Island Fever Ch. 01

Inside, I flipped a metal switch and the wall slid back to its former place. There were a large spread of television monitors, each of which surveyed different places both in and around the mansion. I had hidden cameras - large and small alike - scattered everywhere on the island. There was literally no place that one of my cameras would not pick up.

With all activities being recorded and archived into the computer (the lone exception being the housekeeper's private quarters), I could also re-live anything which took place over the next six weeks with just a couple of keystrokes. The cameras were linked to motion detectors (also hidden) and when activated, the screens instantly came to life.

Yes - I had built myself quite the voyeur room. With the help of a Hewlett Packard AlphaServer GS1280 (series 64) computer system and a large satellite dish next to the garden on the roof, I could see any part of the island at any time. That included, of course, my lovely female guests in their private moments. Over the next six weeks, this voyeur room would obviously be a favorite spot of mine.

For now, I decided to focus all of my attention onto the second guest suite - which Pamela and Amy were occupying. Pamela was seated at the circular table, casually reading a fashion magazine, while Amy was up and about, chatting away. Curious, I decided to turn the room's hidden microphone on. It was time for me to do some (innocent) eavesdropping. Hopefully, their debate about Lindsay and alcohol was over.

"I cannot believe that I have been up since three o'clock this morning," Amy commented, glancing at her wristwatch for a brief instant. "I tried to get some sleep on the flight from Cincinnati to Miami, but I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I could not fall asleep. I don't like airplanes."

Pamela smirked. "I know exactly what you mean. What time did your flight leave Cincinnati this morning?"

"5:30," Amy replied. "Five-freaking-thirty. Still, even at such an unholy hour, the airport was buzzing. It was busy. The plane touched down in Miami around 8:10 and then I boarded the connector to Lima at 8:45 just in time. I was worried about my luggage, but everything turned out okay. I worried the whole flight if my bags made it onto the plane. I can be obsessive-compulsive when it comes to my stuff."

"I slept on the flight from Baltimore to Miami myself," Pamela told her. "It left around 5:50 and landed at 8:25. It was the only sleep that I've had in awhile. Believe it or not, but I worked last night until four in the morning. I worked from five until four o'clock... 11 hours."

"You're a stripper, right?" Amy asked, to which Pamela nodded her head in affirmative. "Wow. You must be tired. Even with that little nap from Baltimore to Miami, you must be exhausted. Work 11 hours straight and then get on a plane. I could never do that and survive. I suppose that you are going to get a long, good night's rest tonight ... just like I know I will."

"I hate working Sunday nights," Pamela pouted. "I should have stayed home. Sunday is buy one lap dance get one free night ... I do twice the work I normally do, but make much less money. But I wanted to get one more night of work in before I left. I also wanted to say goodbye to my friends. They wanted to say goodbye to me, too."

"Do you actually like being a stripper?"

Pamela pursed her lips together and shrugged her shoulders. "Ehhhhh ... it has its ups and downs. The money is great and I get to set my own schedule, work my own hours. I have been working at the club for over 11 years, so I have seniority over all of the other girls. They all call me the mother hen of the place." Pamela took a deep breath and sighed. "When I started working there at age 19, though, I surely never thought that I would still be dancing at 30. It has been a really, really long ride; I have seen everything ... heard everything imaginable, over the years."

"Have any plans for when you decide to quit?"

"I am going to college, have been for awhile actually, and when I finally graduate I want to become a schoolteacher," Pamela answered. "I have loved working with and being around children all of my life. Unfortunately, though, I think the past 11 years working as an exotic dancer will come back to haunt me. No school would ever hire a former stripper ... but I am going to get that degree anyway. I promised myself. I also promised my sister and the rest of my family. Once I get my degree, no matter what, I will quit dancing for good."

"I never went to college myself," Amy offered. "At the moment, I am a Hooters girl." Pamela seemed intrigued by those words as Amy went on, "Yep ... I have been working for Hooters for the past two years as a bartender and waitress. I enjoy it. It's a good, fun atmosphere. I basically flirt with everyone that I come into contact with, and they flirt with me back. Management actually encourages it. It is in our employee handbook, believe it or not."

Pamela grinned leisurely. "I bet you look real good in a little Hooters top and those orange shorts ... don't you?"

