Escape Crew from Dominatrix Island

Standing facing the corner of the pit that was farthest from my sleeping cave, I dropped my pants to my ankles, spit several times into the palm of one hand and started stroking my cock. I thought about having licked the young hag's asshole only a short time ago. While that seemed like a disgusting thing to do, that somehow made it all that much more exciting for me.

Oh and how she enjoyed it. Probably a combination of that forbidden erogenous zone being pleasured, along with a sense of empowerment, having a man on his knees worshiping her asshole.

I exhaled deeply as I ejaculated, shooting several bursts of cum onto the rough wall where it would eventually drip down onto my shit pile. My accommodations, if they could even be called that, weren't even equipped with a bucket for a toilet like the dungeon cells were. I had chosen to use this one spot as my restroom to keep things somewhat sanitary. The hags had noticed and always avoided this corner, so they would never see my cum spilled here.

Now sexually satisfied I faced reality and thought that the hags might come out here and search my cave. I ran there and pulled the brown wrapping paper and twine from where I'd hidden it in my bedding. Who knows, it could become useful for something. There was a gap between the base of one of the machines and the stone wall. I tucked the paper and twine in there and was sure it would never be found.

To my surprise the hags never came out to confront me. The old one stepped out later in the afternoon to toss a metal bowl of oatmeal on the ground and dump some more water into my bucket which had a dipper for drinking. Of course she was sloppy about it, spilling a lot of water on the ground so I had to be careful and ration it most times.

Days passed. The same young blonde kolega stopped by at the top of the pit almost every day to toss down a package. There were always countermeasures, and some food for which I was grateful, though I began to wish that she would get me some kind of lubricant for masturbating.

I didn't want either of the hags to catch me with an erection so I'd made a routine of jerking off in the corner shortly after eating one of the countermeasures. Sometimes I would need to return to the corner after less than an hour, having recalled some past sexual encounter. Although I'd been using my own spit for an improvised lubricant, my rough calloused hands were starting to make my penis sore.

Then one night I was woken from my sleep. It was Anastasia. She had an old fashioned kerosene lantern, which she hung on the rusty bars to illuminate my cave. She also carried a bottle of liquor, and from the way she staggered in her spike heeled thigh high boots, it was obvious that she was drunk. I was surprised she hadn't changed into the flat heeled rubber boots like the last time she visited.

"You are foolish party man, so my superiors say. Tonight you party with me. Drink!" she ordered, thrusting the bottle into my hands. The label was in some foreign language. "You wake up and we celebrate," she said, practically forcing a countermeasure chunk into my mouth. "As you Americans say, check this out!"

She posed, flexing one of her arms. The lantern light gleamed off the silver leather of her jacket, and I saw that she now had three black stripes on her sleeve.

"I am now komandir," she said triumphantly.

I congratulated her on finally getting promoted, took a drink from the bottle and winced at the strong liquor. Holding the bottle out to Anastasia, she laughed and pushed it away.

"No, you drink, Mr. Van. Let me tell you about promotion. There was much ceremony. My superiors as you say, eat crow! Reminds me, I brought you food. There was great feast in my honor."

She unzipped her jacket and pulled out a bundle of greasy waxed paper and tossed it in my lap. As I unwrapped what turned out to be a large slab of spiced meat and cooked vegetables, Anastasia lit up a cigar.

"You want trabuc?" she asked, holding out her cigar for me. "Yes, you smoke with me. Eat later." Then she pulled out another cigar and lit it for herself.

"Your quarters are filthy, they do not let you bathe," she said as she glanced around at my squalid sleeping area.

"What is this place?" I asked. "Not the machines out there, I mean the citadel, your female army or whatever that captures and tortures men? It's like something out of a story that some pervert would write in their spare time and post on the internet."

Anastasia snatched the bottle from me and took a long drink. Then to my surprise she sat down close beside me on my soiled bedding.

"These islands are rich in history. Occupied by so many different peoples and nations over time. There are old ruins here from Vikings. Vikings!" Anastasia said, slugging me in the arm as if making some point, causing me to wolf down smoke from my cigar so I coughed. She just laughed.

