle his voice was. “But just on your bottom.” “Okay,” I said. My assent came out all lispy, as if this was, in fact, what I’d been waiting for, but was too scared to admit to myself. John set me down on my bare feet. Openly he admired my small, nude 13-year-old body. “I really do have to go to the bathroom,” I told him, wiggling my hips. “I know,” John said. “Let me get the catheter and run it up between your legs and then you can pee all you want.” He drew me over to the treadmill. My aunt stepped down off it. Her face was flushed. Her bottom was even redder than her face and she clutched at it ruefully. She gazed at me, accusingly, but too weary to say anything. I gulped. I averted my eyes from hers. John reached over to the table where a fresh bag waited and picked up the coil of a catheter that was attached to it. He unravelled the tubing. Then he greased the end of it with lubricant and, turning to me, cradled me where I stood with an arm placed around my hips. I felt wanted, needed. I put a finger in my mouth and contemplated the catheter. Its tip was shiny with oil. “Now I must put this up you,” John told me. Our eyes met. I smiled, slightly. I sucked hard on my finger. He pushed the catheter up between my legs. “Ooohh! It hoits!” I cried. “Shhhh, it just feels uncomfortable,” John told me. Then, wickedly, he drew the end of the catheter back out of me. “I’d love to fuck your pee hole with this,” he said. “Oh, don’t!” I gasped. “Yes, I’ll put it in and out,” John said. “Watch. I can make you pee in the bag the minute I slide the catheter up and breach your bladder. And, when I pull the cath back down, the spincter at the base of your bladder will close, automatically. Unless you will yourself to keep peeing, of course, or can’t bring yourself to stop.” “EEEchchch!” I said, gritting my teeth, for already he was introducing the catheter into me again, sliding its lubed tip up, my aunt giggling now, watching me from behind, savoring the sight of my white bare huddling ass cheeks, soon to be whipped by her own hand. Up, up, up went the catheter, sliding up between my legs like some narrow male penis. At last I felt the wicked thing poke into my bladder. My pee immediately began racing from my bladder down the tubing, along its length and into the bag on the table. John pulled the catheter down. I fought to restrain myself and my pee stopped. “Yes. Now up again,” John said. But instead he pulled the catheter down. He removed it from me. Impulsively he kissed my pussy with his lips. His big, broad-lipped mouth sucked upon the lips of my slit with animal relish. “God, you have such a small, tight little hole,” John murmured. I could control myself no more. John’s tickling lips sent me over the edge. The pee I’d fought so hard to retain suddenly burst from between my legs. “Oh! I’m peeing on you!” I confessed in a frantic voice to John. He hardly needed to hear me say it. My yellow urine spouted out onto his face, drenching him. I thrust my fingers between my legs, trying to stop it, yet in the end spreading my cunt with relief so I could pee it all out on his face, reluctant though I was to do so. “I’m sorry, nigger,” I said to him. Then, gasping, I added, “Ooops! I didn’t mean to call you a nigger.” John froze between my legs. It was like, he hated what I was doing to him, and he was shocked, but at the same time he was also perversely delighted. He let my pee run down over his swarthy, handsome features. For a moment his lips held firm to my cunt. Then he began kissing me again, even as I peed all over his big black face. You can imagine the sight of it: my white, thin, 13-year-old legs, forcibly separated by his big black head, and me wetting all over his slave-like face. John stood up. As he stood, strangely, he kissed my bare belly. One kiss, as if to thank me for what I’d done to him, before he had to re-assume his role of Master, and punish me for it. He rose like a giant over me and he looked down upon me. I lifted my eyes guiltily. “Chloe, I’m going to have to punish you for what you just did to me,” John said to me in his amazingly gentle voice. “Oh, please don’t,” I begged. “I can’t let you tell all your friends that you peed on me,” John said. “Oh, I won’t! Anyways all my friends are in America!” I said. “It’s a long ways from France to America!” John shook his head ‘no.’ “You’ll tell your girlfriends, sooner or later, what you did to me. A white girl, to a black man,” John said. “And they’ll all laugh, unless-- unless you’re forced to tell them how the story ended.” “It doesn’t need to have an ending, does it?” I gasped. He put his big, rough hand down between my legs and rubbed my pussy. “Yes it does,” John said. “Yes it does.” He turned to his wife. She was detatching herself from my boyfriend’s tongue. She rose from the bench where he lay prostrate, on his back. Chrissy, having satisfied herself on his erection, got up off it. Both women walked away from Brad, leaving him to collect his thoughts and to regain his composure. Brad lay unmoving. His penis, once stiff, gradually declined in size until it lay used and spent between his legs, no harder than a dishrag. “Come on, we’ll take her upstairs. We have to go pee,” Pauline said to her husband. “Give her and and her aunt over to the white slave boys,” John said. “Tie them side by side in a bed and let the two slave boys with the emeralds in their dicks mount them and take them however they please for the night.” He looked at my aunt’s bottom. “And she’ll need someone to tend to her ass, also. In the morning, I’ll see to Chloe’s hiney. She will be punished for peeing in my face, and calling me a nigger.” “Yes, honey,” Pauline said to her husband. “Oh, don’t be too hard on her!” Chrissy said. “She was messy at dinner, and she called my husband a nigger time and again,” Pauline said. “In the morning we will entertain ourselves with her punishment.” “Oh, and we’re going to carry each other’s children. Don’t forget!” Chrissy said. She looked at John’s penis. “Yes,” Pauline agreed. “We shall do that also. Skip taking your pill in the morning, when you get up. Come, I’ll show you and your husband to your bedroom.” She looked at my boyfriend, lying upon the bench. “Unless, that is, you prefer spending the night with him.” “Oh, he was wonderful,” Chrissy said. “But I’d like to fall asleep in the arms of my husband.” “Very well. Come, then,” Pauline said. Together, both women took hold of my aunt. They tutted over the state of her bottom, pitying her in a pityless way, and walked her toward the steps. Chrissy grabbed my hand and pulled me along with them. “Oh, I don’t want to go! I want to cum!” I said. I frisked my crotch with my hand. I was quite eager for it now, though I hated admitting it to myself. “You shall be taken care of upstairs,” Pauline said. “I want him!” I said, pointing to her husband. “I want to be fucked my him!” I don’t know why I said it. Did the challenge of being fucked by a big black man, with his 12-inch penis, tempt me beyond the limits of my good sense? I don’t know. But I do know one thing-- threatened with punishment that seemed absolutely certain to befall me, I didn’t call him a nigger anymore. Upstairs, the two white slave boys were made to fuck me and my aunt until we screamed for them to stop. The next morning, as the sun rose, I was bathed and prepared. I was offered breakfast on a silver tray, by my bedside, but I declined. My aunt was escorted to another room so that I couldn’t turn to her for solace as I was readied for my punishment. The slave boys who had used me so remorselessly during the night were the ones who made me ready for my ordeal. They wore emerald jewels in their cocks once more, their faces were subdued. They put my makeup on. They brushed my hair. They painted, with delicate grace, my fingernails and my toenails. During the night the twin slave boys had lorded themselves over me. They were the Masters of my bed. Fucking me, fucking my aunt. Now they were submissive once more. But, despite their gentle, coaxing hands, they were firm with me. When I tried to speak, they ordered me to be quiet. They made it clear I’d be gagged if I couldn’t keep my mouth shut on my own. When I tried to move, without their permission, they told me they had full authority to whip me themselves, right here in my bedroom, if I couldn’t find it in myself to obey. I was very obedient, once they showed me the many-thonged whip John had given them, to enforce my compliance. I let them make me up like a doll and dress me in provacative clothes. Then, after offering me breakfast once more, they took me downstairs. “She refuses to eat, Master,” the slaves said to John, who was eating downstairs at the dining table. He wore purple robes, like a king. Pauline and Chrissy and Brad and Steve sat with him. My aunt, it was said, was lying face down in a room of her own, her bottom recovering from the whipping I’d given her. “She is frightened, that’s all,” Pauline said