The Captive of San Ramiro

WARNING/DISCLAIMER: This story features scenes of extreme female domination and BDSM, including pee/toilet play and forced bisexuality. If such content is offensive to you, please do not continue.

Note: that this is a re-write of an earlier piece that was originally published and subsequently removed.

San Ramiro Island is a desolate place. Like most of the Channel Islands that lay off the coast of Southern California, is a small, windswept, barren rocky island- hardscrabble and desolate. A 30 minute boat ride from Santa Barbara, it would appear to get few visitors. As if to further deter the curious, the pier on the eastern end has long since been demolished, and a large painted "No Trespassing" sign can be seen on the concrete dock by those who might be curious enough to land here.

Not that it matters. Neither the coast guard nor the county sheriff ever have much reason to come out here. There is nothing really to protect, save an automated lighthouse beacon that was installed after the island had been abandoned. And if authorities ever they do get the inclination to run off day-tripping trespassers, they typically let them go with just a warning.

San Ramiro is not a large island. Its bean-shaped landmass barely covers more than 120 acres. But there is, nonetheless, enough remaining here to draw the curious and the sightseers. And so today, we had rented a small power boat- a far cry from the fleet of private luxury yachts which used to visit this place- and we had motored on out to visit the place ourselves.

Like most visitors who stop off here, we tied the boat to the concrete platform facing the mainland, and climbed ashore. The remains of the pier could still be seen here; jagged pillars sticking up out of the water. A flock of sea birds, startled by our approach, took to the air, shrieking forlornly. A series of wide concrete steps, now cracked and crumbling, rose up from the beach onto the plateau above. The stair railing, once ornately molded concrete, was crumbling away, and two statues, mock Roman sculpture, at either end had been shattered by vandals. We made our way up the stairs.

We reached the crest of the hilltop overlooking the beach and headed towards the ruins. The vast gutted hulk of the mansion greeted us. Once three stories tall, imposing and beautiful, now a roofless gutted shell, its windowless façade covered with graffiti. We crossed what had once been an ornate manicured lawn- now just tall dead grass, and approached the yawning portal. Beyond, we could see the dead trees- planted when the mansion was founded, now long dead through neglect and the harsh climate. Everything here looked dead, ruined, spent, forlorn.

The interior walls of the mansion still stood, at least on most of the first level. These were cracked, crumbling marble and reinforced concrete. Rebar poked through the cracks here and there. These eight feet high interior walls had survived the fire which had gutted the building and brought down the upper two stories, creating an open-sky maze like effect. However, debris and blackened timbers littered the floor, along with ubiquitous broken bottles- the detritus of more recent visitors. Graffiti covered the remaining standing walls- inscrutable homage to various street gangs and taggers, mostly- except for two bare walls in what appeared to have once been a vast ballroom. Here, the words "Do what thou wilt shalt be the hole (sic) of the law" were emblazoned below a crudely sprayed pentagram, and in the debris-littered hall beyond, the words "The Wages of Sin is Death- Rom 6 23" decorated a cracked marble-tiled wall. My wife thought that these last two were somewhat fitting, in light of the debauchery this particular island was known for in its heyday. For it is the tales of the debauchery that occurred on this island which gave it such a scandalous reputation back in the day. And, it is these stories which still draw curious visitors to this very day.

Most of those stories are widely believed to be mere rumor, but the thing is, all of those tales are true. All of it. I should know. I was there.

But what is generally known to the public, is that a prominent businessman discovered his wife was frequenting this island and carrying on an affair- well, several affairs, actually- with the men who caroused here. In his wrath, he stormed the island, gunning down both his wife and her lover, and possibly would have killed even more had others not been so quick to disarm him. As a result, the "Activities" on the island came to a screeching halt. The sordid stories came to light (some, but by no means all of them) and the place was almost instantly abandoned. The denizens of the island quit their hedonistic ways and went on with their lives, and the assailant, George Rathmann, now sits on death row.

