Paradise Isle, The Spy, Pt. 01

Paradise Isle, The Spy, Pt 1

(fetish, ponygirl, non-consensual, modification)

By ChangeYourPassword Dealing with a Spy

Very non-con. A harsh tale.

Author's Note: This is a work of fiction. It is a story of sexual fantasies and fetishes. These sexual practices are not for everyone, but those of us who delve into them understand the allure. The characters in the story certainly do. If you enjoy this story and the fetishes involved, great. If not, please forget the whole thing.

This tale is a stand-alone story of an adventure at Paradise Isle. Please read at least the first section of the 'Island Paradise, The Beginning' for background on the wonderful island and its sexual vacation orientation. It sets the stage for this and other stories of sexual pleasures encountered on the island.

For details of the pony training, read the 'Paradise Isle, The Pony' series.

His Excellency, Hernando Calibri, the esteemed governor of Gran Roque Island, now famously known as Paradise Isle, held the weekly status meeting with his staff every Tuesday morning at 1000 sharp. And today was no exception.

The sessions were usually somewhat boring. Financial discussions with the head of that department were filled with numbers and a happy reminder of the island's success. The operations managers for the three resorts were also generally positive, reporting on happy customers and efficient staffs. And the other administrative departments discussed their particular challenges and their resolutions.

All of it was monitored by the attentive auditor provided by the nation's Presidente. He was always on-hand to ensure that nothing untold was happening, for fear that it might impact the steady flow of tax income the island generated, and the great man himself benefited from.

This particular meeting progressed as always, until the chief of security, Coronel Oliveira, closed off his review with a disturbing warning.

"Your excellency, we do have an issue that my head of intelligence believes to be a potentially significant problem."

"Oh?"

"Yes Sir, we apparently have a spy, or actually a pair of spies, on their way to the island."

That caused a small stir among the attendees.

"Explain please. Who would want to send spies to our little island? Certainly not the CIA or the KGB."

The Governor's response generated a laugh and eased the tensions a bit.

The Coronel smiled and nodded, and then began his explanation.

"They're actually a pair of American reporters, paparazzi from one of those liberal New York rags.

"From what we've heard they intend to masquerade as normal guests, and then write an expose, and I quote, 'on the decadent sexual exploitation that runs rampant on that beautiful tropical paradise for the rich'".

The head of marketing and sales, moaned, while the auditor, cursed.

Governor Calibri thought for a moment. "And you have this on good authority?"

"Yes sir, from one of our previous guests, a regular actually, who doesn't want our operations disturbed. He enjoys himself too much when he's here.

"We have a number of similar sources, in countries around the world. They're very useful."

"I can imagine. Do we have the details on these two guests?" the Governor asked, next.

The Coronel dug into his briefcase and pulled out a collection of file folders, passing them around. At the same time his aid brought up images of their contents on the large computer monitor mounted at the foot of the conference table.

Everyone took a few minutes to examine the documentation.

"Wait; so, the woman is a reporter and the man is a photographer? And they're traveling as man and wife under false names?". The attorney asked. He seemed either confused or disgruntled, or possibly both.

"Yes, apparently. We received the standard set of documentation, visa requests and guest profiles for the pair. And based on our analysis, it's all made-up.

"You can see on the next page assembled by our researchers, their real identities."

"They have passports too? How can that be? Perhaps they really are from the CIA." The auditor asked, angrily.

The attorney nodded. "Yes, that's a clear violation of international agreements."

"We're not sure how they obtained legitimate passports in their fake names, perhaps through some underhanded collusion between the press and their deceitful government."

While the staff had been debating the details, Governor Calibri had been developing a plan.

"Well, obviously we will not allow this spying," he said, to everyone's agreement.

"So, the pair will be stopped as soon as they set foot in our country." He said looking at the police Coronel.

"Of course," the man confirmed.

"Their deceitful identification will be enough to arrest them on Federal charges. And I assume that the photographer, the man, will have brought along a camera or cameras, hidden in his things. Why else would he be coming?"

