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Escape From Dorado Cay (Aubrey Wylde)

Escape From Dorado Cay by Aubrey Wylde

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Alyx and Kris have been snatched and held as sexual toys for the rich on the posh but perverted Caribbean resort of Dorado Cay. Alyx has hatched a plan to use the wealthy Benthams to get off the island, but will it be going from the frying pan into the fire? Meanwhile, Kris has found her own way to adapt to her situation.

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 5 / 2018

No. words: 42300

Style: Sado-Masochism (SM), Bondage/BDSM Thrillers

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

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Chapter 1
Another Day on Dorado Cay

Alyx sat at the computer in the library of the Slave Quarters, wasting time surfing while she waited for Madam Elspeth to announce the evening’s assignments. If there were actually going to be any assignments. It was the height of the hurricane season. Dorado Cay had been lucky so far. There had been several large storms, but they had all bypassed the island. Alyx could see on the weather websites that another storm was moving in, and, while its track was passing well to the south, Dorado Cay was going to catch the edge of it. As was usually the case when there was bad weather, the members of the club dropping in for their usual fun and games had been few and far between. Like the other women in the Slave Quarters, Alyx was more than happy to see a spell of bad weather.
The Slave Quarters. That’s how all the women referred to it among themselves. Madam Elspeth frowned on that usage, though she didn’t have a better name for the building. She simply called it the dormitory, as if she were the house mother of a perverted college sorority.
That was part of the cruel mental game the Club played on them. Trying to get them to accept their captivity as somehow normal, beneficial even; hey, they were housed in comfortable, four star resort surroundings, fed the best of food and wine, both in moderation, provided with entertainments and diversions, even not very subtly encouraged to become intimate with their roommates. Lesbians of convenience, as Mary Anne had once put it. Everything to make then accept their situation, to make them happy little sex slaves.
And, to a surprising extent, it worked. Well, maybe not all that surprising. The Club knew what it was looking for when it went shopping for a new addition to its collection. Women who’d become detached from their families. Women who weren’t going anywhere. The abused and the drug abusers. Some were strays, snatched off the street, like Alyx. Others, like Kris and Ellen, were sold out by scumbag husbands or boyfriends. They were all expendable, the disposable women who wouldn’t be missed. So it wasn’t hard to convince them to accept the good things their captivity provided, because for most of them it was better than what they had had or could look forward to.
In return, they merely had to submit their bodies to the perverse pleasures of their owners.
But it’s not really a slave quarters, Alyx thought cynically. They should put a sign over the door. The Toybox. That’s what we are to them. Expensive, well maintained toys. Like their Bentleys, their yachts, their airplanes, their polo ponies.
Or maybe The Stables, or The Kennel, was a better description. The women were more like pampered pets, most of the time, than slaves. And while the term was technically correct, it was an unusual sort of slave quarters. In many respects it more like an up-scale resort. Their meals were prepared by the same chefs who served the wealthy members. They had the best wine, though served in moderation. The Slave Quarters had a pool and a spa, and the same masseurs and masseuses who served the members were available to their toys. They had cable TV and movies on demand, books, magazines and even an internet connection, though the later would allow the inmates to surf but not communicate. Pampered they may have been, but they were still slaves, pets, toys.
In return, several times a week a woman could expect to be used to satisfy the perverted tastes of a member or members of the club. Most of the members were sadists of varying degree, some merely weird, others bordering on vicious. True, as expensive assets, the women were never allowed to be subjected to any activity that would cause serious injury, but that was little comfort. Alyx had learned to tolerate much, to play the game, as Madam Elspeth, the mistress of the house and a former slave herself, frequently said. But while she might play the game, she refused to accept that this was her fate. And she wanted off the island.
She happened to glance at the date on the New York Times article she was reading, and was surprised. It had been more than a year since she had gone down to the sleazy part of town in search of someone to buy a young girl a bottle of booze, never suspecting he would kidnap her and sell her to this pervert’s fantasy island.
Well, time flies when you’re not having fun, she thought. The members of the Club were certainly having fun; the women, not so much.