to her husband. “I don’t want to be--” “QUIET, Chloe! You will speak when I order it, and not when I don’t,” John told me. I shivered. I glanced down at myself. I was dressed all in white. My hair was pulled into twin pigtails, each tied with a pretty white bow. I wore a small white tank top. It left my shoulders bare, as well as my arms. It just covered the swell of my tits. My flat belly was bare, but I wore white stockings. They were made of elastic and clung to my legs. There were ribbons sewn into them, at the top of each of my thighs, so that they could be pulled tight, to keep them from falling down. Above each snugly-tied ribbon, banding my leg, was a decorative frill of lace. I loved the stockings, but I wished they’d given me something more substantial to wear with them. Instead, I had only white high-heels, fastened to my feet with thin straps, and white panties. The panties were narrow in back and I had to reach behind myself and pull them out of my ass crack to keep my behind properly covered. ‘Keep them on, if you can,’ one of the two slave boys had told me, upstairs in my bedroom. ‘Your punishment will hurt less if you can manage to keep on your underwear.’ I asked for a dress. They told me none had been authorized. “Ah, she is a pretty slave girl, is she not?” John asked his guests at the table. They all nodded. I looked at Brad for salvation but he gazed from me down to his plate. It was heaped with eggs and toast. He speared his food and avoided my pleading eyes. “How are your bottoms, young men, since I strapped you last night?” “Fine, sir,” one of the two slave boys answered. “We look forward to more instruction from Your Highness.” “Very good,” John said. “You will leave Chloe here with me now. Go upstairs and attend to her aunt. She will need your sperm on her bottom so it can heal properly.” “We put lotion on it last night, sir, between fucking her and her neice,” one of the slave boys answered. “Yes. Very good,” John said. “But when you fucked her last night, did you not pump your seed up between her legs?” “Of course, sir,” a slave boy answered. “And her bottom too,” the other one said. “But we refrained from taking Chloe that way, knowing you would wish to have her that way yourself.” I froze, where I was standing, and felt my tummy churn. John was going to fuck me up the ass? How could he? I wasn’t even big enough to take his penis the normal way! “Very good,” John said. He put a mouthful of food in his mouth and chewed it slowly. The two slave boys waiting until he spoke again. “Now, white boys, I want you two slaves of mine to go upstairs and sperm the bottom of Chloe’s aunt. Oil and lotion and cream are fine, but what a young woman really needs smeared all over her ass is male sperm. Both of you will cum all over her ass for her, do you understand? Not once, not even twice. Three times, at least. Sperm her, boys! Do your duty! I want Rebecca’s ass to be covered with so much sperm it looks like an iced cake! Spend yourselves on her with the same abandon you pumped yourselves into her last night.” “Yes, sir!” both slave boys said. They saluted John. There was a wicked gleam in their eyes. They left the room, jauntily, rubbing their wickedly displayed penises, and I knew now why they’d both agreed to be slaves of a black man, who had a taste for whipping their heinies. They endured the punishment, because the pleasure was the most any randy young boy could hope for. “Oh, please sir, I didn’t mean to be so bad last night,” I said to John. I sank to my knees. “Put your hand in your panties,” John told me. “I want them wet. Wet with your own juices. Then we will go outside for your punishment.” “Ooooh!” I cried. I put a finger in my mouth. I sucked it hard. With my other hand, I slipped a finger into my panties. I began frigging myself. I didn’t want to, but what could I do? “I promise to obey everything you say from now on, sir!” I told John. “Indeed. You most certainly will,” John answered. My head was on the level of his lap. I watched with awestruck eyes as his big, 12-inch penis emerged from between the folds of his purple robe. It grew and grew until it had obtained its full length. It quivered with hard abandon, eager for a morning fuck. And I knew exactly where this big giant of a man sitting next to me intended to put it. “Sir?” I said, still frigging myself, feeling awkward, and unbelievably frightened, yet at the same time beginning to feel a terrible excitement down inbetween my legs. John