"You're probably quite right."

"Thus, he is violating our own privacy laws, as well. May I suggest he be sent immediately to the mainland and to prison to await formal proceedings?"

"I'm sure the Presidente will arrange that," the representative confirmed.

The Coronel chuckled, "I'm fairly certain he'll disappear into the prison system and never be heard from again."

Those around the table smiled knowingly and nodded in unison.

The Governor, frowning, continued, this time looking at the lawyer. "Do you agree that the USA and the media company will find their hands tied in this matter? They can't very well demand we release the couple, who actually don't exist. Nor can they provide their real names and admit that they perpetrated international fraud, by providing them with false passports."

The lawyer smiled agreeably. "You are correct."

The Presidente's man spoke up, angrily. "They would be admitting to spying on us, our sovereign nation. We could claim it to be an invasion by a foreign government. It could be considered an act of war!"

"I wouldn't go that far, but whatever." His Excellency said, calmingly. "Chances are that they'll let it go. Try some secretive and half-hearted methods of negotiating for their release and when we tell them to fuck off, they'll abandon the two of them."

Again, everyone nodded in agreement.

His excellency paused again, thinking.

"Bring the photo of the woman back up on the big screen."

When the photo collection provided as part of the visa and guest registration documentation was once again displayed, he continued.

"She is pretty enough. It would be a shame to waste her. We should be able to put her to good use, here on the island. And if necessary, when the time is right, we can show her employers what happens to their people when they attempt to screw with us.

"Any suggestions on where we might employ her?" he asked the team.

The chief of logistics, an older island resident with a reputation for being somewhat crude and overbearing, spoke up. "If we still had a brothel, she'd be perfect."

The Governor frowned. "Tiago, we don't deal in that anymore."

"Yes sir," the man replied, chastised.

After a moment the personnel director, leaned in. "I have an idea. Usually, after the second week of pony school, the cart pony training portion, the ponygirls are almost catatonic. They can barely remember their own names, and are extremely compliant.

"The last days of their advanced training usually involve them spending a day or two pulling the mail cart around the resort. We could use her there as the full-time cart pony."

There were a few mumbles from the others. Generally positive.

"That could very well work. In her pony harness, with hooves, she'd be relatively harmless. Certainly, unable to escape." Someone else confirmed.

"What about the man, the photographer, could we use him, rather than just throw him away?" The director of the other resort, a woman, asked.

Governor Calibri looked at her questioningly.

"He may be of some value," she explained.

He shrugged. "Bring his photos back up."

The assistant displayed the files on the big monitor.

"He's not much to look at. Not a specimen we'd expect in a guest," Calibri said thoughtfully. "Do you have any use for someone like that?" the Governor asked, glancing around.

When no one responded, he prompted them. "Well..."

Still nothing.

"I don't see it. Forget him. If he's lucky, he might survive long enough for someone from their embassy to save him. But it won't matter to us. Our case is solid."

"And by then it won't matter for the woman." The director of the fet resort commented, with a laugh.

The others joined in, understanding.

After that break, the Governor then took back his meeting. "Alright. We'll teach the nosey Miss Clarkson and her employers a lesson. Colonel, get security to gather more photos of this reporter, and watch for their arrival. We'll have a surprise ready for them."

"And one final point. When anyone asks, we will maintain that we have no record of any person named, what was her fake name? Regan? That no one with that name ever got off the ferry. And if they refer to a Clarkson, we've never heard of her, either. Noone with that name has ever been issued a legitimate entry visa."

The meeting broke up ten minutes later with the plan settled and responsibilities assigned.

As they were all filing out of the Governor's conference room, he tapped the Coronel on the shoulder. "Nice job. Commend your staff, and send your source, a discount voucher for their next visit.

"Oh, and After you arrest the young reporter, please bring her to me. I'll enjoy destroying her dreams of a Pulitzer Prize, while I inform her of her new career."

"Yes sir, I'll handle everything."

