The Hotwife Games Ch. 15

He looks at the phone's "low battery" symbol. He looks at the door of the small shed. It's open a crack.

BEARDED MAN

"Anyone in there?"

He jogs toward it.

INT. ELECTRICAL SHED - MORNING

Morning light pierces in as the door is slowly swung open. The bearded man enters.

BEARDED MAN

"Hello? Is this the electric crew for the show? I mean, the grip department, or..."

His eyes adjust to the light.

BEARDED MAN

"I'm looking for a charger..."

His voice trails off. There's no one there.

He scans the walls for an outlet.

He stops in his tracks.

LOW ANGLE: CAMERA rotates a slow three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. Mirroring the man's rotation in the opposite direction.

He takes in the contents of the walls around him.

Whatever he sees, it drains the color from his face.

CAMERA STOPS. He spots something else.

The man approaches the room's corner. TILT DOWN.

On a low, walnut desk sits a sub-compact Beretta 91 combat pistol.

--

CUT BACK TO DARKNESS.

--

Now blindfolded, Rakesh felt someone take his arm, and strap something around his wrist. Is this what Chloe was referring to in the green room?

Then he felt himself ushered a few feet away. He heard the low growl of a car engine as it pulled up nearby.

He felt hands on his lower back, guiding him forward.

"Step up," said a familiar, friendly voice -- Chloe's, he registered -- and he followed her advice, raising a leg and stepping in.

Rakesh realized he was in the back cabin of a large van. Minutes later, he was riding a bumpy, uphill course to some unknown destination.

The young husband was still basically naked, as well as blindfolded, and felt eminently vulnerable.

It was a short, steep ride upwards. Soon Rakesh was nudged out of the double-doored van. He alighted onto a dirt path.

"Enjoy!" rang Chloe's voice from inside the vehicle. The van's engine turned once more.

Rakesh shook off the disorienting feeling of the new location. He reached up and took off the blindfold, just in time to see the lime-green Hotwife Games van careening away down a dirt road.

The naked husband instinctively wheeled around three-hundred-and-sixty degrees. He took stock of his new circumstances.

Instantly, he drew a sharp breath. It seemed that Rakesh had been dropped off at the uppermost peak of the small islet. He was in a little clearing that fell off on all sides, fringed by palm trees and lush rambutan bushes. A spectacular view surrounded the small, hilly summit.

The nude banker was encapsulated by a panoramic vista of sweeping island topography, wrapped on all sides by miles of glassy blue ocean. There was a solitary white cloud near the horizon, in an otherwise pristine sky. All around him, the little islet dropped off in sharp, green angles, revealing a layered tropical utopia full of beguiling -- and baffling -- features.

Down in front of him was a terraced shelf canopied with banana trees. The sounds of a running brook rose up through the shady grove.

Turning further west, Rakesh could see that far down the hill sat a boxy, dun-colored trio of buildings. They reminded him off the sort of edifices you saw on studio lots, the kind he'd seen when they first arrived at the Games back in Burbank. Soundstages, he remembered they were called. They were a strange sight on the equatorial hillside.

He peered closer. The largest soundstage had a slab of text emblazoned over the entryway. The word and the font both looked vaguely familiar -- but the text was half-shaded behind some palm fronds. From that distance, it was illegible.

The next thing swimming into Rakesh's ken made him check his vision in disbelief.

Rising up from a thicket of palms about halfway down the isle was a structure whose presence defied all logic. For one, it was an ugly, five-story building, with mirrored glass walls that reflected the blue ocean -- and it seemed utterly out of place in this tropical paradise. But more than that, a three-dimensional logo studded a corner of the edifice in a dull gray font. It was an office building.

No, it was Rakesh's office building.

He blinked three, four, five times. Either the Games had uprooted the actual office Rakesh worked at in central London and flown it, brick-by-brick, across the Pacific, or they had somehow built an exact replica here on Kama'sueh.

In either case, the effect was bizarre -- and chilling. How did they take the trouble to find out what his drab KraftBank offices looked like? Moreover, why? What did it mean?

Rakesh kept surveying the scene at his feet, and the island's mysteries only deepened.

Some three hundred yards downhill, surrounded by a grove of golden cane palms, a bronze statue twisted up to the sky. It was ornate, chipped green with age, and wrought in a style that reminded Rakesh of some ancient Galician sculptor he'd once seen in a museum. Yet its figures were anything but traditional.