ignored me. He ate his bacon and eggs. “Sir?” I asked again. Finally, with a bored gaze, he looked over at me. “What do you want, slave girl?” John asked. “Would you please do me a small favor?” I told him. I tried not to look at his big penis sticking up out of his bathrobe but I couldn’t help myself. “What?” John said. “Please don’t fuck me in my bottom,” I said. “Stand up,” John said. Hastily I pulled my hands out of my panties and stood. I put some distance between my nose and his big, thick charger and it made me feel relieved. “Are your panties wet yet?” John asked. “A little,” I said. I looked down at myself as he reached over with his large black hand and rubbed me between my thighs. “Oooh. Don’t,” I begged. “Chloe,” John said. The gentleness returned to his voice, even though at that moment he was rubbing me hard between my legs and making me feel wet and disorderly. “How lovely you look with the white ribbons in your hair, and the little white tank top, and your long white stockings.” “Thank you,” I said. “Um, and could you please stop rubbing me there? It’s making me feel all gooey. I didn’t pick out my clothes, anyways. Your slave boys told me what to put on.” “Yes, they have fine taste,” John said. “Perhaps one day I’ll command them to dress just as you are.” He laughed. “How that would shock my visitors!” “You’ll have to let their hair grow a little longer,” I said. His hand had slipped from between my thighs and I was *so* glad the subject wasn’t me for a change. John cleared his throat. His eyes wandered up above my head, as if he was imagining something. But then, remembering me, his gaze returned and he focused his eyes on my tummy. It drew in, making my ribs stick out from my sides. My bosoms quivered inside my small white tank top. I wished I had a bra. The flimsy top barely contained my tits. I was lucky they hadn’t popped free of it already. John reached up and tugged at the stretched fabric of my tank top. My breasts looked like twin mounds of jello, confined in a too-small container. Slowly he lifted it up until the hem cleared my nipples. They wiggled happily as they broke free of the fabric. They sprouted. I gasped. Must he undress me in front of all the guests? Sure, they’d seen me naked before, but that was last night. This was a new day and I wanted to keep my modesty intact this morning. I reached up and tried to pull the tank top back down over my breasts. John caught my hands and stopped me. He held them imprisoned in his own big hands, as if restraining the wings of a small pet bird. I felt my hips waggle nervously. Was there no escape for me? No relief? “Chloe,” John said. “I want you to go upstairs. You need to be punished right away, but I don’t think that will help you, do you?” “I’m sure it won’t, sir!” I said. My voice sounded loud in the room. “That’s why I’m going to send you upstairs for an hour,” John said. “I want you to go into my bedroom. It’s the big master bedroom at the end of the hall. The sheets on my bed should have been changed by now, by the slave boys. It’s one of their duties. I want you to pull back the covers on my bed and get into it.” “I’m really not sleepy,” I said. My hips kept wiggling around nervously and I found myself unable to stop them. My knees felt weak. “Get into my bed,” John said, ignoring my objections. “Lie down on your belly. Don’t pull the covers up. Leave them down by your feet. Put your hands into your panties and play with your pussy and make yourself wet. But don’t cum. You are not to enjoy yourself, you are to spend the hour thinking about your naughtiness and how you need to be punished. Meanwhile, I’m going to finish my breakfast. Then Chrissy here will bring me my pipe, and I’m going to sit and smoke my pipe and discuss important things with her husband Steve, and with your boyfriend Brad.” “What sort of things?” I asked. “Man things,” John said. “It is not important what we discuss. What’s important is what you think about, while we’re sitting down here having our smoke. Think about the bad word you used last night.” “And then?” I asked. I was trembling now. All the way from my knees right up to my chin. I could hear my teeth chattering. I tried tossing back my hair, to make myself feel composed, but it was neatly bound into pigtails and wasn’t in my eyes. The tails shivered across my bare shoulders. My bosoms, free of my top, wobbled nakedly before John’s eyes. The pressure of the uplifted top along their upper curves distorted them