+++++++++++

Cinthia was really looking forward to this assignment. Who wouldn't be excited about spending a week in a tropical resort? All expenses paid, no less. But she was even more excited about the prospect of exposing this so-called 'paradise' as the debauched playground of the rich and beautiful.

Based on everything she'd heard, it was a prime example of the people and lifestyles she hated, and delighted in tearing down with her acidic exposes.

She had built a successful, if young, career based on attack articles that tore down politicians and personalities who she felt were taking unfair advantage of their positions to screw the less advantaged, while enjoying the good life. The ass holes!

So, she was already building the story she'd publish in her head, before she even saw the place.

And all the cloak and dagger stuff that her editors had assembled to make the trip possible, added even more spice to this adventure. She would pretend to be just another rich-bitch guest.

She wasn't all that thrilled about her partner. He was a fine photographer, but he was older, and far from good-looking, and she'd have to share the suite with him.

She'd already made it clear that there'd be no touching.

+++++++++++

Packed and equipped, the two flew down from the city. He had his cameras squirreled away in his luggage and unable to find a way to smuggle in a laptop, she had packed several tablets, ready to record her observations by hand. She expected them to be so scandalous that they'd set the pages on fire. How fun!

After the long flight to a neighboring island the pair boarded a ferry that would carry them to the infamous Paradise Isle.

There were eight other couples also traveling excitedly to the resorts there on the boat, and Cinthia, now Jill, took the opportunity to do a little research. She began casually working her way through them striking up conversations, assembling background information.

She soon began to realize that they were all young professionals, attractive and well-off.

At one point she had marveled at those observations to Dennis, and he had reminded her that only wealthy folks could afford the prices, and that the islands reputation would attract the more physically and sexually attractive vacationers.

And he had added, "and with the photos they required as part of the reservation process, I wouldn't be surprised if the administration isn't selective on who they allow on their island."

Cinthia found that thought both intriguing and draconian. Only beautiful people allowed.

Of course, she fit in. She had always considered herself to be a ten, the men she had dated seemed to believe that. But Daniel was only perhaps a six on the scale. She wondered how he had made the cut.

The passengers she surreptitiously interviewed were all certainly attractive, and apparently successful enough to afford expensive vacations. For the most part they were lawyers, doctors, engineers and financiers, although she was surprised when one couple explained that they were electricians and one guy, married to a Hollywood starlet who she didn't recognize, was a plumber. And he was a hunky ten.

Cinthia made mental notes of all the details; fodder for her article.

After a three- hour cruise, she stepped off the ferry with Dennis, feeling excited and confident.

On the island's dock, the imposter Regans, Robert and Jill, were met like all of the other guests. Amongst all of the others they were processed through the welcoming pavilion, issued their ID bracelets and their island phones and then loaded with their luggage into a cart by their assigned hostess.

Although tedious, it was all efficiently handled and everyone was friendly and welcoming.

The arrival procedures had been impressively detailed, and particularly strict, and for a moment she had been worried about getting caught, but everything went smoothly. They were treated like the other beautiful and rich couples arriving at the place.

She put on a token protest when they confiscated her cell phone. She didn't need it, as she had a satellite phone hidden in her luggage that she intended to use to dictate her reports back to the paper's servers.

Curious about the ID bracelets every guest was being assigned, while David distracted the staff, she took a look at the list of bracelet colors on the desk in front of her. The information didn't seem to be secret, but it wasn't posted for easy examination either.

She did her best to memorize them, the details would make for good copy, later.

- Tan - staff

- White - standard resort guest

- Black - fetish resort guest

- Turquoise - Mermaid Package

- Green - Nudist Package

- Navy Blue - Latex Package

- Baby Blue - CosPlayer

- Red - Submissive / slave

- Maroon - Dominant

- Yellow - Furry Package

- Brown - Pet Package (pony, kitty, puppy, cow, pig, etc.)

