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Slave Island Reality Adventures (Wayne Mitchell)


Slave Island Reality Adventures by Wayne Mitchell

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    • Average 3.3 from 3 ratings

Extremely rich Maxwell Cutter has his own island in the middle of the Pacific, but he doesn’t keep it to himself. Every three months he invites sixteen people to experience the opportunity of a lifetime as pack members in Slave Island Reality Adventures. BDSM... and great television are Max’s hobbies, so he also invites the world to watch as those sixteen people live out a year on Slave Island. There are four Packs on the island, and it is the twelfth season for the reality series which is shown on cable pay channels and subscription streamed to the entire world.

On Slave Island, everything is for the reality show and EVERYTHING is recorded for use. Your every action can move you up in the Pack hierarchy and possibly make you Alpha of the Pack. But those actions can just as easily move you down in the hierarchy and make you an Omega, slave of the Pack. At the end of that year, some of the pack members will go home clothed in glory as Masters. Others will go home naked in chains.

The story begins as the new members of Pack Four arrive. It then follows them through their year on the island. Along the way, one finds an inner strength she never knew she had. Another recognizes her inner slave and submits to her Master. One couple reverses years of behavior while two other couples celebrate their ongoing relationships. There is everything from crashing waves to crashing airplanes, naked catfights, and of course sex in many different forms.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 9 / 2017

No. words: 60709

Style: Erotic Domination - M/F, Erotic Domination - F/F

Available Formats: MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Chapter One
Welcome to Slave Island

Maxwell Cutter, Executive Producer of Slave Island Reality Adventures, stood at the front of the plane, facing the passengers. He spoke carefully into the microphone which he was holding in his left hand so it wouldn’t block his full-face closeups. He wasn’t a vain man, but that side scored better when viewed by test audiences, and great television was everything to Max.
Television– and BDSM– were his passions and he had the riches to pursue both. Like many young entrepreneurs, he had ridden one of the many tech bubbles to the top. Unlike most, however, he had bailed out at the peak, just before the bubble burst. Retired at age forty-seven, he was now able to let his money work for him while he worked with what he called his little hobbies.
The front section of the 737 he was standing in was configured for twenty-four seats while the rear area was filled with supplies for Slave Island. Since the only way onto the high plateau of that rocky island was by air, the plane was normally fully-configured for cargo on its twice-weekly flights. But four times a year, when new contestants were being brought to the island, the front end looked more like an extended first-class section with a little extra room at the front and back to accommodate the ever-present videographers.
“If I may have your attention, please,” Max said gently as he smiled out at the sixteen contestants.
When the buzz of conversation continued, he said a little louder, with a slight laugh in his voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, this IS very important. I really do need your full attention.”
Most of the passengers set aside whatever it was that they were doing and looked up at him, but about a third continued to talk among themselves or had their heads buried in their phones or notepads. He nodded at a tall, blonde-haired stewardess who stepped into the aisle, cupped her hands around her mouth, and yelled loudly, “This is important! Mister Cutter wants you to listen to him!”
All heads snapped up immediately. Max smiled pleasantly at them as he said softly and slowly, “Thank you, Miss Sullivan.”
He then spent a few moments looking at the sixteen new contestants for his reality show, pausing just slightly to make eye contact with each one of them. After he had connected with everyone on the plane, he glanced up at one of the cameramen in the back of the cabin and looked directly into the lens so that he would also be making eye contact with future viewers when the episode finally aired.
“We will be landing at Slave Island in a few moments,” he began. “There are a few important things which we need to review before you leave the plane.”
Holding up a half-page-sized card he said, “You have each been given a copy of your opening statements. This is what you will read when you step in front of the camera for the first time. You will also sign this– on camera– and give it to the production assistant at that time. This is your final contract with Slave Island Reality Adventures.
“Except for your name and some personal details, all of the cards are identical. After you have introduced yourself in the way it describes, you will look into the camera directly in front of you and read this EXACTLY as it is printed. It says:

I, (state your name), have entered this competition of my own free will. No one has coerced or threatened me or in any way forced me to participate in Slave Island Reality Adventures. I have entered solely in hopes of becoming a Slave Island Grand Master and winning the million-dollar prize.
I understand that this competition is a minimum one-year commitment and that I will be on the island for that entire time. I understand that there is a sexual component to this competition and that I may be called upon to engage in various forms of sexual activity in the presence of others. I further understand that I risk becoming a servant or even a slave during this competition and that certain tasks or challenges during the course of the competition may add to my time commitment, especially if I make use of a doubling coin. I also understand that there may be physical dangers involved in the events of this competition and I hold Slave Island Reality Adventures, Cutter Productions, and Maxwell Cutter, personally, harmless for any accidents or injuries.
I hereby give Cutter Productions permission to video and audio record or make still images of any and all events which occur during this competition or directly related to this competition and to use those images or audio excerpts in whatever way they desire as part of the Slave Island Reality Adventures program.”