slightly, pressing down upon them, making them look as if they were eager to express milk into his large mouth. He kissed me on my stomach. It drew in before his lips but he pressed his face hard to my belly button and kissed me. “Then I am going to take you outside,” John said. “I’m going to flay your bottom so you never want to use the word ‘nigger’ again in your life.” “Ohhhh, noooooo!” I screamed. My whole body felt like water. I almost fainted. I’d hoped, I guessed, that I’d somehow talked him out of punishing me, but it was not so. Despite his gentleness, despite his kisses, he was still the same, hard implacable John, bent on teaching me a lesson. “Take this crybaby out of my sight!” John told his wife. I broke into sobs. Pauline rose hastily from the table and grabbed my hand. “She’s only 13,” Pauline said to her husband. “She’s old enough to know not to call a black man a nigger,” John said. “Especially in his own house.” “I think you’re a big, fucking, ugly, whoring, ugly, nigger who’s penis is too big to go up my bottom!” I screamed at John. My eyes were wet and my temper, somehow, despite my fright, had exploded. But it did me no good. Pauline hustled me from the room (perhaps for my protection) and we hurried upstairs. “Lie down,” Pauline told me, when we had reached the bedroom she shared with her husband. The bed was neatly made. She pulled down its covers. I leapt into the bed, hearing, I thought, John’s big footsteps pounding up the stairs. I shoved my hands into the front of my panties to try to please him, should he burst into the room. I frigged my slit. I felt a curious warmth envelop my belly. Was I happy? I knew I’d made him mad. Very mad. I diddled my slit and spread my legs apart and tried to press myself into the soft sheets of his bed. I squeezed my eyes shut. Let him come. Let him take me, however he must. It was strange to think that, but I did. I felt fingers pry at the lips of my mouth. I resisted, then opened them. They were sharp-nailed. Without opening my eyes, I realized they were Pauline’s fingers. “You won’t be calling my husband any more names this morning, you naughty girl,” Pauline said to me. Her voice was smooth, gentle. She forced a rubber bulb into my mouth. My eyes sprang open and I realized it was a pacifier. When she’d fitted it into my mouth she passed a cord behind it. The cord held it in place against my lips. She tied the cord behind the back of my neck. I tried to spit the pacifier out but it was too late, it was secure in my mouth and I was forced to suck upon it. “And now I’m going to pull down the back of your panties,” Pauline said to me. “You will frig yourself for one hour, but you will stop whenever you feel the need to cum. I’ll sit right here beside you to watch you. If I see you cumming, I’m going to whack your ass so hard you won’t know what hit it.” Pauline opened a drawer. From it she drew the longest, whippiest riding crop I’d ever seen. She dandled it in her fingers. Her hands were light and easy upon it and I realized, with a sinking horror, that I wasn’t the first girl to lie here in her husband’s bed, with her panties pulled down. I wasn’t even the last. Next weekend there’d be a different girl, and another one the week after that. “Pwease! Let me go!” I tried to say over my pacifier. Pauline leaned back in her chair beside the bed and smiled at me. I saw a tinge of boredom in her eyes. I was just one more female, playing games with her husband. But I didn’t want to! I was convinced of that. Yet, as my fingers obediently played in my snatch, I felt, mingled with my fear, a rising level of awful excitement. The minutes passed. I gasped out my pleasure as I played with myself. Pauline threatened me with the crop whenever I seemed about to cum. I had to lie still, then. Even my fingers had to be utterly still. Several times I came really close to cumming and I lay with frightened eyes, looking up at her, desperate not to go over the edge and yet so very, very close to it I could scream. I wept, a little, feeling the minutes pass, waiting for my punishment. But it was useless. Pauline ignored my tears. I felt silly doing it. I was the youngest on the island and I was desperate not to be thought of as a little baby. As the hour drew to a close Pauline took a jar from a drawer. Then she took out a glass thermometer. It had a big rubber bulb on one end of it. She opened the jar and greased the thermometer’s narrow tip. Then she leaned over me. She put her fingers