The tall sculpture depicted three beautiful nude women linked together in a sapphic embrace. The clustering foliage made it impossible to tell for sure, but it seemed to stand on a high platform.

Rakesh's bemusement was given brief respite as his eyes moved past the statue and over a half-hidden tunnel peeking through the trees.

Way off down the emerald-green slopes of the tiny islet, he had a view of the white sand beach. Spreading across the land and up to its fringes was the instantly perceivable shape of Gael's opulent estate. The dirt road he had been driven up, appeared to lead back down that way.

A few dozen small figures had already begun fanning out from the nucleus of the house, pouring onto the beach or up the island through the areca trees. Evidently the V.I.P. crowd were excitedly beginning the trek they had paid top-dollar to be party to.

Rakesh's gaze darkened. Kevin and Karl were doubtlessly part of that throng, searching for Diana like he was.

Like Rakesh, all of them were yet to discover the strange mysteries spread across Kama'sueh. But at least the Games had given him one advantage: a birds-eye viewpoint of the island's landscape.

The disoriented young banker now cast his gaze down the northernmost slope of the island. Here, three more bizarre constructions stood out against the natural land.

One was a low stone building about a third of the way down the hillside. It sat in a sunken drop of land, surrounded by a dense thicket of strangler figs. It had a domed top and a few minuscule windows around its dark walls. Iron bars formed grates in the small holes.

Despite the sunlit Pacific isle on all sides, the building had a dark, sinister quality that sent a small chill down Rakesh's neck. It seemed somehow like a medieval prison or a dungeon.

He quickly rotated his attention to the other edifice further down. A circular shape was nestled on a small piece of flat land edging up to the beach. It looked like something from a bygone era: a massive, vintage Barnum and Bailey's circus tent.

There was one final edifice further up the hill. This time, there was no mistaking its purpose. It was a squat, rectangular structure with transparent glass walls. Rakesh squinted closer. It was a large, private gym.

Was this simply Gael's personal fitness center on his private island? Or another inexplicable, artificial addition brought in for the Hotwife Games?

Rakesh whirled around in confusion, taking in the anomalous assortment of shapes spread across the conical landmass at his feet. Then he noted what was strapped around his wrist. It was the one item of "clothing", save for his hiking boots, that the Games had provided for him: a countdown watch.

It had already begun counting. He had two hours, fifty-nine minutes, and six seconds left to find Diana.

Rakesh tried to make sense of the oddball medley of structures all around Kama'sueh. The giant erotic statue... the medieval "prison" building... the office tower that was utterly identical to his own place of work...

They all seemed to amount to something... but what? Clues, perhaps, as to just where the hell his wife was on the byzantine island. But what did they mean?

Suddenly, something that had been subconsciously bothering Rakesh leapt to the front of his attention. He'd perceived little red pinpricks of light, flickering, on and off, on dozens of the trees spread around the island. You could barely see them in the bright daylight. He peered closer. They were cameras. Scores of live-streaming video cameras, mounted on the trees.

An audience was watching all of it.

Time was ticking down. Rakesh had to make a choice. Since he had started off at Gael's estate, he reasoned it was logical that they might hide Diana on the opposite side of the island. That meant making his way through the banana trees, following the sound of running water.

It might lead nowhere. Worse, it could be a dead-end, or a trap.

He had no way of knowing anything about this bizarre landmass. The freakish little place was a cross between the fantasy hellscapes of Hieronymus Bosch and a factory run by Willy fucking Wonka.

Rakesh took a deep breath.

He set off down the tree-lined hill.

--

CUT TO BLACK.

TITLE CARD:

I.

Rakesh Vaibhav

in

THE ISLAND OF CARNAL DELIGHTS

--

Little pebbles crunched underfoot. The nearly naked financier descended the narrow path, stepping over craggy rock. Soon he was in the cool shade of broad banana leaves, their canopy admitting brief, flashing slivers of equatorial sun.

He squeezed through a thicket, pushing branches out of the way as the path narrowed into a seeming dead-end.

When he emerged into a clearing, Rakesh saw the source of the watery sounds. A gushing waterfall poured into a clear, bubbling pond, which in turn fed into a brook that snaked its way further downhill.

The object above the waterfall grabbed Rakesh's attention.

A massive flat-screen monitor, perhaps a hundred inches corner-to-corner, was suspended over the flowing stream. It was currently turned off.