Max looked out at the passengers once again and asked, “Do you all understand that?”
After a pause, he pointed to a cameraman on one side of him and said, “They can’t hear you nodding your head. Do you understand that!?”
This time everyone responded with a loud, “Yes!”
“Good,” he replied. “There will be a changing area just inside the terminal. Once you are changed into your island gear, get in line behind the ropes and wait for the production assistant to call you forward.”
A soft chiming filled the cabin as the fasten seat belts sign blinked on. A soft female voice replaced Max Cutter’s on the intercom. Amazingly, it was the same stewardess who had so coarsely yelled a few moments before. She said sweetly, “Please bring your seats and tables to the landing position. We will be landing shortly. Thank you for flying Cutter Charter Services.”
Cutter Charter Services consisted of two mid-sized planes which ferried contestants and supplies to the remote island, but the people who would be watching the reality show didn’t know that. Most of the audience would assume the airline was just one more facet of Maxwell Cutter’s vast holdings.

***

A blue light flashed on the console in front of the pilot indicating that the cameras in the cockpit were now recording. The original camera light had been red, like all live camera lights, but some obscure FAA regulation reserved red indicators for warning lights critical to the operation of the aircraft, so a blinking blue light and a very soft chime indicated they were live.
Harriet Goodfield, chief pilot for Cutter Charter, keyed her mic and said brusquely, “Cutter One to Island One, requesting uncloak for landing.”
She grinned slightly at the camera. Technically, flight regulations said she was supposed to ask that the runway lights be lit for landing, but it was more dramatic to say, “uncloak.” For Slave Island, “uncloak” was also slightly more accurate.
Those contestants on the left side of the plane who happened to be looking down at the island as Charter One flew across it at low altitude saw two strips of bright, blinking, yellow lights appear suddenly on the rocky plateau that made up the west end of the island. A pulsing strobe raced across the rocks the short distance from the edge of the cliff to where the yellow lights began. The two lines, themselves, seemed be about 100 yards apart and appeared to stretch for over a mile across the flat volcanic rock which made up the west end of the island.
The two rows of yellow lights were actually 9000 feet in length, and were exactly 257 feet apart. The area between the lights was not volcanic rock, but standard runway asphalt which had been specially formulated and colored to resemble the surrounding rock. Without the lights flashing along the edges, the landing area was effectively invisible. This camouflaged runway was built in the early days of the cold war for the purpose of stealthily landing and refueling B-52s and other long-range SAC bombers. Shortly thereafter, satellite surveillance capability negated the island’s remoteness and advancements in mid-air refueling removed the necessity of mid-oceanic landings.
The island thus became one more obsolete government fort in the middle of nowhere. It couldn’t even be turned into a tourist attraction or park because of its isolation and the fact that the sheer walls which surrounded the island prevented anyone from reaching the plateau from the sea. The only way on or off the island was by air. The government tried to sell the island several times, but there was no interest in a remote island with no beaches, no commercial value, and no access to the sea which surrounded it.
To Maxwell Cutter, however, the island was a godsend. He had been toying with the idea of a reality show with a heavy BDSM theme. He knew that because of the raunchy content he envisioned, it would be relegated to late night showings on obscure cable channels. But that didn’t bother him because he recognized very early that the future of television was in video streaming on the internet.
He also knew that the show would have to be done somewhere warm outside the United States. Warm because he envisioned naked slaves. Outside the United States because there were just too many uptight prudes controlling zoning and other property restrictions in the States.
Several Caribbean islands and South American countries he had contacted were interested at first. But when they realized the full scope of what would happen on the show, they became concerned about the negative effects the show might have on their tourism industry. Max almost abandoned the plan. Then he discovered what would become Slave Island.
The small uninhabited island, though claimed by the US since the Second World War, was not officially an American territory or protectorate so United States laws would not apply. In addition, because it was not an official territory or protectorate, once he took ownership, the island would essentially be his sovereign domain.
Registering “Cutter Island” with the UN as an independently-owned, non-affiliated entity made that status official. The US did insist on a re-acquisition clause which stated that in return for providing defense of the island, if and when necessary, the US Government could re-establish a presence on the island should circumstances necessitate it.
Slave Island, therefore, for all intents and purposes, became an eleven-mile-long, three-mile-wide, separate, sovereign nation owned and ruled by Maxwell Joseph Cutter.

