Escape from Dominatrix Island

One of the ladies came over and stood by me placing one of her feet up on the low wobbly table. She tapped the toe of her knee high boot with the tip of her riding crop. Looking up, I saw it was one of the two women from last night in the boot room, her reddish brown hair worn in a single, thick braid down her back. I gave the top of her boot a few licks, assuming that was what she wanted.

Ula only walked over to me a few times, never seeming intent on distracting me, only checking my progress. When I was near the end of the tests, she sent one of the guards out of the room, I assumed to get Anastasia, and the blonde who seemed to be their leader.

Only Anastasia returned. She looked frustrated, but issued orders calmly to the women in black leather. They promptly surrounded me, pulled me to my feet and roughly strapped me into the leather harness again. I pleaded with Anastasia.

"I've been honest with you. Ask me any more questions you have. I answered the tests as best I could. Just no more paddles or whips. Please!" My eyes were already tearing up.

"You stall for time. Dilly dally as you say. I am not pleased," Anastasia said, leaning back in her chair and lighting a cigarette. She gave a brief nod of her head and the monotonous paddling began on my already sore bottom.

Groaning in pain, I struggled and pulled at my restraints but was barely able to move. I begged for Anastasia to order the spanking to stop, but she just avoided any eye contact, swiveled her chair a bit to the side, and occasionally took a drag on her cigarette.

When at last she had flicked her cigarette butt into the trough between my feet, she quietly gave the order for the spanking to stop.

"My kolegas enjoy making pain for you. It is my turn now," Anastasia said calmly. Getting up from her chair, she walked over to the wall behind her, where a worn out, flat heeled rubber boot was used as a holder for slim bamboo canes. She pulled out one of the longest rods, and swiped it though the air with a menacing hiss.

"I stalled for time!" I blurted out. "I admit it. I didn't want to be paddled any more. Please, I've answered your questions and your tests honesty." My voice sounded pathetic and whiney, but I felt I'd been pushed beyond the limit of what pain my body could handle.

She walked around behind me, still periodically whipping her cane through the air. I imagined it would feel like being slashed with a hot wire on my already burning ass.

"Anastasia," a soft voice called out, and then continued to speak to her in their language. I recognized the voice as that of the tall blonde. Evidently she had come back in the room and had been watching.

Without a word, Anastasia came back around the wooden frame, set her cane down on the table, and began to go through the days notes.

"So, Mr. Van, you do office work for criminals. Are invited aboard large private vessel, not told destination or how long voyage take, and you ask no questions. Liquor and whores on board are all you care about," Anastasia said with a tone of disapproval. "You are most time in cabina, drunk, in bed with whore."

"Comrade say your life in danger. See island at night and escape on small watercraft. Did not think to bring kolega or whore. Only care about self. You claim crash onto rocks," Anastasia said. "I tell you we find no wreckage after searching almost two days." She flipped to another page of notes.

"You make bandages at shore though no medical or survival training. Claim it was obvious thing to do," she said as if in disbelief. "When found by patrols you observe rank stripes on clothing and those who wear silver are elite, what you call officers, and carry Makarov pistol which was what you call fad, and that is how you recognize," she slammed her notes down on the table. "Is that all to story? You tell me now."

"That's it," I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I don't know why you won't believe me.

Anastasia just walked out of the room without saying another word. I heard the tall blonde speaking again, and soon I was being released from the heavy wooden frame and the harness. I've never felt such a feeling of relief in my life.

The guards took me to the boot room again, where the pile of rubber boots on the floor was only about half as large as yesterday. Perhaps their search for jet ski wreckage was winding down. If they gave up I wasn't sure how that was going to work out for me.

After the chains on my shackles were loosened, all of the guards walked out except for two of them, the same ones from yesterday. I told them I knew what to do, even though they probably didn't understand me, and just picked a boot up off the floor and walked over to the wash trough. They seemed okay with that. Before I put the first clean boot up on the rack, I turned to face them so they could see I was licking it.