What was that for?

Rakesh had barely formulated the thought when he heard his own name.

"Rakesh?" rang a melodic female voice. And then he saw her.

Emerging from the waterfall like some Arthurian nymph was an extremely striking, bikini-clad woman about twenty years Rakesh's senior. She slicked back her wet hair as she approached, knee-high in the pond's crystal waters.

The young banker felt his naked cock twitch involuntarily. The older woman's wet body was fit, curvaceous, and stunning. But more than any of that, he recognized her immediately.

"Mrs... Mrs. Panchad?"

The woman gave a soft laugh, stepping out of the pond and coming closer.

"Surely now you can call me Lalina. It's been at least a few decades since you were in school. And... you are basically naked."

Rakesh's jaw had seemed to stop working.

What the hell was Mrs. Panchad doing here?

Someone on the research team of the Hotwife Games deserved a raise. Rakesh himself had barely thought of his senior-year biology teacher once he'd graduated... well, okay, maybe a few dozen times in the midst of some torrid masturbating... but yet, here she was.

Mrs. P had been the instant favorite of every straight male student at Rakesh's old school. Widely known as simply the "Hot Teacher", she had raised hard-ons and attracted stares in every class that she taught, accentuated by her body-hugging clothes and frequent push-up bras.

And now she was standing across from Rakesh, soaking wet in a ridiculously small dark green bikini. She looked better than ever...

"Er, yeah," Rakesh chuckled nervously, acknowledging the awkward fact of his nudity. "It's nice to see you, Mrs. P-- Lalina."

He stuck his hand out to shake hers. The older woman laughed and embraced him tightly.

Her wet, curvy body pressed and slid against his. Like most boys in his senior-year, he'd harbored a lusty crush on the gorgeous teacher. Those old feelings crashed over him anew, along with the slew of sexual fantasies she had occupied in his mind... Rakesh felt his meat hardening between them.

Their embrace ended. Mrs. Panchad smiled at her former student with a small twinkle in her eyes. A thought descended with a thud into the bottom of Rakesh's gut.

An obvious, simple, staring-him-right-in-his-ridiculous-horny-face thought.

The Hotwife Games had brought her here to distract him.

As though in instant confirmation, the beautiful biology teacher scrunched up her face in mock-discomfort.

"I love that they invited me here -- but these island gnats are making a feast of me!"

She held up a bottle of bug-spray. Rakesh hadn't even noticed it in her hand. His hormones were already doing the thinking for him.

"Help me get my back?" Mrs. Panchad asked.

"Mrs-- er, Lalina, I would love to. But I really have to get going..."

"Please, Rakesh," she turned and pointed at her lower back. "I just can't reach this spot, here."

Rakesh gulped.

His sexy former teacher was wearing a thong bikini. The soaking fabric, already a flossy string, had ridden all the way up between her toned cheeks. Mrs. Panchad's full, shapely ass was staring him in the face.

Lalina looked back over her shoulder. She wiggled her exposed ass at her one-time student.

"It'll just take a second," she said. Her smoky voice suddenly assumed all the authority she had commanded in her classrooms. "Be a good boy for your teacher."

Rakesh was hard.

Drawing a deep breath, he took hold of the bottle of bug-spray.

Just one minute, he bargained with himself. I'll help her out quickly, and then I'm out of here.

Rakesh stole a look at his wrist timer. Two hours and fifty-three minutes were still his to locate Diana.

With a pleased smile, Mrs. P walked over to a towel that was already spread out by the side of the brook. She lay down on her stomach.

Rakesh didn't understand why he couldn't finish the task standing, but he followed gamely behind. He squatted down at her side. His erection tented up between his legs and he tried in vain to conceal it.

Quickly, he sprayed his teacher's lower back.

"Rub it in," Lalina said, not looking up from between her crossed arms. Her tone was pellucid. She wasn't asking.

Rakesh tried to keep his eyes from the alluring swell of the older woman's ass, wet and gleaming in the micro-thong. Memories flashed in his mind of the many times his eyes had followed that attractive derriere in class and in his school hallways.

And now, impossibly, here he was -- naked and erect, rubbing bug-spray into his teacher's back...

"Lower," Mrs. Panchad said.

Rakesh's hands were at the dimples of her lower back. He hesitated. Mrs. Panchad shook her rump back-and-forth.

"Those bugs are having a field day with my butt."