***

The plane continued past the island and then began the wide, slow turn which would line it up with the runway. As they approached the high cliff wall, Harriet remembered the first time she landed here as a co-pilot many years before. “A standard landing here,” her senior pilot had said, “is a PF-2. If you have a cross wind that automatically jumps to PF-4. Make that an angled tail wind and you are landing at full PF-5.”
PF stands for pucker factor, meaning how tight your asshole gets from fear. Today there was a slight cross wind which would make for a slightly bumpy touch down, but everything was well within safety margins. For the passengers watching the sheer cliff walls approaching, however, and not being able to see an actual runway beneath them, the landing might be significantly past PF-5 and well into stained underwear territory. But Max liked it that way. The terrified faces as they landed were often a favorite part of the first show of the season.
The screech of the tires coming up to speed as they touched the runway was only slightly louder than the screams from within the plane. Max would be pleased.
Harriet had plenty of room to slow the aircraft, so she used the brakes sparingly as she rolled down the long runway toward the terminal. As she rotated the plane to bring it into proper position at the gate, she looked over at where she knew the hidden camera was mounted, keyed her intercom and said to her passengers, “Welcome to Slave Island. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She then winked at the camera.
That welcome and wink had become famous as the tag line for many of the promos for Slave Island Reality Adventures. Harriet herself had become somewhat of a star in her own right and was often asked for autographs when someone recognized her at restaurants and other public places. People on the street often winked at her and said, “Welcome,” as they walked past.
She used that fame to leverage several investments and business opportunities which ended up making her a very rich woman. As a rising black female entrepreneur, her face had graced the covers of Ebony, Essence, and Jet, as well as Black Enterprise Magazine. For Black Enterprise, they had, at first, insisted on a more dignified pose, but Harriet convinced them that the wink was part of her public image. When that argument didn’t seem to be winning over the editorial board, she stopped speaking and instead looked intently at each editor, one at a time. It only took a few seconds of her intense stare before each of them nodded their approval or said, “OK.”
She no longer needed the money, but she loved to fly and continued to act as senior pilot for Cutter Charter Air. She also now owned a ten-percent interest in Slave Island Reality Adventures.