"This place where we are," she explained, gesturing with her cigar at my cave and the pit outside. "It was all carved out by Vikings with primitive tools one chip at a time. Why would they do that? No one knows. Bars to this chamber added later, maybe by French who started construction of citadel to protect trade route."

It seemed that every country that occupied the island expanded the citadel to some extent based on their needs, but it would always be abandoned because it was too remote and expensive to maintain.

"Remote location can have strategic advantage though," Anastasia said. "When Nazi U-boat fleet was building up they occupied the citadel supposedly as naval radio station, but real mission was facilities to refuel and supply submarines."

I told her I thought that was probably just a legend, because we both knew the water around the islands was too shallow and rocky. However, she explained that they didn't have docks for subs here. They relayed fuel and supplies from the citadel in smaller boats while the submarines anchored out in safe water.

"They started to make channel with dredge and underwater explosives so larger vessels and U-boats could get closer," she explained. "But when United States began hunting U-boats the Nazis had full hands in other places so they left."

Evidently the Soviet Union took over here during the cold war, setting up an innocent looking weather station, complete with a seismograph, and radio transmission repeater.

"All automated equipment, electric power from primitive nuclear generators, need little no maintenance," she explained. "Then in nineteen seventies, they station some men here. Radio equipment was upgraded to intercept American military transmissions. This location also became secret listening post for underwater hydrophone array. Use that to track your nuclear submarines. Some of that equipment is still here. Much abandoned after fall of Soviet Union."

"So when did you ladies get here?" I asked. "What is your mission? I've heard that rich guys that like to be dominated by women sometimes come here and pay to be at your mercy for days at a time. It's like a fantasy camp for them."

"We have been here for many years, but our history is not so interesting," Anastasia said and I felt like she was avoiding the question. "Let me tell you some of our work."

She told me that there was some rich old guy, self made millionaire type that had been a regular client of theirs. Once or twice a year he would come to the island and stay for about a week.

"He likes to be dominated. Likes pain, but only so much," Anastasia explained. "We give him exactly right amount of pain to give him excitement and forget about his problems. Escape from reality is cleansing for mental health."

The man had a son that was evidently a spoiled brat, and after his father had paid for him to go to one of the finest colleges and arranged for him to get a job with one of his many corporations, the young man was a failure.

"He had potential, but he was so disrespectful to women. Office ladies hated him," Anastasia said with an irritated tone. "Always making inappropriate remarks which cause legal problems. At night always carousing with strippers and partying with sluts, result in unwanted pregnancies."

The son did get married at one point but it didn't last. In fact, he was married and divorced several times within only a few years, and fathered several kids with his wives. His rich old dad was constantly bailing him out financially, which included paying all his legal bills.

"The young man was such a disgrace to his family name. So much embarrassment, but his father had idea and consults with us," Anastasia gave a nod and devious grin. "He tells son that they will take vacation together. Remote island full of beautiful women who love to party like, girls gone wild."

Of course the young guy fell for it. They packed their bags and chartered a long range helicopter. She said the son had been expecting some tropical island and got suspicious when they circled in for a landing and he saw this imposing old fort.

"Then a group of my kolegas went running out to meet them. They were scantily clad, not wearing their leathers. One young lady with large bosoms even went topless!" Anastasia laughed. "They were carrying bottles of wine and drinking. Young man jumps out of helicopter as soon as it touches ground and runs to be with them."

They were leading him up to the citadel when the doors opened and another group of women came out. Dressed in their leather uniforms, carrying shackles, brandishing whips, and he realized he'd been tricked.

"Oh, he was so frightened. He turned to run back to helicopter, but rotor blades were already spinning up. His father smiling and waving out window as it lifts off the ground and we surround the young man," Anastasia laughed. "We wait until helicopter is out of sight before we take him into citadel, make him believe he has been abandoned here."

They whipped and paddled him on a regular basis like I expected, but they also made him serve as a waiter in their dining hall and wash dishes.