And it had been months since she’d last seen the Benthams, on that day when their little beach picnic and S&M session with Alyx had been interrupted by the news that Greg Bentham’s multi-billionaire father had passed away. Shortly after that episode, in what she thought of as a stroke of sheer brilliance, Alyx had concocted her plan to get off Dorado Cay. But the plan revolved around what seemed to be Sonja Bentham’s fascination with her. The failure of the Benthams to visit Dorado Cay since then was the most frustrating thing of all, because everything depended on her being able to talk to Greg and Sonja, which would never happen unless they came and ordered a session with her. She knew that all she could do was wait, but patience was never one of Alyx’s virtues.
She surreptitiously checked the library to see if she was alone. She was. She typed “Bentham, Gregory” in the search box and pressed enter. A long list of entries scrolled up the screen. She glanced quickly to see if there was anything new, anything that could help her refine her plan. Nothing. She clicked the back button and did several more searches on other members whose names she’d learned, then spent some time on other topics. She didn’t want anyone to notice the interest she was taking in the Benthams and start to wonder why.
The Internet connection from the Slave Quarters was monitored, she knew. The Slave Quarters was like something out of “1984.” Every room had surveillance cameras and microphones. As did the most of the other buildings where sessions took place, and even some of the open spaces. The people who ran Dorado Cay had an obsessive concern with security. She couldn’t take any chances. She’d already met the retired New York Police Department detective the Club retained and didn’t want to ever have him question her again.
The other women kidded her about the amount of time she spent in front of the computer. She didn’t mind, because it was her connection to the outside world. It gave her some sense, however small, that she had at least a little control over her future. But finally she had had enough for the day, logged off, and pushed her chair back. Patience, she reminded herself, she needed to learn patience.
She walked out into the lounge area, to see if there was anyone who wanted to go for a walk. A half dozen women were clustered around the slider that opened on to the pool area.
“What’s going on?” Alyx asked.
“They’ve brought in a new girl,” Zoe replied. “They’re doing the video now.”
“A replacement for Cassandra, I guess,” Jenna added. “Took them long enough to find one.”
Month’s ago, Cassandra had led Alyx and her roommate, Kris, in an escape attempt. It had failed. All three of them had been subjected to severe public torture as punishment and as an object lesson to the rest. Cassandra, as the leader, had received the roughest treatment. Then Cassandra had disappeared. The official story was that she had been sold to a Colombian brothel. But rumors had made the rounds that she’d been flown out over the ocean and thrown from the airplane.
Alyx joined the group at the slider and looked out. The Slave Quarters was a U shaped building, comprised of two bedroom wings connected by the dining and common areas, and centered on a patio and swimming pool. The vine covered wall that ran between the two arms of the U was frequently used as a backdrop for making videos of the girls.
The girl, naked, had been placed in the usual position. Miranda was operating the video camera while Madam Elspeth, the supervisor of the captive women, directed the girl in assuming different poses. The video would be available on line to the members of the club to help them choose subjects for their fun and games. Both Miranda and Madam Elspeth were former slaves who had been promoted to “management.”
“She looks young,” Mary Anne observed, “the poor little thing.”
“Screw the poor little thing!” Claire said with mock vehemence. “Another girl in the lineup, that much less work for the rest of us. Better to let the pervs entertain themselves with her ass than mine.”
Alyx took a closer look. The girl was short and slender, with ash blonde hair and a small but very nicely developed bust. Alyx was surprised to notice that both the girl’s nipples were pierced, each with a small chrome barbell. That was odd. One of the peculiarities of the Club’s management was that they didn’t allow any of the women to be pierced. The rumors that wafted through the Slave Quarters held that certain members frequently requested that one woman or another have her nipples pierced or her labia pierced, but the board of directors always rejected the request. The reason was always the same. Given the sort of play the women were subjected to, the risk of accidental damage was too great. Good businessmen all, the board always kept foremost in their minds the preservation of valuable club property.
“When are they doing the coming out party?” Ellen asked, joining the group.
“It’s tonight,” Claire replied.
“Tonight? With the way the weather is? They won’t have a big turn out.”
The coming out parties, when a new acquisition was presented to the Club members, was a big event, bringing a large audience. It was always followed by impromptu sessions. With two hundred or more aroused members and only two dozen slave girls to go round, a coming out party turned into work out that the women did not look forward to.
“Guess one or more of the Richie Riches can’t wait to get his hands on little blondie,” Kris said, joining the group. “Assignments are posted on the board. Lucky me, I get to serve drinks. Alyx, you’re on standby.”
“Well, a small turn out, that many fewer pricks to go around.”