Chapter Two
Season Eleven, Pack Four

Cindy Murphy was the first to emerge from the changing area. As she hustled to the designated area, she was yelling at her husband to hurry up so they would be the first in the line. As she stood at the end of the marked area, she looked more than slightly upset. It had been made very clear in the initial orientation before the final cast was chosen that all contestants would have to surrender their cellphones and laptops, but she had not read the fine print in the full contract which said that ALL personal property would be kept in storage for them until the end of the contract.
She had just discovered that all personal property included all of her normal clothing. She was now wearing what could only be described as a jungle suit from the 1940s. The khaki denim skirt hung several inches past her knees. There was a short matching jacket cut in an old-fashioned military style with buttoned pockets and those weird, useless flaps on the shoulders held in place with big, brass buttons. Beneath that butt-ugly jacket was a white blouse with a high collar that looked like something her grandmother would wear. Underneath it all was definitely what her grandmother would wear– white, triple-thick, granny panties and an industrial-grade brassiere with heavily-padded cups that turned her breasts into two smooth lumps on the front of her chest. The shoes looked like something purchased out of a 1950's Boy Scout catalogue. They were military-looking dark brown shoes with tie laces that came halfway up the front of her foot. Long white, cotton socks and a pith helmet completed the horrible ensemble.
Her husband David quickly joined her at the front of the line. He was dressed in the male equivalent of her outdated costume. “Looks like we are going to start with the Safari Competition,” he said, smiling and gesturing toward his outfit.
“Yeah, you are so great at that sort of thing,” Cindy replied caustically. “They might as well hang you from a long pole and get two natives to carry your sorry ass back to camp right now.” She paused to look angrily up and down at his khaki outfit. “You are undoubtedly going to be the first one to get yourself shot,” she said derisively.
“Everybody ends up shot in the Safari Competition,” he answered with a smile. “We just have to be sure that we don’t have the most paintball dots on our clothes.”
“Like I said,” she replied sarcastically, “you might as well put your name at the top– or bottom– of that list right now.”
He started to say something else, but another couple had walked out to join them behind the ropes which designated the waiting area. Jasmine Jefferson and Sylvia McGrath, known to their friends as JJ and Silly, had been together for over seven years. They had met their freshman year in college. Silly was nearly failing out and JJ was the top of her class. The state school they were attending required that first year students live in the dorms and they had been assigned as roommates.
A pale Scandinavian girl from a small rural village and an ebony black young woman from a totally different background– and state– made for a very odd couple. Neither understood the other or the culture they came from and the first weeks were very awkward to say the least. It wasn’t until the probationary notices came out half-way through the semester that they were brought together. JJ came back to the dorm to find Sylvia with her head down on her study desk sobbing violently.
JJ sat beside her and placed her arm lightly around her shoulder. “What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“I don’t belong here,” Sylvia wailed back. “I only came here in hopes of finding a husband who could take me out of nowheresville.” She put her head back down on the desk and wailed, “I’m a failure even at that.”
“I can help you pass your classes,” JJ said. “That will give you time to find your mister right.”
“You don’t understand,” Sylvia sobbed. “I’ll never find a mister right.” She turned her head toward JJ and inhaled a long, broken, sobbing breath before saying, “I’m a failure at that, too.”
After more bawling, she sobbed out, “I don’t like boys. I never have.”
JJ smoothed Sylvia’s hair with her hands and said softly, “Neither do I... never have.”
She then leaned in slightly and kissed Sylvia lightly on the forehead. “But I do like you,” she said. “I have since I first saw your bright blue eyes and your silly smile.”
“Oh, God!” Sylvia groaned out. “This is so wrong!” She sniffled slightly and stuttered out, “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I have been dreaming about you since the first day we met. I’ve been wishing you would come over and climb into my bed and just take total control of me.”
JJ said nothing, but got up and slowly walked over to the door. As she turned the security lock to ensure privacy she said softly, “If you really mean that, strip and get into my bed.”
From that day on, JJ called Sylvia “silly,” and the rest of the floor called them “the moaners in 402.” JJ helped silly stay in school to the end of the year, after which they moved into an apartment together. Both worked over the summer and when JJ returned to school the next fall, silly kept her job as a waitress at a local restaurant. JJ now had a Masters in Sociology and was working on a PhD. Their experiences here at Slave Island would be the basis for JJ’s doctoral thesis.
Silly kept talking softly to JJ. She was upset about something. “What if they find out I lied?” she said plaintively. “I don’t want to be a Grand Master like it says on the contract. I just want to be your permanent slave-wife and follow you wherever you go.”
JJ petted the top of silly’s head as she murmured, “Don’t worry, silly, it’s just a formality. You aren’t the only one here who secretly hopes to be someone’s permanent slave.” She smiled and said with a slight laugh, “The only thing different about you is that you already know that about yourself.”
“Know what?” a male voice asked. Another couple had joined them in line.
“That these outfits would look better in a black and white movie,” JJ answered. Then she added, “I’m JJ, this is my wife, silly.”