Rakesh paused and stuttered. For one thing, he couldn't see a single bug bite, nor for that matter a single bug in the vicinity.

"I really have to get going, M--"

She turned her face and looked squarely at her old student.

"Rub it into my ass, Rakesh."

His heart-rate was gently accelerating in his chest. There was a firm, deadly authority spiking in Mrs. Panchad's eyes that made Rakesh feel very much like a schoolboy again.

He had no choice.

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad."

This time she didn't object to the honorific address. She merely turned her gaze and nestled her face back into her forearms.

"Good boy," said Rakesh's old teacher.

Like a truant schoolboy laboring through some kind of erotic punishment, Rakesh sprayed a liberal layer of bug-spray over Mrs. Panchad's ass. He reached down and rubbed her full cheeks.

"Mmm. Gooood boy," she repeated. "Get it deep in there for your teacher."

Rakesh tried to steady his mind and refocus on his macro-task. But the feeling of Lalina's firm, wet ass was sending shockwaves to his excited cock. Most of all, the baffling fact that the Hot Teacher -- the one he and every boy in his class had masturbated to endlessly -- was laying before him making him massage her backside... it curved his dick into a hard, painful erection.

"Very good," Mrs. Panchad moaned into her arms, enjoying the feeling of Rakesh's kneading fingers. "You know, Rakesh. I always noticed."

"Excuse me, Mrs. Panchad?"

She turned to look at him once more.

"Keep rubbing."

That stern authority again. Rakesh kept his hands gliding on her ass cheeks, now ripe and shiny with spray.

"I always noticed you looking... at my buttocks."

Rakesh gulped.

"Don't deny it. You were a bad boy in class, weren't you?"

"I, erm --" Why did Rakesh suddenly feel like a teenager again, being chastised in the confined quarters of a biology classroom? "No, Mrs. Pan--"

"Yes, you were," she repeated firmly. Mrs. Panchad turned suddenly, and Rakesh felt his hands scrape along her waist to her front.

"You were staring at my ass in my class, and thinking naughty thoughts about me."

The icy, stern tone of her voice made Rakesh shiver with nervousness. His penis was now fully rigid between his legs.

She had him right where she wanted him.

"Admit it," Mrs. Panchad continued, in a timbre of pure steel.

Rakesh couldn't understand why he felt like he had regressed into some bygone era of his life. He doffed his eyes.

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I... stared at your butt..."

"And?"

"And thought naughty thoughts about you... Mrs. Panchad."

It was all true, of course. But Rakesh had never thought it was a confession he would actually be making to her one day -- and certainly not while naked in some forest clearing.

"And did you masturbate thinking about me?"

Rakesh's skin flushed.

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad."

"So you went home after class, and jerked on your dick, and thought about me," she re-stated.

"Y-yes, Mrs. Panchad."

"Did you cum?"

"Um..."

"Did you cum?"

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad."

"What did you think about?"

"I --" Why the fuck was Rakesh suddenly downed in sweat? And why was he so hard? "Just general thoughts about you. Mrs. Panchad."

His voice started to crack a little.

"Like. What," she said firmly.

The buxom teacher readjusted herself now, laying back with her elbows propping up her torso. The position pushed her considerable bust in Rakesh's direction. Her nipples were hard against the clingy wet bikini top.

The former pupil tried to look away.

"Your... your body, Mrs. Panchad." She remained silent. He felt obligated to keep talking. "Your -- ass. Like, er, like you mentioned."

"What about my breasts? Did you think about them?" Suddenly she snapped. "LOOK at me when I'm talking to you, Rakesh!"

He did immediately.

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad. I thought about your breasts."

"Did you imagine them naked while you stroked your cock?"

Rakesh nodded.

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad." Why was his voice so hollow? So young?

"Did you think about me sucking your cock?"

Rakesh gulped. His voice was almost inaudible as he spoke.

"Yes, Mrs. Panchad."

Mrs. Panchad sat up.

"Reach behind me," she said. At this point, Rakesh didn't dare disobey. "Undo my top."

Her former student swallowed, then obeyed.

Mrs. Panchad's green bikini top fell off her chest, revealing hefty, melon-sized breasts. Her pink nipples were large and hard.

Rakesh could not tear his eyes from them. It was still slowly sinking in that he was staring at the tits of his hot teacher.

"Do you like them?" she asked.