One of them nodded in approval. They had been chatting and smoking cigarettes and paying no attention to me. One of them had been in on that interrogation, the one who wore her reddish brown hair in a thick braid. They both had the same rank of one silver stripe, but the one with the braid did most of the talking, while the other listened intently. I assumed she was telling her coworker all the details of my interrogation. At one point she said,

"James Bond," and they both laughed hysterically.

As I was taking another boot off the floor, a pair of women dressed in black leather walked into the room. They were carrying pairs of black leather knee high boots with high heels, which I assumed they planned to change into, after they took off their rubber boots that were splattered with mud.

When one of the ladies started to remove her boot, the woman with the thick braid called out to her and she stopped. She said something to me that I didn't understand, but then pointed to the two women and made a licking motion. I knew she wanted me to lick the mud off their boots.

The other two women, they also had the rank of a single stripe, started laughing at the idea and started pointing at their boots and waving me over. The lady with the reddish brown braid had circled around me to the wash trough and picked up the paddle shaped scrub brush. She waved it menacingly, and made whining crying noises to mock me.

Degrading and nasty as it was, my ass was so sore I didn't want to be swatted with the backside of that brush, so I quickly got down on my hands and knees and began to lick the mud off their boots.

The mud had a salty taste and was probably from the shore of the island, a mix of seawater and grime. I discretely let small clumps of it fall out of my mouth onto the floor. Just no way I was going to swallow it.

They laughed at me as expected, but then started talking, maybe about their day's search, and I know the lady with the braid was telling them about my interrogation because she periodically made whining sounds and once again said, James Bond, which got them all laughing.

Another pair of women came in. I noticed their boots were not as dirty. Very quickly, the woman with the braid handed me the scrub brush, and started saying something to me while pointing at the wash trough. I took a quick glance at the two ladies who had just walked in the room. Both wore black leather jackets but one had two silver stripes on her sleeve while the other had three. It seems their playtime was over, and I was glad to get back to work.

The women of higher rank carried on some serious conversation with the group, and somehow that made me nervous. Several other women came in, although they just tossed their rubber boots on the pile and walked out.

When at last I was done cleaning the rubber boots and had swept the floor, only the woman with two stripes and the original two boot room guards were still there, smoking and chatting. I looked at them as I leaned the broom in the corner.

The woman with two stripes on her jacket motioned with her finger for me to come over, and pointed to the spike heeled boots that she now wore. I would end up licking the leather knee high boots of all three of the women, as well as another who straggled in to toss her rubber boots on the floor and zipped on her leather pair of heels. It seemed like I would never get out of the boot room that evening.

When I was taken back to my cell, my buttocks were too sore to sit down. I was covered with a blanket, kneeling in front of the radiator and drinking a mug of hot broth, when I heard high heels approaching. I knew the sound of the slow and easy, yet perfectly measured pace.

The tall blonde, her hair now braided in a different style, stood outside the bars in her silver thigh high boots and matching jumpsuit. I didn't get up, and just continued sipping my broth while she coolly lit a cigar. After a while she motioned for me to come over to the bars.

When I did, she made a shrugging motion of her shoulders, as if she wanted me to remove the blanket. Then she held an index finger up in the air and twirled it. So I let the blanket fall to the floor, and slowly spun around. I assumed she wanted to inspect the damage.

She harshly called out some orders to someone at the guard post down the hall. Soon afterwards a low ranking woman in black leather showed up with a jar of some sort of cream and some gauze.

With hand signals and words I couldn't understand, I was instructed to stand as close as possible with my back to the bars. I had expected their antiseptic or whatever it was to burn, but instead it was cool and had a slight numbing effect.

When the guard had been dismissed, the blonde in silver, who had allowed her cigar to go out, made an elaborate show of relighting it, and then she handed it to me. I expected her to walk away as she did the night before. Instead she unzipped a pocket on her jumpsuit and pulled out a slim silver metal flask and matching shot glass. She poured a clear liquid into the small cup and drank it down smoothly. Then she filled the shot glass again, and handed it out to me.