Chapter 2
Amanda’s Coming Out

At six o’clock Kris reported to the front door, dressed as ordered in only flip-flops and the usual diaphanous cloak the women wore while being escorted to sessions that required little or no costume. Mary Anne, Elise, Zoe and Sarah were already there. Miranda was taking their light, filmy cloaks and handing them more substantial ones.
“You might need these on the way back. It looks like the weather is going to get nasty tonight.”
“Where’s the guest of honor?” Kris asked. She didn’t see Amanda waiting.
“Erik took her a few minutes ago,” Mary Anne replied. “Or maybe she took him. I swear, it looked like a guy taking his pet terrier for a walk, the way she was straining at the leash. There’s something wrong with that girl.”
Kyle and Jarod arrived to escort them. The weather forecasts were proving true. The wind was rising and gray clouds were gathering as they left the Slave Quarters and hurried along the gravel pathway to Main Building. They women entered by the service entrance and were taken around through the kitchens to a service hall just off the banquet room. They hung up their cloaks, kicked off their flip-flops and waited while Kyle went to confirm their arrival.
After a minute or two, Kyle returned. “Zoe. Congratulations. You get to be the opening act.”
Zoe looked at the other women. “Lucky me. I bet they want to whip my ass for appetizers.”
“Well, it is a very whippable ass,” Mary Anne said, giving her a pat on the rump. It was a standing joke among the women, the sort of gallows humor they resorted to, that Zoe, small on top and plump but shapely on the bottom was a dream girl for the perverts who loved to see butt fat jiggle beneath a whip.
Kyle led Zoe away by the service hallway. Henry, the barman, came in. He glanced at the clock.
“Ladies, it’s showtime,” he said.
They each picked up a tray and filed out the kitchen door, into the banquet room. It was three-quarters full and more members were still coming in. Kris glanced around as she headed for her assigned tables. She remembered to check her posture. Whenever they were on a serving assignment Madam Elspeth was very hard on anyone who slouched or otherwise acted in less than a seductive manner.
How strange, she thought. This was like one of those weird dreams where you were naked and everyone else was dressed, except that this wasn’t a weird dream. She was actually completely nude, carrying a serving tray in a room with probably a hundred clothed people. And what was more disturbing, she’d gotten to where she hadn’t noticed it at first.
Of course, she wasn’t the only nude. The other women serving drinks were also nude. And at the end of the room a portable stage had been erected, with a turntable built into the top. Zoe was standing on it, her legs spread and ankles strapped to the table, her wrists fastened to cuffs hanging from the ceiling. She was turning slowly, spotlights trained on her, giving the audience a 360 degree view. An older, conservatively dressed woman was standing off to one side, a flogger in her hand. As Zoe turned her ass to the audience the woman gave her a stroke with it.
It obviously was a lightweight flogger, with soft leather falls. The woman was putting her arm into it, and Zoe’s rump was rippling with the impact, but Kris noticed that it was leaving no marks, no welts. Zoe’s rear was barely even getting red.
Zoe, for her part, was playing it up for all it was worth, squealing and yelping. When the flogger landed, she jerked away, twisting her body, pulling at her restraints. You’d think she was really hurting up there. And the way she was moving her ass, half the men in the room must have wood already. What an actress, Kris thought. And then, turning back towards the bar, she thought when did I become an expert on being a sex slave.
Several more members of the audience took their turn. The MC, an older man who looked and sounded a bit like Ed McMahon, was choosing all women, mostly older, for some reason of his own. Perhaps because they seemed to take a wicked delight in laying the flogger on Zoe with theatrical flourishes. One of them caught Zoe by surprise, catching her across her small breasts with the flogger. The yelp that elicited was real, though Kris suspected it was more from surprise than pain. The audience applauded.