Robert Nelson looked rather startled at that last statement, but recovered quickly and said, “I’m Robert, and this is my wife Brooklyn.” Both of them looked like they would be more comfortable at a cocktail party in the suburbs. It was obvious that they were both slightly afraid.
“What brings you here?” JJ asked. “You don’t look like Slave Island types.”
“Bankruptcy,” Robert said, looking down at the ground. “Nine credit cards maxed out and house payments not made for almost a year. I was way behind on my sales quotas so my income was down to almost nothing. Then I got fired when my name showed up in the paper for involuntary bankruptcy.” He sighed. “We’ve got nothing to lose and maybe we can win enough to start over.”
“Good luck on that,” JJ said. Her voice was neutral, but she knew instantly that Robert didn’t have what it took to be a Master on Slave Island. His wife, Brooklyn, cowering behind him didn’t look like Master material either.
“Wishing each other good luck?” a firm voice added. “I thought we were supposed to all be mortal enemies.” The fourth couple was now in line.
“I’m Alan Fletcher,” the male said as he firmly shook Robert’s hand.
“And I’m Aileen Fletcher,” the female added as she gave a slight wave. She then continued, “We may or may not win the prize, but the money is a secondary reason for us to be here.”
“For the past fifteen years,” Alan began to explain, “we have tried to have a totally equal marriage. We are a team in everything we do– and that means EVERYTHING!”
“We are known as ‘Master A’ and ‘Mistress A’ in the local scene,” Aileen interjected. “We have jointly-owned several slaves over the past few years to serve and entertain us.”
“We are able to afford that because we have also made a large fortune in the stock market since we’ve been married,” Alan said strongly. “I somehow know exactly when to go in,” he said with a smile.
“And I,” Aileen said with a matching smile, “have always known when to pull out.”
“Buy low... sell high,” said Alan, “and you will always be rich.”
“So what does the rich and powerful perfect match hope to gain on Slave Island?” JJ asked from the further up in the line.
“There is no such thing as a perfect match,” Alan answered.
“And fifty-fifty doesn’t always work,” added Aileen. “Perfect doesn’t work. Almost perfect– fifty-one, forty-nine– works. Neither of us is a slave. But one of us is a Master and the other is a Master of Masters. We are here to find out which of us has the fifty-one percent in our relationship.”
“I won’t settle for anything less than one-hundred percent,” a loud, gruff voice said as the next couple joined the line. Next to the black gentleman who had just spoken was an obviously submissive woman, apparently his wife. Her coffee-colored skin was much lighter than his and her features were much more western European. She was standing just behind him with her head down. Her total posture was one of surrender.
Before he could introduce himself to the group the stage lighting came up in the huge hangar and the cameras began rolling. The intense lighting was not directed at the new contestants waiting in line, however. The spotlights were instead trained on the group leaving Slave Island.
There were fourteen people walking through the hangar toward the plane. Nine of them were naked. The five who were wearing clothing were each holding the leash of a naked slave walking slightly behind them. The remaining four naked slaves shuffling along behind them were coffled together. Their hands were held up at their shoulders by a neck stock which was connected to the chains of the coffle. The three women and one man all had bit gags strapped tightly in their mouths with the “reins” attached to the chains in front of them. Large cargo tags hung from thick twine cords around their necks. The man and one of the women looked terrified, but the other two women were smiling broadly as if they were going on some great adventure.
Maxwell Cutter’s voice suddenly cut through the silence. He was standing just across the ropes from Cindy and David. “Welcome to Slave Island,” he said loudly. Then pointing across at the departing contestants, he continued with, “Just think. In a year’s time that could be you going home in triumph!”
He lowered his voice and looked directly into Cindy Murphy’s eyes before adding. “Or going home to your new life as a slave.”
He then turned to the cameraman on his left, pointed at the column of departing people, and said brightly, “There were sixteen new contestants in Slave Island Reality Adventure’s Season Eleven, Pack Four. Five have proven themselves masters; five are returning as slaves to those masters; and four are being sent to auction where they might be purchased by previous Slave Island Masters... or perhaps other Masters from throughout the world.
He paused and looked directly into the camera with a broad smile. “‘Where are the other two?’ you might ask,” he said with a chuckle. “They are remaining here on Slave Island until they work off the additional time debts they incurred during their competition. Slave meredith will be with us for an additional seven months. Slave marcus will be with us for an additional two years.” He laughed and said, “Poor marcus was originally going to be with us for just an extra six months, but he used the doubling coin to go double or nothing... twice.”
Max hurried across the large area and approached the man at the front of the line. “So, Dwayne,” he said excitedly, “did you expect to be going back home as a Slave Island Grand Master?”
Dwayne laughed, and then said, “I did,” with a big smile on his face. “But Joanie didn’t think I would,” he continued. “She told me more than once during the competition that I would end up in chains. I finally told her that if I ended up naked in her chains, she could take me back home to Minnesota that way, but if she ended up in my chains, then she was going to have a long, cold ride home.”
He tugged slightly on the chain and pulled the naked blonde toward the plane. “Come on, joanie,” he said in a slightly sing-song voice. “I understand that a lot of your friends will be waiting to welcome us when we land at Duluth.”