to my ass. She prised apart my cheeks. I flinched. “Wa’re yhu dointh?” I asked over my pacifier. “Many times girls visiting us are gagged,” Pauline said to me, inspecting my bottom. “It would be such trouble to ungag them, just to take their temperature. Especially when the thermometer can just be popped into their bottom. Hold still, dear. I must check to see that you haven’t given yourself a fever, lying here worrying about your punishment. Only strong, healthy girls can endure a beating out at the whipping post.” “Oh, I’m veryth sureth I havth a feverth!” I blurted. “Yooooch!” I cried. I felt the slim-tipped glass of the thermometer slide between the cheeks of my ass. “Lie still, darling,” Pauline said. “I have to leave it in you for three minutes.” I lay on my belly, shivering. I felt the glass of the thermometer stuck in my ass. “I’m going to put on your collar and leash now,” Pauline said to me, as we both waited for my temperature to register on the thermometer. She opened the drawer that contained all the wicked things. She took out a dog’s collar. It wasn’t mine. It wasn’t the one I’d worn to the party. It was expensive, with diamonds studding it. The leather was white, to match my clothes. It looked like a collar one put on a very spoilt cat. Pauline lifted my chin. She slid the collar under my throat. She buckled it behind my neck. She checked its tightness by sliding a fingertip between the collar and my neck. “Very good,” Pauline said. Then she got a length of chain out of the drawer. She attached one end to my collar and the other end to a wooden post on the bed’s headboard. I wondered if I’d get to keep the collar and take it home with me. I’d never have to bother with eighth grade, or even getting a job, if I did. I’d been hoping to work at McDonald’s when I turned 15 but with a collar like this, I could probably just buy the McDonald’s instead. “You are so young,” Pauline said, patting my bottom. “I’ll try to make my husband go easy on your ass. I know you didn’t really mean to call him a nigger.” For some stupid reason, I giggled. A frown crossed Pauline’s face. “Well, if you think it’s funny, then perhaps I won’t,” Pauline said. She plopped down into her chair beside my bed and picked up her riding crop. She swung it hard. It hit the bed beside me and I flinched. I broke into tears. “Just between you and me, I think you’re a brat, who loves asking for it,” Pauline said to me. She smiled. Then she leaned over me and drew the thermometer out of my ass. She showed it to me. It had a sheen on it that wasn’t composed entirely of the oil she’d rubbed on it. She checked its reading. “A perfect temperature,” Pauline said. “I’ll have to check you again, after you’re whipping, to see what your temp is then.” She looked down at me. “I was just like you once, do you know that? I liked teasing boys and going out with them, and yet I wanted so badly to meet a man, a real man, who would--” Suddenly, a shadow fell across the doorway to the room. “Yeeeeth!” I screamed. My pacifier strangled my cry, made it half as loud as it would have been if I’d been able to open my lips. “Where is she?” a voice boomed. A big, heavy-chested black man walked into the room. He strode with a purposefulness that men have when they know exactly what they’re going to do and have no compunction about it. He carried a long, thick whip in his right hand. It trailed on the floor. He was naked. His penis stuck out in front of him like a well-hung post on a hatrack. “She’s right here, Sir. In your bed,” Pauline said to her husband. “Ah, yes,” John said. “Did she cum?” “No, Sir. Though she came close--” Pauline said. “Then she is wet for me, and ready?” John asked. Pauline reached between my thighs. I screeched and clipped them shut. With difficulty she probed up between my legs and then extracted her fingers. “Yes, she’s quite wet,” Pauline said. She rubbed her fingers across my bare ass to wipe them. “Very good,” John said. He walked over to me. Pauline leapt back, for he looked angry. John bent over me. He slid a hand under my stomach. I felt a scream rise in my throat. He yanked me up from the bed. Pauline hurried to unhook me from the headboard. John waited, me wiggling madly as I hung face down from his big brawny arm. My bosoms wobbled freely, my nipples hard. My legs kicked. My bottom, exposed, shivered its perfect twin mounds. My hands were out of my panties now and I reached for the floor with my fingertips. Pauline got me unhooked. I