The woman gave Zoe a few more swats to the rump, then left the stage. The turntable stopped, with Zoe facing the audience. The MC stepped forward and to her right.
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is one of my favorite girls, Zoe. Let’s give her a big hand.” Kyle came up to lead Zoe off the stage. As they left, Eric led Amanda into the spotlights.
“And now for the main event,” the MC said, his voice enthusiastic like a TV pitchman selling organic stain remover. “Give a hearty welcome to the newest addition to our little dollhouse, Amanda.”
Kris had started for the bar to pick up her next orders. She glanced at the stage. Eric was removing he collar from Amanda. Her hands were free. Her right hand was raised and was giving the crowd a cute little wave. Kris looked at one of the big screens giving a close up view. The girl actually had a shy, coquettish smile on her face.
“Doesn’t she realize where she is and what’s happening,” Kris thought.
As always during the coming outs, Amanda had been dressed in a classic strapless “little black dress.” When Kris returned from the bar with her tray of drinks, the MC had rolled down the top of the dress, exposing Amanda’s breasts. She was much better endowed that it appeared with the dress restraining her. Her breasts were small, but stood out away from her chest, hanging slightly, as if she were hiding two ripe tangerines beneath the pale white skin. Kris wondered briefly if it was all natural. The large, pale brown nipples pointed slightly upwards, slightly outwards. Kris was surprised to see that each was pierced by a small chrome barbell.
The MC had moved to stand behind Amanda. He was waxing lyrical about the breasts. He reached around her to cup each globe in one of his hands. He squeezed and fondled them, pulling on the nipples. Amanda stood there, arms at her side. She still smiled.
“Aren’t these just the most lovely boobies you’ve ever seen? I could play with them all night. But we must move on.”
The MC moved his hands to her arms, then down to her wrists. A thin chain with a pair of wrist cuffs had begun to descend from overhead. The MC grasped Amanda’s wrist and raised her arms over her head. He fastened a cuff around each wrists. She was surprisingly obliging, holding the free arm up after he released it to work with the cuff. Kris remembered how terrified she’d been at her coming out.
When he’d fastened both wrists, he stepped to the side and faced the audience. “Now, who wants to be the first to show Amanda what we do with cute little boobies on Dorado Cay?” A number of hands shot up. The MC scanned the crowd. “Ah, Mrs. Breitbach! Doro! Of course! Come on up, Doro.”
A middle aged dyed blonde woman, of medium height and more than medium bust line, made her way to the stage. She took a position to Amanda’s left, opposite the MC, who handed her a riding crop.
Mrs. Breitbach felt up Amanda’s left breast, then cupped it in her hand. She brought the tip of the riding crop down sharply on the top of the breast. She twisted the little globe so that the nipple was pointed upwards, then brought the crop down twice on the little nubbin. Amanda quivered and jerked with each blow, emitting whiney little sounds.
“Yes, they’re quite lovely,” Mrs. Breitbach said with a distinctly nasal tone. She released that breast and then treated the other to the same procedure. She stepped out in front of Amanda and off to the side and applied a series of slow, studied blows, alternating left and right.
Elise passed Kris, returning from the bar with a full tray. “That bitch did me one night,” she whispered. “We could be here all night or until that girl’s boobies fall off if they don’t stop her.”

Author Information

Just an ordinary, average suburban cubicle worker whose co-workers have not a clue as to the bizarre and perverse thoughts that flit through the dark and hidden recesses of his mind.


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