There was some daily ritual they did with him where in the morning they got him out of his cell, and there would be a whole bunch of women lined up all down the passageway. He had to crawl on his hands and knees past them one at a time, kissing their boots and begging for them to be merciful. At night before they locked him up, once again the women lined up and he had to kiss their boots and thank each one for being so kind and merciful, even though his ass would be red and sore.

"There was one time when we were spanking his bare bottom like a naughty little boy. He had been here for days and did not think he would ever leave. He cried out for his father even though his father abandoned him, and we all laughed," Anastasia said with a smile.

She explained that the old man had the helicopter pilot circle back to the island once he was certain that the women had taken his son deep within the citadel, where he would never hear the rotor blades. The pilot dropped off the old man, who then stayed for one of his regular week long visits.

The women kept them in separate areas of the citadel, and they gave regular reports to the old man on his son's progress. The son had no idea that his father was actually on the island the whole time.

At the end of the week the big helicopter returned and the son was in a courtyard where he saw it fly overhead, but couldn't see it land. His father was then able to say his goodbyes to the women and get on board the chopper to look as if he'd just arrived.

They brought the son out in chains. Loredana told the old man that she thought they made some progress with his son, but she suggested that he stay for another week. The son freaked out and told the old man he had learned his lesson and begged to be taken home, which his father did, but he threatened his son that he would bring him back to the island if he ever felt that was necessary.

"So how did that work out for the son," I asked, finishing up my meal.

"Son has been junior executive with fortune five hundred several years now. Married to beautiful woman and they recently had a baby boy. All very well," Anastasia responded.

"Tell me about McGonnigle," I said. "You told me he does whatever you tell him. Why is that?"

"Oh, yes, McGonnigle. He is so clever, but also so wild and reckless," Anastasia said with a tone of admiration. "He once tried to escape from this island by making a hot air balloon. Who thinks of such crazy thing?" she demanded to know. "Escape in homemade balloon!" However, she wouldn't tell me anything else about the man.

We'd been sitting together on my bedding for some time, shoulder to shoulder, drinking and smoking cigars. Anastasia had gone into a long rambling story about someone they called bootman. An older guy from Italy who was obsessed with women's feet and boots.

He would come to the island once a year, bringing all sorts of tools and supplies, and stay for at least a month. During that time he would repair and refurbish all of their boots. For any of the women who wore silver leather, he would hand craft boots for them, starting by making molds of their feet with modeling clay. Bootman wasn't into being dominated, and was treated like some sort of celebrity when he was here. His work was outstanding. Thigh high boots that fit a woman's leg with perfection, and could be worn comfortably all day despite the tall heels.

For some reason I found myself getting aroused, so I remembered to ask Anastasia if she could have the kolega toss me down some lubricant for masturbating. She just laughed.

"You call her kolega," she laughed some more, and I told her that was a term she used and I assumed that was the title for the women who dressed all in black leather. "Kolega is Romanian word. It means coworker. Colleague. Could mean any woman here." Then she asked to see my penis, which was obviously standing at attention in my pants.

"Oh, you rub yourself raw," she said, lightly holding my penis between two fingers and examining it in the glow of the lantern. "Yes, side effect of counter measure."

I told her that I planned to keep the greasy waxed paper she had brought my food in, to use for masturbating later.

"There is no need to wait till later," Anastasia said softly. To my surprise, she began to rub the fingers of one hand on the oily paper, and then lightly cupped her hand over the head of my penis.

Using only the tips of her fingers, she gently caressed the head of my penis and the underside of the shaft where it is most sensitive. I leaned back against the wall, gasping with pleasure. Her technique was so gentle, yet so stimulating. Anastasia turned and gave me a sloppy drunken French kiss, and I groaned deeply as I ejaculated.

With my cum now soaking her hand and my erection softening, she gripped me lightly with her fingers and then gently milked out the last drops of my cum. I've never had a woman give me such a satisfying hand job before.