"Vodka?" she asked pleasantly.

I reached out and gently took the metal shot glass, realizing I'd known her offer had been genuine and not a cruel trick to snatch it from me at the last second. The vodka was strong, and it burned my throat on the way down. Though I tried to keep a straight face, I know she saw me wince, as a smile flashed for a brief second on her face.

After I handed the small metal cup back to her, the woman walked off down the hall in her usual easy pace, the sound of high heels on stone eventually fading away.

The next morning the usual food was brought to me by two ladies in black leather and knee high boots. They kept making motions as if they wanted me to eat quickly. Then Anastasia showed up with several other guards in black leather and said I would be taken for another medical check.

At the infirmary I was forcefully bent over the table while the medic lady rubbed some type of salve on my buttocks, which still burned from yesterday. Then I was strapped down on the table on my back, and it seemed as if the ladies were competing to see who could rip off the bandages and get the best reaction out of me.

The pain was not as bad as before. Perhaps after yesterday's interrogation I was building up a tolerance for pain. In reality though, my wounds seemed to be healing quickly. The medic lady didn't use nearly as much antiseptic, and the new bandages were fewer and smaller. I was left strapped down to the table and all of the women left the room. Only two guards in black leather remained, but they stood outside the door.

I had to assume that Anastasia would question me some more, but would it be in that first room that was mostly empty, or would they be taking me down to that dungeon again? Maybe they had some other interrogation method that would be worse.

Anastasia walked into the infirmary, twirling something on one of her fingers. She held it in front of my face so I could see it. A bright yellow plastic wrist strap attached to a coiled cord with a plug of some sort on the other end.

"Safety interlock. What you call kill switch. Just like your drawing," she said.

"Yeah! Hell, yeah!" I exclaimed. "I told you I tossed it down on the shore before I ripped up my robe for bandages. You found it!" I was excited beyond belief. Some proof had been found to back up my story.

"Other wreckage found," she said. "Is being recovered now. You come see."

Anastasia called in the two women in black leather that had been standing guard outside the door and they unstrapped me from the table. To my surprise, most of the shackles were removed except for my hands that were left cuffed in front of me.

After going through some long corridors, we came to a pair of large steel doors that were propped open. Inside was what looked like an elevator shaft enclosed with a rusty metal cage, and a narrow metal stairway that circled around the outside of the shaft and down into the darkness. I could hear what sounded like a truck engine running somewhere far down below.

Perhaps the elevator was out of order, because I was led down the metal stairway. It seemed like it would be dangerous to walk down in high heels and in darkness, but the ladies managed just fine. There were no other landings off the shaft, and the stairs seemed to go down forever.

At the bottom was a large chamber. The truck I had heard turned out to be an ancient looking diesel motor that powered some sort of hoist. It looked like a cross between a winch and a chair lift from a ski resort.

Heavy cables wound over a series of overhead pulleys and ran out a large set of steel doors, above an open area at the edge of the cliff, then down over the side and out of sight. Something was being hoisted up.

A woman in a silver leather jacket stood at the cliff's edge with a walkie talkie and was giving hand signals to a woman dressed in black leather, who stood with a hand on one of several control levers for the machinery, her jacket was unzipped to reveal what looked like a sweaty black sports bra, while a cigarette dangled out of a corner of her mouth.

The stone floor below the cable was wet and two women in black leather and the rubber work boots were opening up a large net. I was thrilled to see the bright yellow seat from the jet ski, part of the nose of the craft, along with the handlebars and a tangle of wiring.

Along with the wreckage were some scuba tanks, swim fins, and some other equipment. While I had envisioned the women walking the narrow shoreline looking for any debris, it seems that their search and recovery was a more intense salvage operation.

To my surprise, a woman in a silver gray wetsuit climbed up over the edge of the cliff. There was a narrow rusty ladder bolted into the rocks that went down over the side. She looked tired, probably from the dive and what I assumed was a long climb to the top. Her glass facemask was propped up on her forehead and she had three black stripes on one sleeve. Soon afterwards another woman came up the cliff ladder. This one wearing a black wetsuit with three silver stripes on one sleeve.