Amy smiled as well, but chose not to respond directly. "You know, I think our jobs are very similar in certain ways. You a stripper, me a Hooters girl. Very similar."

"Oh? How so? Aside from the constant flirtation?"

"I think you, like me, would have to remember names and faces, and what everyone says. Customers, you know. I have so many regulars who come in and tell me their problems when I am working behind the bar ... whether it be life, dating, marriage, money, whatever. If I can remember their name and face, and whatever they say to me, I can pick right up with the conversation the next time they come in. A couple of days, a week ... sometimes even a month later. You would be amazed at the tips some of my customers leave for me when I am bartending. It is because I am so responsive to them."

"Oh yeah," Pamela agreed. "I remember everyone that I've given lap dances to. If I remember them and say something like, you were here a month ago and I danced for you three times, it makes them feel special. Everyone likes being remembered. It typically translates into more money and tipping for me as well. That is a big part of what I do. I make it a point to remember everyone that I dance for. I never, EVER forget a face. I would lose money if I did."

"Exactly," Amy declared. "That is why I say our jobs are similar in certain ways. The better our memories, the more money we make. I get a lot of tips from simply listening to others, lending a sympathetic ear. People like to talk about their problems. It makes them feel better. I am more than willing to stop and talk with a customer for five, maybe ten minutes - even if the restaurant is incredibly busy."

"Do you like that part of your job?"

"Yeah, I do," Amy answered. "I am really outgoing and will talk about anything with anyone. I don't mind listening to people talk about their problems. I like it, really, because I'm good at giving advice." She giggled and added, "Maybe one day I can have my own newspaper column. Doctor Amy ... the best source of advice for all of Cincinnati!"

"What do you think of this place thus far?" Pamela asked.

"The island is so beautiful!" Amy gushed. "I cannot wait to explore and find all the hidden places. Think we'll get to do that? How about we ask at dinner tonight? Want to?"

Pamela smiled softly and replied, "Sure, we can do that."

"Boy, I want to take a shower!" Amy exclaimed. "That long airline flight, from Cincinnati to Miami, then all the way to South America ... I need a shower, real bad. Want to take one? I saw a bunch of towels in the closet. There's some other stuff in there, too. Like some colored sheets, or something. Have any idea what they are?"

"Those are to dress in, like the natives," Pamela mused. "They are called pereos." Wow, I said inwardly. Pamela was sharp. I was surprised that Pamela knew what a pereo was - considering that she was a life-long resident of Maryland. Then again, I told myself, Pamela was a member of Mensa. That was, of course, the organization for those people with ridiculously high IQ ratings. Her mind, she once told me in a previous telephone discussion, was like a sponge. Pamela wanted to soak up all of the information about everything that she possibly could. Clearly, this woman was not your stereotypical exotic dancer. Not at all.

"Oh, neat," Amy responded. "Natives wear pereos? Maybe we should dress up in them? What do you think?"

Pamela thumbed through a few more pages of the magazine before setting it down on the table. "Maybe we can, later. First, we have to figure out how to put them on."

"Everything about this place - the island, the concept, Jeremy and all of the other girls - everything seems like a complete fairy tale to me. I ... I cannot believe that I am actually here, right now. I just cannot believe it. I ... I don't think I ever want to leave!"

"What do you mean?" Pamela wondered.

"This is what I have always dreamed of," Amy explained. "I've always wanted to go to someplace like Hawaii or the Bahamas. This island, from the little of it I've seen thus far, can stand up to either of those places. I have always wondered what it would be like in a multi-million dollar mansion. All of the other girls here are so beautiful, and so nice. Then there is Jeremy. I ... I'm just so excited! It's like all of my dreams are coming true at once!"

I should point out that this particular side of Amy was quite appealing to me. Unlike earlier, when she made the comments about wanting to get Lindsay drunk, Amy did not seem cold and abrasive at all. In fact, she seemed very likable.

Then again, I said to myself, the personality profiler on my computer predicted that Amy would be prone to extreme mood changes. Those mood changes, the program surmised, would not necessarily have to be triggered by a certain event, either. But most troubling of all, the software suggested - judging by her responses on the long questionnaire - Amy may very well suffer from Cyclothymic Personality Disorder. That, I am afraid, will be touched upon later in the story.