screamed over my pacifier as John carried me from the room. We went downstairs. I struggled to break free of John’s grip but could not. Brad and Steve stood at the front door of the house. They opened it for John and he carried me outside. “Brath!” I cried. I needed my boyfriend now, very badly. I squirmed in John’s arm and managed to look back at the house. The front door was closing. In the doorway, I saw Brad standing there, his penis fresh and erect with the morning. Pauline and Chrissy both knelt down before him. Worshipfully the both mouthed his tool. The door closed. Dogs ran up beside us. Their paws made clouds of dust rise from the ground. They sniffed at me. One of them tried to snap at my breasts. Another one nosed inbetween my legs. He tried to lick my panties. John shouted to the dogs to draw back. They did, a little, but were still randy and eager to have me. Perhaps they thought I was being brought out to them to eat. I glanced ahead of me. My head bounced as we crossed over patches of dirt and grass. Trees with long branches grew overhead. The seaborne wind rustled their leaves. I saw a post, in the distance, across the broken ground. It was made of wood. It looked thick, stout, perhaps 10 feet tall or more. As we approached it I saw cuts had been made in the wood. At first I assumed knives had been taken to it, perhaps to try to cut the post down. Then I felt a knot of fear in my belly, a chill running along my limbs, as I realized a whip, repeatedly applied to the wood, could leave deep permanent cuts in it like those that I saw. My fear worsened when I lifted my eyes up and saw two steel manacles hanging down from the top of the post. They swayed slightly as a breeze shook the tree limbs above us. We reached the pillar. John set me down on my feet. I stood in high-heels, my ankles fitted tightly with shoe straps, my feet wobbling nervously in the heels. John raised up my arms. With firm, gentle hands he clipped my wrists into the manacles. I could just reach them. I wished I was shorter. I stood on tip-toe and felt my belly press against the stout wooden post. John kissed my cheek. “I must be very severe with you now, Chloe,” John said to me. His hands skimmed my slim waist and followed the outcurving of my hips. “Did you know I served briefly as a school principal, before I came to live on this island?” he asked. “Mostly I had to deal with boys, but occasionally there was a girl who required my discipline. I want you to know that I am not completely unaccustomed to dealing with 13-year-old girls. You are young, to be sure, but the school where I worked was a junior high school, and I had to ask several girls to pull down their panties for me there, so I could attend to their bottoms.” He kissed my cheek again. “Of course, it was quite unlawful for me to look at their nude bottoms, but I didn’t want to hurt them too badly, so it seemed only natural that I should be able to see their naked flesh as I whipped them.” He laughed. It was a big, hearty laugh. “They never complained. After all, I was doing them a favor, wasn’t I? In your case, though, you will complain. Don’t expect to sit down too soon. Maybe next month you can sit down.” He laughed again. He drew back from me. Immediately one of the dogs, circling around us, leapt inwards. He ran up to me. He sniffed my ass and then stood on his hind legs and presented his doggie thing to me. I felt the wetness of its tip against my bare bottom. “Lance! Down, boy!” John called. He struck with his whip. I shrieked, but the whip thudded against the ass of his dog. The dog let out a howl. “Get down, boy!” John called. The dog ran off. The other dogs whined and drew back. They watched with furtive eyes the wigglings of my bare fanny. For some reason, despite the horror of my plight, I fancied still that, at the last minute, I would win a reprieve for my bottom. In my girlish fantasies I saw myself being kissed, gently held and kissed, by all the men. John, Brad, Steve, even the two slave boys who’d used me so remorselessly during the night would appear, suddenly, and spend the whole morning kissing me while I hung bound from the post. They would appreicate me and they would stroke me and pet me and they would all kiss me like it was Valentine’s Day, and I was the only girl in the world. This was my hope. It was not to be. As soon as John had rid me of that awful dog who tried to mount me I heard a whistling sound. It was a high, deliberate sound. I was wondering if