- Purple - Chastity Package

- Pink - Bimbofication Package

- Orange - Feminization / sissification Package

- Silver on Right wrist - willing and able for sex with anyone who asks- heterosexual

- Gold on Right wrist- willing and able for sex with anyone who asks - any

Interesting, and frightening. She was a sexual person, but had never considered participation in any of the fetishes listed. She barely knew what some of them entailed.

Daniel took special note of the gold and silver bracelets. "Are you sure you don't want one of those?" he asked with a slimy grin.

She gave him a withering stare. "No dear, you know that's not for me."

He chuckled and shrugged. "I was hoping."

"Forget it!"

The Regans had been given white wrist bands, like many of the others, although she had wondered if they should have gone for the probably more bizarre fetish resort.

The list did leave her upset - all the depraved games these people played at. And all the money they spent on it.

Having successfully completed their in-processing, secretly relieved, they loaded into a glorified golf-cart driven by their assigned hostess. They headed off to begin their assignment.

Rather than take them directly to a suite, as expected, their hostess took them straight to the resort's small security office. There they were met by the Coronel himself and several of his men, all big, intimidating and armed. The pair were unceremoniously removed from the cart, and along with their things, were hauled into the security space.

Protesting, futilely, they were secured in separate rooms, while the goons apparently searched their luggage.

Twenty minutes later they were finally accosted by the police forces.

First the Coronel visited Robert. The man explained that their ruse had failed, that several illegal cameras had been found hidden in his luggage and that he'd be taken immediately to the mainland for trial and imprisonment.

It was also made clear that they knew of his real name and profession. That was a terrible shock. He'd been assured by his bosses that their ID's were perfect - government issued.

At first the photographer, whose real name was Dennis Mitchell, protested. Then he threatened, and finally he begged for leniency, promising to leave and never return.

Everything he said was ignored and within the hour he was in chains and being dragged off to a coastguard boat for transport and deposit in a federal prison on the mainland.

Having already forgotten the guy, the Coronel moved on to deal with Jill, actually Cinthia. Cinthia Clarkson.

She too was surprised when it was revealed that her true identity was known, and she was shocked to hear that her false papers made her a foreign spy.

She followed a remarkably similar process to the one with her colleague. Protesting, threatening and finally begging, until losing his patience, the Coronel shut her up with a slap, and then had his men handcuffed her and pushed her none to gently into a straight-back chair.

She was hurt and stunned by the abuse, but she realized that she wasn't in an American police station, protected by lawyers and the constitution. These men were serious...

She sat there, silently, frightened, shivering and crying while the police chief took a seat behind a desk, and shuffled through some papers.

"Where's Robert?" she finally mumbled. He was the only person she knew, there.

"Who?" The Colonel asked, looking up.

"My partner."

The man chuckled. "Oh, you mean, Mr. Mitchell? You can forget about him. He's on his way to prison. You'll never see him again.

"And his load of cameras are in the evidence locker. We made it clear that photography is not allowed on our island, did we not?"

She didn't answer, so he just shook his head. "And neither are satellite phones, like the one we found hidden in your luggage."

Oh shit, she thought. I'm soo screwed.

For the next twenty minutes she suffered through an interrogation, answering with one-word answers, while the police recorded her responses.

There was little she could say to explain her presence. She did maintain that she wasn't a government agent. A CIA spy. But that seemed to mean little.

Finally, the Coronel, dropped his paperwork and stood up, issuing an order to his men in Portuguese.

They grabbed her, stood her up and perp-marched her out to a patrol car in which she was taken to the Governor's mansion.

Just a short time later, she found herself, sitting in another chair, a more comfortable one, in front of the Governor's huge desk, handcuffed, terrified and now crying quietly.

The man was clearly in charge, and very powerful.

"Did you really think you could spy on us? Did you picture yourself like some female James Bond?" he asked, sternly.

It took her a while to formulate an answer. "I'm just a reporter writing a story."

"And what is so interesting here on my island that you'd go to all the trouble to sneak in here with false documents, pretending to be an innocent guest?

"The passport alone. A real one. Singles you out as a government-sponsored spy. Do you realize that?"