We walked through the ruined portal that once lead to a luxurious back patio. Down a few cracked and crumbling stairs. Below was the remains of what had once been a large rectangular swimming pool; now just an empty cement basin half filled with bright green sludgy water. The gilded mermaid sculpture that once sat on a rectangular cement platform at the center of the pool was long gone; although we could see the rusted bolts that had anchored it. I stood there, lost in thought. Remembering the rich, young, and above all, beautiful people who had once frolicked in and alongside this pool in the warm summer evening. Now, gulls circled and cried mournful cries in the grey, clouded skies above this abandoned and desolate place. Cracked and broken columns surrounded the back patio beyond the empty pool, and the stairs from here led to the back beach. We walked down them, and down the trail to the beach at the far end of the island. Couples had once eloped and frolicked here too, in the privacy of the shade trees and secluded beach, but now the trees were long dead- skeletons in the mist and salty spray, and the waves sighed as they broke and receded from that small patch of sand.

"Hey, Want to check out the basement?" my wife said, suddenly.

I remembered that basement well.

We headed back up the path, up the slight hill that lead from the back beach to the ruined marble house. It looked oddly like an ancient mausoleum or temple, the way the roofless columns surrounded its ruined bulk. Off to our left stood a fallen rusted water tower and the remains of a trio of tumbled down roofless marble structures- what had once been an ornate pool house, a former gym/spa, and a utility building that had housed the generators. We stepped back through the door we just came, then over a pile of fallen timbers, and came upon the stairs leading downward. Rusted metal steps, covered in rotting carpet. At the bottom, the entrance to the basement yawned like a black hole. We descended into the gloom.

I got to admit, the place did have a creepy vibe down here. I remembered that TV show, with the three goofy guys who liked to go investigate abandoned buildings and walk around with strange equipment, hoping to capture evidence of ghosts. "Is there anyone who wants to talk? Can you MAKE A NOISE?!" I said aloud, jokingly imitating the TV show. She laughed knowingly. And if those erstwhile ghost hunters were to conduct an investigation here, they would be intrigued by the shackles still hanging on the cement walls, and other disturbing instruments of restraint- and who knows what else was still here.

The ghosts were, in a sense, real. They had come to life in my head. Here in this basement was the heart of the debauchery and decadence of San Ramiro, where the most extreme elements of that decadent debauchery took place. And oh, how I still remembered well the first day I was taken here.

The sex parties, the orgies, the young studs and beautiful half naked women, the extreme indulgences, I was a part of it all. That was the legend of San Ramiro Island which even back in the day, before the debauchery became known, drew all kinds of whispers and intrigue. Those people never really knew the half of it, I thought with a shudder. Being invited to this island was, for many young men in their sexual prime, a dream come true. Except for some, it could quickly become a nightmare. As it did for me.

Twenty years ago, when I was in my mid-20s and at the bottom of the corporate ladder, I was working as an engineering graphics technician at a company called Pulex Engineering, doing power plant designs. One of our clients had been a solar energy firm who designed the panel layout for the manor on San Ramiro Island, which was owned by a young and eccentric millionaire named Paul Ostermann. Zack Thomas was the senior project engineer, and he and I had both worked on the drawings for the solar co-gen plant which powered the small island.

But the stories quickly started circling. It was said that Ostermann hosted these wild and elaborate sex parties on the island, with beautiful, young, scantily clad models and hot, perfectly built male studs. The rumors got more and more elaborate- stories of wild sex parties, orgies, and so on. Some said that it was a secret swingers' sex club where the beautiful and wealthy could go and get their wildest sexual dreams fulfilled. Anyone lucky enough to be invited there, male or female, could satisfy their deepest primal sexual urges in a "What happens on San Ramiro Stays on San Ramiro" type environment.

Naturally, as a single, young twentysomething in my sexual prime, those stories fascinated me. However, I had my eye on someone already. She was my age, achingly beautiful, but at the same time, sweet, flirty, and innocent. Her name was Melanie Woods. Many times, nearly every day, she would stop by my cubicle and laugh and talk and flirt. She had gorgeous honey blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a perfect petite tanned body- I wanted her so bad, yet I lacked the right words to say to ask her on a date. She was nonetheless the subject of many of my deepest fantasies.

One day, Zach Thomas quit Pulex unexpectedly. It was a bit of a mystery to me at first, as he was fairly successful and good at what he did. He had seemed distant, agitated, and not himself, in the last couple of weeks up until he suddenly left. I had not heard from him, until that day I ran into him at Mamie's Brew Pub after work, sitting at a table across from one of the most gorgeous girls I had ever laid eyes on. She had long, dark hair, dark eyes, and the most gorgeous, voluptuous body I had ever seen- tall, deeply tanned, and athletic- and dressed the way she was, in a tiny black leather skirt, knee high boots and a low cut top, I could see most of it. In fact I had to double take to make sure it WAS Zach with her at first- what would a pudgy, middle aged man be doing with such a hot young woman anyway? Zach, however, looked unhappy, uncomfortable, and stressed out. Wondering what was going on, I walked over to say hi.