it was the wind in the branches above and thinking, ‘no, it couldn’t be, it sounds too man-made,’ when suddenly there was an explosion of pain across my bottom. I shrieked. I leapt against the post. I pressed myself hard to it. I felt my bottom waggle frantically and fiercely behind me. “Yeeeehoooooth!” I screamed over my pacifier. I heard the whip fall away. It slithered back across the ground as John retrieved it. “One,” I heard him say in a deep, hard voice. “Only 38 to go.” The whip cracked again. It seared my flesh. My soft bottom cheeks danced and I howled with a passion. Birds fluttered out of the branches over my head. “Two,” the voice said behind me. It was callous. It seemed uncaring. I burst into tears. They wet the post in front of my face. THWA-ACKCK! I heard, and jolted upright as the whip hit me again. Oh, how it burned! I deeply regretted now that I’d ever learned the ‘n’ word. “Spthare meeeee!” I shrieked. My bottom-cheeks seethed. I worked them hard, feeling them churn, and wondered how much more I could take before I passed out. “Three,” the voice behind me announced. It sounded distant and disembodied. I was only my bottom now, the sky far away and the branches of the trees waving uncaring in the wind. I jerked hard against the post and tried to disappear into it. The high, deliberate singing sounded again behind me. Frantically I bunched my ass cheeks together. WHOOOOO---ITT! “Yeeeeowth!” I gritted. My bosoms squashed against the cut, splintered post as my ass danced in naked agony. I saw stars. I prayed to God and Jesus and the Holy Ghost. I shouted for Brad, my boyfriend, to come and save me, but I knew he was enjoying himself with the women and wouldn’t come for me. I shouted his name anyway. The pacifier in my mouth distorted it into incoherence. “Four,” the black man’s voice said behind me. It sounded bored. Frantically I twisted my head back. He stood with his penis erect and his hand busily frisking it. But despite being sexually excited, he seemed world-weary. There was a distant look in his eyes, as if I were just another bottom, and he’d whipped too many to really care anymore about it. He seemed to look right through me as he let fly with the whip again. It struck my flesh and seared me. I howled for the circling birds, even the dogs, to save me. The dogs seemed interested, but the birds only circled, circled, waiting for my punishment to end so they could return to their nests in the trees. “Oh, I’m sowwwy!” I cried over my pacifier. Tears swam in my eyes. My ass cheeks wobbled hot and disordered behind me. John approached. He tossed down his whip. Beseechingly I looked in his eyes, but I saw only the clouds reflected there. He saw me and yet did not. He grasped my wriggling thighs. He hoisted me up. He nosed his penis between my legs. “I will fuck you now,” John said. He found my wet cunt, nosing past the rolled down panties clinging to the tops of my thighs. He jammed his big bulbous cockhead into my vaginal passage. “Oh, no!” I gasped. “You prefer I continue your whipping?” John said. “No! No!” I shrieked. “You wish me to fuck you up your ass?” John asked. “Yeeeeek!” was my only reply, for already he was ramming his hard erection up into the depths of me, searching deeply for my womb. “Be glad that I am feeling kind this morning,” John said. “We can postpone the rest of your lashes until tommorrow. Your bottom is too soft to take them all at once.” “Noooooo!” I hooted. “I should split your fanny with my penis, but even I know I’m too big for you. I don’t want to ruin you. Not yet, anyway,” John said. He grinned at me but there was still that distant look in his eyes, as if I was just one more girl that he felt compelled to whip and to fuck. I was just one more bottom. His manly nature demanded he pump out his sperm on a regular basis, but the boyish joy of doing it had long since left him. He was just using me, like a man uses a urinal to relieve himself of his urine. With quick, jabbing motions, he began fucking my cunt. I gasped with hot, pained breaths over my pacifier as I felt his bulbous cockhead ramming against the back wall of my womb. He was huge. I was 13 and he was a full grown man. Yet we fit together, somehow. I’m not sure how. But somehow I managed to receive him and not die, though at the time I thought for sure he’d burst me wide open. “Yes, you’re a good fuck,” John said to me. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for the abortion if you should need one.”