All of a sudden the woman in the silver jacket, who was standing watch at the edge, gave a shout and a hand signal to the lady at the controls. She threw several levers, the engine speed reduced to a low throb, and as the cable slowly came up over the pulleys at the edge, a large net on a hook come into view. The woman in the silver jacket was then on the walkie talkie, possibly with someone at the bottom of the cliff, but I didn't pay much attention.

I was looking at the contents of the net as the cable hoist slowly brought it into the room, perhaps more of a cave that had been blasted out of the rocks long ago. The net contained the remaining parts of the jet ski.

The machinery screeched as the dripping net came to halt, then after a clanking of more levers, the net was slowly lowered down onto the floor. Anastasia gave some orders and the women began to open the net. One of her binder notebooks was down here by the hoist controls, and she opened it up to some pages that contained my drawings.

The diesel engine coughed loudly as it was shut down and the cave was uncomfortably quiet. Then there was the click of high heels on stone behind me, and I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. The tall blonde who dressed all in silver stepped out from behind me.

She may have come down the stairs, heels on metal drowned out by the roar of the engine, or perhaps she had been standing in the shadows all along. She walked to the outdoor landing to talk with the woman in the silver leather jacket, standing at the edge with the two-way radio.

The divers had been standing off to one side smoking cigarettes, but they walked over to join the ladies who were outside. Anastasia was still ordering the other women around, getting the remains of the jet ski positioned in certain ways.

"There is no prop. Is water jet propulsion system," she said aloud as she looked over my drawings. "No navigation or communication equipment. Expensive toy as you say." She looked at me with a cold glare.

The one who appeared to be in charge, her long braided blonde hair, silver leather jumpsuit with tall matching boots gleaming in the sunlight, stood in the open doorway and appeared to have little interest in the salvage operation.

Tossing her cigarette butt on the floor, she slowly walked into the chamber. Anastasia spoke with her intently, pointing at my drawings and the wreckage that had been recovered. Then they both turned to look at me.

I was too uncomfortable to say anything and was relieved when they turned back to each other. Anastasia seeming to be arguing, but the tall blonde walked away from her and back to the outdoor landing, where she briefly turned her face out of the wind to light a smoke.

"There will be conference," Anastasia told me. "To determine your," she paused for a while as if trying to think of the right word. "Your station. You will be taken back to quarters to wait."

Anastasia addressed the two women in black leather that had brought me down the stairs, and gave them some lengthy instructions. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. However, before long I was escorted back up the endless metal stairway, taken to a washroom where I could clean myself up, and then returned to my dungeon cell.

Although I was relieved that I wasn't going to be questioned or paddled, not knowing what would happen next caused me a lot of stress. Anastasia had said they would decide my station, but her English wasn't perfect and given the way she had said it, I think that station was a rough translation from her native language.

I lay down on the bed for a while, hoping to doze off and not have to think about my situation, but my mind was racing. I'd never pursued serious relationships with women. They were all just amusing diversions. Strippers, escorts, or as Anastasia had so crudely called them, whores.

Having seen the remains of the jet ski, knowing I had set out into the open ocean on that thing with a nearly empty tank of gas, I even considered that I might actually be dead. This isolated island of foreign speaking women, who only wanted to torment me, might be a version of hell that I deserved.

Perhaps I was finally able to doze off, but I suddenly heard several pairs of high heels approaching. I snapped back to reality and felt panic coming on. However, it was just a pair of women in black leather jackets and shorts, who left me a bowl of gruel and small loaf of bread, then walked away without any taunting or laughing. I was disappointed there was none of the warm broth. It would have been soothing.

The hours wore on. As usual I was aware that a few women were standing guard somewhere near the end of the hallway. I would sometimes hear them talking softly or catch whiffs of their cigarette smoke. It occurred to me to try and talk with them, and just try to get some sense of what my fate might be, but realized it would be no use.