"I must go now," she said, staggering to her feet and grabbing onto one of the bars to keep her balance. "You may be planning escape, especially from filthy station here. Let me speak without off record and tell you there may be escape mission already in planning. Now that I am komandir I am in better position to help you, Mr. Van. Just tell me you are interested."

Of course I was interested and I told her so. I don't even know why she bothered to ask. She took the lantern from where it hung on the bars, gulped down the remaining liquor in the bottle, and then told me to be patient before wobbling off in her high heeled boots.

The next day I was rudely awaken by both of the hags. I suppose I had slept in and the old one was poking me in the ribs with a broom handle while the young one yelled at me in her screechy foreign tongue.

The old hag was sniffing at the air and then moved in closer to me for a good whiff. I suppose she smelled last night's booze and cigar smoke, because they both kicked me out of my cave and tore apart my bedding, probably looking for some sort of evidence. I just sat down in the warm sunlight with hopes of dozing off again.

Last night after Anastasia left, although I was drunk and ready to pass out following the good food and satisfying orgasm, I was still sharp. Before going to sleep I fumbled around in the darkness, picked up the cigar butts and the waxed paper. I had tossed the cigar butts in the shit pile out in the corner of the pit, and carefully folded the waxed paper to contain any remaining grease, and tucked it out of sight behind some machinery.

Later that morning the hags walked out into the pit. They had brought along one of the young guards in black leather, who wore a low rank of one stripe. The old hag was jabbering away, pointing at me and my sleeping cave, maybe wanting her to give me a good sniff for suspicious odors, but the young lady just stood in the doorway and seemed uninterested. Both hags were furious at the guard when she simply walked away.

Later that day the young blonde guard with the slim braid whistled at me from above, ready to drop her usual package. She gave me a big smile, and then tossed down two packages. The first was the usual countermeasures and other food. The second was a smaller packet. Waxed paper folded into an envelope shape and tied shut with twine. The contents felt soft and squishy. It was some lotion for masturbating. You can't imagine how grateful I felt, but when I looked up to thank her she was gone.

It was only a few days later when Anastasia woke me up at night. She was carrying a large old metal flashlight, wore the flat heeled rubber work boots, black sweatpants, and a grey sweatshirt with three black stripes on one sleeve.

"You wish to escape, Mr. Van, so there is work to do. Understand this is complex mission, most likely dangerous," she warned. "You do not leave tonight, but soon. Only know what you need to know." She handed me a countermeasure, then switched off her flashlight and led me out into the pit where the metal door stood open.

We walked through the mill area where the hags worked during the day. Outside I could see the citadel rising above us under the stars. Anastasia led me off the gravel path and across the grounds until we came to a large, low, concrete block building with a metal roof.

Although the building looked old, it was the newest structure I had seen on the island. The entrance was down an outside stairway, like going into a basement or some kind of military bunker. She took me inside and turned on the dim overhead lights.

"Battery room. One of many," Anastasia explained, pointing at the rows of metal racks that held what looked like oversized car batteries from floor to ceiling, all connected with massive electrical cables.

"I am in charge of electrical systems for citadel and not many are allowed to come here. Power to charge batteries comes from RTG bank in chamber down there," she said pointing to the other end of the room where a rusty metal gate stood open at the entrance to a small arched tunnel with thick electrical cables slung on both walls. There were several old metal warning signs above the entrance. One that looked like a lightning bolt, and one that I think was the international symbol for radiation, but the one that concerned me most had a skull on it.

"If you wish to be part of escape mission you must go down tunnel to RTG chamber. You will find switch on wall for lights. You will see other tunnels, the correct one goes down. At end of that tunnel you will get mission briefing," Anastasia explained. Then she asked me if I knew what RTG stood for, and of course I didn't.

"Radioisotope thermoelectric generator. Primitive nuclear device provides power to charge batteries. Installed by Soviet Union decades ago, little to no maintenance required," she explained. "Radiation shielding is, good, but you must not linger. If you are chicken of shit and back out of mission now I will no longer be of help to you, understand?"