"Hey, Ben! That IS you! Hey, Erika, meet my friend Ben!" he said suddenly. She turned toward me and smiled. And that smile, those dark pooling eyes, I almost melted- godDAMN this girl was beautiful. She said sweetly, "Hi, so you are the famous Ben, Zach's friend from Pulex! He's told me all about you, how you like to do your voice imitation of sports broadcasters, and crack silly jokes about the projects you guys were on..."

"Yeah. So what have you guys been up to? Zach, I can't believe you quit, where are you working now?"

"Well, speaking of jokes about projects, remember The Island of Doctor Love?" he asked, quoting our name for San Ramiro when we were on the solar generation project. "Well, guess what, I WORK for the Doctor now. Ostermann hired me himself to work out at the island full time. And that's where I met my girlfriend here, Erika!"

"Wow! Are you serious? So, like, is it really as wild a place as the rumors say?"

He shook his head. "Oh Ben...you don't..." At that, Erika's eyes seemed to flash, and I could see her hand fidgeting in her purse. Suddenly Ben doubled over and cried out.

"Yeah. It IS! It's Awesome! Beautiful girls, awesome parties... It's a wonderful place. The girls there... And Erika, she's so beautiful, I would do anything for her...I mean; it's like my dream come true!"

I could not help notice though, that for guy with a dream job and a gorgeous girlfriend, working on an island for a rich billionaire, Zach looked pretty unhappy. In fact, he looked downright miserable. His eyes seemed haunted, betraying the false enthusiasm in his voice.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Nothing really. You should see the place, it's amazing."

"So you guys met out there, huh?" I asked.

"Yeah... I mean Yes. Yeah we did." Erika's eyes seemed to flash a warning. "I live out there almost full time now, at least five days a week. It's wonderful..."

Erika smiled again. "So, Zach's told me a lot about you. Actually, more than one person has. I've even been told you were single. Have you ever been to the island?"

"Well, no...I mean, I've worked on the drawings for the power plant and stuff but, it's a pretty exclusive place I hear. So, all those crazy rumors, the sex parties, I mean, do people really go there to...all that stuff really happens?" I blushed, thinking maybe I shouldn't have asked that question.

"No, don't worry, it's all true!" She replied, laughing. "All of it. Girls like us go to have a good time, get loose, get laid..." (She said this last in a whisper) "You'll see. You know, you should come see for yourself! This Friday night we're having a mixer. Consider yourself invited! We have a charter boat down by the docks that runs out there, every hour. Oh, and guess what?" she smiled again. "Zach isn't the only friend you will know there. There is someone else...someone who likes you, thinks you're really cute..."

"Who?"

"Miss Melanie Woods, I believe."

I was shocked, but more than ever, the thought that Melanie herself went here, to get laid by all those hot young stallions on that island, made me aroused more than jealous. I could imagine her, baring that hot sexy blonde body, being sexually serviced...Oh, how I wanted to be there, sharing in that experience. Hey, maybe I was a little jealous. But if I was actually INVITED out there, maybe I would meet someone too. After all if a pudgy, balding 50-something like Zach could hook up with a girl that looked like Erika out there...

"It's going to be a social gathering. Just low key. If you want to come, be at the docks at 7. If you want to be a member, like Zach and I, They might give you a hearing where you can even ask to join us permanently."

"So it really is, like a swingers club?"

"Yep! Most of us, we do like to get freaky." She smiled again. Zach, I noticed, was not smiling. It was almost too late I caught the warning in his eyes.

"Why don't you give me your number, and I'll call you in case you have any questions." She continued. "They'll want you to get tested for, you know..., so we might call you about that."

So with that, Erika and I exchanged numbers and as I drove home, my was head spinning, thinking of Melanie in a thong bikini laying out on a hot island beach, surrounded by girls as hot as Erika, and oiled, muscular guys like, well, that thought made me even more aroused. I could be one of those guys! I was in pretty good physical shape after all, so maybe...

At work the next day Melanie was her usual sweet, friendly self, as she wandered over during a coffee break to chat. "I met a friend of yours the other day. Tall, dark hair, named Erika..."