Behind them a woman was pulling on the leash of a naked man who was attempting to keep up with her. If the chain had been attached to a collar around his throat, it might have been easy for him to keep up, but the leash was instead attached to a tight band which encircled the base of his penis and scrotum. The cock leash was obviously painful and just as obviously making it difficult for him to walk.
“Keep up, leroy,” the woman said angrily. “You know that each time you pull against the chain it tightens the loop. Keep this up and you will be a eunuch BEFORE we get back home.”
“Whoa!” Max said as he reacted in fake shock at the woman’s remark. He then moved on to the third couple. “Mandy,” he said loudly, “I thought you arrived here with your husband Henry. Who is this delightful morsel walking behind you?”
Mandy smiled at him and answered, “This is tawana, Max. She was one of the independents in our Pack, but now she’s mine. She’s much more interesting than my husband ever was.” She pointed toward the coffled slaves at the back of the line and said with mock sympathy, “Poor henry. He kept trying to bet his way out of trouble just like he has since we first got married. Now is going off somewhere to be sold.” She smiled even more broadly as she said, “Fortunately for me, the divorce papers issued here on Cutter Island are absolutely legal back home.” She laughed slightly before adding, “At least he doesn’t have to worry about paying alimony.”
Max moved on to the next couple– two males. The man walking in front was smiling broadly. Strangely, so was the totally-shaved male who followed him. “Well, Bruce,” Max boomed out, “did things work out like you hoped?”
“Yes!” Both answered together.
“I should have been a little more specific,” Max said with a laugh. “Master Bruce, did things work out like you hoped?”
“Definitely,” he answered with a smile.
“And for you, slave bruce?” Max asked, moving the microphone to the naked man in chains.
“Definitely,” he answered, also smiling. “This is what I really wanted, but I didn’t know how to ask for it.”
The next couple was a man and a woman. Both were effectively naked, but one was still definitely a Master and the other a slave. The woman was wearing only a collar and the man, who had her leash in his hands, was wearing just boots and a tight pair of ultra-soft, black leather pants which amply showed off his very muscular body. His muscular chest was lightly oiled– also to show off his perfect muscle tone. The leash was wound slightly around his left hand, but he wasn’t pulling her along with it. Instead, she was walking beside him snuggled into his chest with his right arm over her shoulder.
“Ah, true love,” Max said dramatically. “Ronald and donna came to Slave Island as a test of their relationship. She was already his submissive. Now she is his submissive, his slave, and his wife.”
He looked directly into the camera and said, “Weddings on Slave Island are legal in all fifty states and throughout the world. The certificate says ‘Cutter Island’– our legal name– in case the happy couple doesn’t want to explain where they got married to their grandchildren fifty years from now.”
There was a slight gap in the line before Max got to the four coffled slaves. He reached up and tugged slightly on the reins which hung from the front of henry’s bit gag.
“No need asking any questions to these four,” he said with a laugh as one of the flight crew pulled on the chains and dragged the four out onto the tarmac and toward the plane.
As the departing contestants walked into the relative darkness of the runway, Max turned back to the new contestants and said loudly, “You’ve seen what you could be a year from now. You could be a Master in triumph... or a slave in chains. If you are not willing to risk the chains to gain the triumph, then this is your absolutely last chance to back out. The plane leaves in ten minutes. If you don’t think you can make it or take it, NOW is the time to go back through the dressing area and get your cowardly ass on that plane before it leaves.”
He paused dramatically and lowered his microphone. Normally, there would be a brief silence before he would again lift the microphone to his face and announce, “Let the adventure begin!” But before he could do so, a female voice cried out loudly, “I can’t do it, Logan. I’ll be your slave. I’ve always been willing to be your slave. But not like this. Too much can go wrong here. I’m afraid that I could end up as someone else’s slave if we do this.”
She turned to face him, sobbed and said, “If you command me, I will stay, but if you let me leave, I will be your absolute, total, loyal, slave forever.”
Max immediately brought the microphone back to his mouth and exclaimed, “Whoa, Logan, that sounds like molly is making you an offer you can’t refuse.”
The cameras turned to follow Logan and molly as they walked quickly back into the dressing area. A few minutes later, they both re-emerged. Logan was once again dressed in his own clothing. Molly was walking a few steps behind him, naked, with a chain going from the collar around her throat to Logan’s hand.
“Well,” Max gushed, “some might say that we have had a failure here, but I say that we have had an early winner in this round of Slave Island Reality Adventures. I think Logan and molly both got exactly what they were hoping for... and it happened before the competition even began.”
A cameraman followed closely behind the couple as they walked across the tarmac and up the steps of the boarding ramp. It was obvious that he was focusing in on molly’s naked ass as she went up the ramp. From that angle, the shot would not only show her wiggling asscheeks, but also her glistening– almost dripping– cunt which kept peeking out between her legs as she climbed the steps.
Once she was inside the plane, he hustled the camera back to Max for the delayed, dramatic opening phrase, “Let the adventure begin!”


Reviews

Nice story, but mostly boring. 2 out of 5

Great idea for a story but it often strayed from any erotica. Missed the IT factor in it's writing. 3 out of 5 (fred)

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