"Speaking of Jeremy," Pamela said, looking over at her new friend, "do you have any idea how one of us is going to get paid $500,000? The information packet I got said we were all going to be paid $100,000 each, except one. That one gets $500,000. Have any ideas on how we get that big money?"

Amy giggled and replied, "It will probably be the girl who gives him the best fuck." She laughed again, while Pamela looked at her with a surprised expression. It was obvious that Pamela did not expect Amy to use such brash language.

"What?" Amy snickered. "It's the truth. The packet made it very clear that we were going to be used as sex objects this summer." I frowned at those words, not agreeing with them in the slightest, as Amy kept talking, "The $500,000 prize will probably go to the girl who fucks him the best. In fact, I guarantee it. What else could it be?"

Pamela shook her head and laughed in mock disgust. "I do say, you're terrible, Amy!" She paused and added, "But then again, you may be correct. You probably are."

"No..." I moaned at those words, momentarily hurt by them. That was not going to be the case at all!

"I could use a half-million," Amy remarked. "All I know is that I am going to do EVERYTHING that Jeremy tells me. Obey, obey, obey. If Jeremy tells me to jump, I'll ask how high. If he tells me to suck, I'll take him balls-deep in my mouth." Those words created a sudden reaction within my body as Amy concluded, "Hopefully, I'll get that money."

"If I get the 500-K ... then great," Pamela told her. "But if I don't, I'll gladly take the $100,000 instead. I could use it toward tuition, and a new car. I really need one."

Amy made a face. "You're a stripper, girl. You probably made $200,000 last year alone. You need a new car?"

The 30-year-old laughed. "I've held onto the Pamelamobile for too long. It's time to finally let go. The Pamelamobile is actually a BMW. I have been looking into buying a brand new Lotus Elise. I think that they look really neat."

"I have a 1999 Saturn SL2," Amy said. "I would like to buy a new car myself, I guess. I am kind of partial to the 2014 Chevrolet Camaro. I like them. I could never afford one until coming to this island. You know, one decked out with lots and lots of goodies. But getting back to what I was saying, when we get the chance, let's ask Jeremy how we get the big money. He probably won't tell us, but maybe we can sneak it out of him. You know ... trick him."

Pamela shrugged her shoulders and countered, "Jeremy does not seem to be the type of person who can easily be tricked. I could be wrong, but I do not think so."

"I used to be able to trick and fool my ex-husband all of the time," Amy confided. "Until he finally smartened up."

"You were married?"

"Yes," Amy nodded. "His name was Eddie. He was black." Amy waited to see if Pamela would have any type of reaction to that little tidbit of information - positive, negative or neutral. What she got was no reaction. Pamela just sat there, waiting for Amy to talk more about her ex-husband.

"We were only married for three years," Amy finally added. "It was really all a big mistake. I never loved him enough."

"Then why did you marry him?" Pamela wondered. "Me ... IF I ever get married, I will be 100 percent, totally in love. I would never get married unless I felt that way. The same would have to apply for my husband-to-be and how he felt about me. Nothing less than 100 percent totally in love."

"I married him because the sex was great at first," Amy answered. "You know what they say - once you go black, you never go back. But even that grew old after awhile."

"I have never been with a black man, so I would not know," Pamela countered, leisurely twirling several strands of her long, free-flowing blonde hair between two fingers. "I have nothing against them, mind you. If the right man came along and it just so happened to be that he was black, I would not hesitate about being in a relationship with him."

Amy shook her head. "I cheated on Eddie with four guys in the first year of marriage." Pamela's eyelids skyrocketed as Amy went on, "I worked for a financial group back then in an office building. All four of the guys I cheated on Eddie with that first year, I knew from work. One was my boss."

"Nice way to get a raise, I suppose."

"No," Amy told her, defiant. "It wasn't about money or pay or anything. It was about the sex. I became addicted to my boss. I had to be with him every single day. I had to have his cock in my mouth or my pussy every single day. I could not live without it. His cock in my ass, too..."

Pamela burst into laughter. "Alrighty, then!" She must have been thinking the same thing I was - Amy was quite the promiscuous hellcat. She had clearly led quite the life thus far. After a couple of seconds, Pamela was able to quell her laughter and settle down. "What did your husband say after he found out about your ... addiction?"