"Oh yeah, I know! She called me last night. She told me she invited you to our little party on Friday."

"YOU never told me you hung out at the island of Doctor Love!"

"Shhhh!" she whispered. "That will be our little secret, right? We can't talk about it out loud here..."

"I can't wait to see the place. And old Zach, sounds like he has fun out there too."

"Well, actually, we have fun with him. That Erika, she's a wild one."

"Well, she sure tamed him."

"Ha ha, you don't know the half of it." She smirked, and her smile made my whole day brighter. God, she was beautiful.

That Wednesday I got the call from Erika to make an appointment with a Dr. Motorri for a quick physical. I drove out to his office after work- she gave me the directions- and quickly got in to see him. Motorri was a very young, fit, athletic man who looked fresh out of med school, and his nurse, who he introduced as Arielle, well, she looked like one of those strip-o-gram scantily clad girls- beautiful body in a skimpy "Naughty Nurse" outfit. Let's just say that she helped made the ensuing physical exam not only bearable but actually enjoyable.

"We'll have your results over to Paul in no time," Arielle said to me.

"Paul?"

"Paul Osterman...from the island. We'll just call over there as soon as we can."

"Wait, how did you know about that?" I asked, suddenly wondering about how secure their patient confidentiality was.

"Well, Erika Basterrachea was the one who referred you, right? I assume it was for a party on the island?"

"Yeah, actually... okay, right, yeah, she did, for Ostermann's island!"

"We'll have a blast out there!" she said, smiling and winking as she elbowed me, knowingly. (Hmmm... wait as sec... WE??)

I had thought Friday evening would NEVER roll around. I could not stop thinking about it, about Melanie, about the whole deal- and man, at work that day, she had worn an extra teeny skirt, almost as if torment me, and been so friendly I was afraid she would notice the bulge in my pants. Maybe soon she'll see it up close anyway, I thought, and this seemed to excite me more.

But nonetheless I was a bit nervous as I headed out to the docks. Would I fit in? Make a good impression? These guys were likely all wealthy, interesting, jet-setting people and I was still a rather naive young 26 year old, almost still a kid. Was this really going to be the wild place I had hoped, and would people be cool? When I pulled up, parked, and walked down to the docks, I didn't even know which yacht was supposed to bring me out there. However to my relief, I spotted Erika, along with a gorgeous tall redhead, standing next to a trim looking 35 foot yacht. Both girls were wearing tiny shorts and bikini tops and if I had thought Erika was sexy, her friend, well, was cream your jeans hot. Gorgeous long red hair, tall athletic body much like Erika, and deep blue eyes.

"Ben! We were hoping you'd come by! This is Lacey by the way."

"Hi..." I said, shyly.

"I've heard all about you from Erika and Zach! Come aboard! It's about 30 minute trip out there, but it goes by quick."

There was another couple already aboard, who introduced themselves as Mandy and Steve; her, a gorgeous brunette in a bikini, and him, a Chippendale looking man in a crewcut who looked like someone from an underwear commercial. I did not see Zach around, although I assumed he was already out on the island.

Lacey entertained me by telling about the island on the trip out. As I recalled from working on the drawings, it had a solar plant that powered the whole island, including a desalinization plant and a septic system. Fresh water fed the pool and a grove of planted trees at the south end, where, Lacey had said, couples (and sometimes threesomes!) went to frolic in an outdoor setting at a secluded beach.

"Don't be nervous, just be yourself. People are really friendly. There's beach volleyball, a barbecue with pretty much everything you want, pool tables, a full bar- but really, don't worry about being shy or anything."

When we pulled up at the island, there were at least a dozen boats tied up at the two docks built on the small cove on the eastern end. Steps, ornately carved marble, led from the piers up the low cliffs to the plateau where the house, an exquisite building of white marble and columns, stood. We walked around to the front of the three story mansion, where large columns framed the open front door, and went in. Lacey showed me around. "This is the ball room, dance hall, back there is the kitchen, but to your left...our big screen TV's and to the right, the game room. Upstairs, if people want privacy, we have ten bedrooms on the upper floors. But first, through here." She led me to the back of the house, where two doors opened onto the patio. Outside, everywhere I looked, I saw people relaxing, having fun. Lounging by the pool, swimming, playing volleyball at the courts beyond, and sitting at a poolside bar.