Amy pouted. "Eddie kicked me out once he found out. I went to live on my own for awhile. Had to get an extra job at a supermarket, and worked there at night. I needed to make ends meet. But Eddie took me back after a few months. I was totally faithful to him for a year."

"Only a year?"

"Yeah," Amy frowned. "First it was this guy I met at the movie theater. We kind of ... got into his van ... and found a dark corner of the parking lot. That was only after I had given him a hand-job in the movie theater." Pamela looked intrigued. "Then it was my boss again. And his wife."

"HIS WIFE?" Pamela exclaimed.

"Both of them were much older than me," Amy fidgeted. "They were into some pretty kinky stuff, and it excited me. I cannot tell you how many three-somes I had with them. I remember times I would lie to Eddie and say I was going to visit my mom and dad, just so I could spend a couple of hours with Master Jack and Mistress Kim. They ... they did things to me that I did not even know were possible! I learned so many things from them ... so many things."

"What happened when Eddie found out this time?"

"He kicked me out again, and then divorced me," Amy sulked. "I went back to the supermarket. I had quit there when Eddie took me back the first time. Then my boss got into trouble with his boss, and was fired. I was let go from the financial group, too. I guess the company wanted to wash its hands of any sex scandal or whatever. It would have been bad for business. I then got my job at Hooters. My new boss there actually LIKED it that I was fired for basically being a nymphomaniac. So, because I could work however many hours I wanted, and made good tips, I quit the supermarket again. I make enough money as a waitress and bartender to survive on my own. I do not live the life of luxury, but I get by pretty much okay. I work really hard and am super-nice to all of the customers. That way, all of the tips keep piling in."

"Do you do anything with your new boss at Hooters since you said that he knows about your past transgressions? Maybe you go into his office, and he bends you over the desk for a good five or ten minutes?"

"Surprisingly, no. He seems to be happily married and committed to his wife. Trust me, I've tried."

Pamela smirked. "Master Jack and Mistress Kim? You're into that bondage stuff, huh? I have a friend like you."

Amy nodded. "I'm into it both ways. I can be dominant or submissive. Either way, I feel comfortable." She sighed and shook her head. "When I cheated on Eddie, I was a lot younger. I was a different person in those days. I ... I ... none of that should have ever happened."

"You regret the way things turned out, huh?"

Amy took a deep breath. "I look back on it now and feel guilty because I lied to him, and cheated on him, for such a long time. But truth be told, I should have never married Eddie in the first place. It was a mistake. I did not love him enough. Nor was I ready to settle down like that." Amy rubbed her eyes with two fists and sighed. "What about you, Pam? Have you ever been married? Or come close?"

"Pamela," she corrected her. "Please ... Pamela, not Pam. No to both. Never been married, never been close."

"Do you want to get married?"

The blonde nodded her head. "Oh yes. I just have yet to find the right man. If I get married, though, there will be no turning back. It will be forever. Trust me on that."

"It must be difficult to maintain a relationship with the type of job that you have," Amy remarked, sounding tentative. She did not want to step on any toes with her comments.

Pamela laughed. "Being a stripper? It can be, yes. It is one of the reasons why I haven't been on a date in eight months. I find it difficult to trust guys because of what I am forced to go through each and every night that I work. I am continually exposed to the lesser, vulgar side of men. It has tended to grow and wear on me after all these years. Honestly, I find it incredibly difficult to trust any man. It is so sad what this job has done to me."

"I never thought about being a stripper," Amy mused. "But I bet you that if I was a stripper, I'd be one of the girls who actually enjoyed it. And I would be good at it. At least ... I think I would be good at it."

"It's not too early to get started," Pamela advised her. "You are the same age as me, and I am still going strong." She paused briefly, then continued, "Master Jack and Mistress Kim? Do you still see them? Still get together?"

Amy frowned and even seemed to hold back tears for an instant or two. "Mistress really started to get jealous, I think. Master was spending a lot of time with me. I mean, I would be underneath his desk each morning before he was even in the office. I'd spend my entire lunch breaks with him. Mistress told me one day that I was nothing more an object to them, a plaything and sex toy, and I had run my course. I was to leave and never come back. This was after we had lost our jobs for getting caught. I tried talking to Master, but he said he didn't want to risk his marriage for a piece of pussy that he knew would cheat on him eventually anyway."