"Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven." Milton, Paradise Lost.

Chapter the only.

I looked out my office picture window and at the huge vista beyond. Another beautiful day, blue sky, blue water, probably up to maybe 75 degrees today. But of course, that was the norm in this part of the Pacific - the only bad days were during the monsoon. Of course, even the bad days were like nirvana compared to the interminable cold where I grew up - Montana, USA. If I ever left here permanently - and I wouldn't unless it was just ahead of the law from somewhere - I wouldn't even fly over my old freezing hell hole.

I spun around and pressed the spacebar to wake the computer up. The scheduled day's activities seemed to be about normal. Except that I had a new client and his insignificant other coming in this morning on the packet boat. I looked out again, but didn't see it on the horizon, but was often late. Pulling up a file, I looked over my conversation with him from last month. Hmmmm. Fairly normal request. At least I wouldn't have to fit out a new theater. I typed a few items - an ordinary room would do.

I needed to... I jumped a little as I felt a hand on my leg, under the desk well... - my secretary, as I jokingly called her. I picked up the plate of leftovers that I had brought in from the kitchen area - for a change, I had eaten breakfast there, this morning. Bending over, I handed the plate to the waiting woman who eagerly took it and began stuffing the food into her mouth. The chain connected to her neck rattled as she moved back from my feet.

She was the reason for my business here, a woman in her middle thirties. Moderately depending - ok, ok, sagging tits from years of never wearing a bra - or any clothes at all, for that matter. Not overweight anymore since she wasn't overfed here, but she still wasn't a small woman. Not bad looking, but despite what she might have been in her youth, she wouldn't turn any heads today. I just kept her because over the years she had become an unwilling expert in the art of giving head, prostate work, and general massage. Sometimes on the casting couch across the room, but usually just while I was sitting at my specially built desk chair.

She had been hooked to that eight foot chain continuously for eleven years.

It was showtime. I got up and left my - I would have to say opulent - office and started down one wing of my establishment. It was early morning here, but in Europe it was late at night and in the US it was evening. Prime time, as we knew it by. I stopped at the door of the room and looked in the window. The wife - ex-wife in fact, if maybe not in law, of the gentleman from Spain. She was just sitting on the floor, cross-legged, the chain from her collar leading down behind her to the huge eyebolt in the wall. The only furniture in the room, besides her sleeping mat and pillow, was a table, bench actually, in the center of the room. It had been in there for several months - her ex-significant other never seemed to get tired of using it.

She was a chubby woman, a little less than forty years of age, totally naked - not bad looking, but not a woman who was going to be hired for her looks. She had been in residence almost a year, now. I opened the door, and she looked up at me with a blank expression - any fury had burned out months ago. Now there was just resignation. I waved my finger at her, and, seeing the crop in my hand, she got to her feet and placed herself stomach down on the bench. It was just a raised wooden platform long enough for her body, from her bare Venus mound to her neck, to lay down on. Her legs were bent down in the doggy position and her knees rested on two pads placed so that her legs were at maximum spread. Her arms, likewise descended to where her elbows also rested on two pads. Four half circle clamps were positioned just below the elbows and knees and when closed, kept her in the doggy position with her body weight resting on the bench. Two circles cut out of the platform let her ample boobs dangle naturally.

I quickly flipped the hinged clamps over her limbs and turned the keeper bolts. She was now available for use in both lower holes from behind, or in her mouth at the front. But that isn't what the gentleman had in mind. I looked at my watch - five minutes to go. The red lights on both movable and zoomable cameras were off so the gentleman paying for this exhibition wasn't watching yet. I passed the time by absentmindedly massaging her tits. She made no objection - I expect her mind was concentrating on what was about to happen.

Since this wouldn't be a display with intercourse, I was wearing my usual shorts and T-shirt.

Suddenly, I saw one of the cameras activate, then the lens extended in sort of a mechanical erection. I knew we had an audience. I waited till my watch showed the top of the hour, bowed to the camera, and began my preparations. First, I picked up a leather harness. This was just a waist belt with a strap that connected in front, passed down through her crack, then back up to the back of the belt. For now, after the belt was put on, I just let the strap dangle from where it was attached at her stomach.

Slowly, and with exaggerated motions, I walked to a rack on the wall. Looking at it, a person would think of the pipes to a very short organ. Small to large cylinders, with rounded tips, hung in a row in sizes from one inch to eight inches, in half inch increments. Today, I selected the five inch tool.

Stepping over to the prone woman, and in full view of the camera, I dipped my fingers into a jar of sex lube, and began to smear it all over the cylinder. Finally, I reached over and smeared the residue onto her exposed asshole. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the red light on the other camera come on - this one looked at her from a one o'clock position and could see her face and a quarter view of her entire body.

Finally, making sure that I didn't block the view from the cameras, I placed the pointed end of the butt plug against her anus and slowly began to push. Over the last year, she had been widened by successive uses of the rack of plugs to where the next size was the five incher. The end began to disappear and her muscles began to jump as she and made a few low grunting objections. As her hole slowly widened as it rode up the rounded end of the plug, she suddenly began to shout. "Mierda! Mierda! MIERDA!" She could thrash a little and did, but it made no difference to the slowly disappearing plug. Now she was screaming, "Usted bastardo el aspirar de martillo!" and "Bastardo! BASTARDO!" and words to that effect. I didn't speak much Spanish, but I was sure she wasn't quoting poetry. Finally, as her hole rode up over onto the maximum width of the cylinder, she just alternately panted and screamed.

Now it slid in easier. Finally, it stopped at the base flange, I pulled the dangling strap through the eyelet in the middle of the flange, and fastened the end of the strap to her back of her belt. That concluded my participation. I bowed to the camera, and left the room. She would wear it all day - she had plenty of room - I had flushed her out last night, and just for my troubles, knocked off a piece of ass while I was at it.

She didn't appreciate it much - not the intercourse part since she was about used to that by now. But being laid on and fucked while she was plugged and holding almost a gallon of water apparently wasn't something that gave pleasant sensations. But, I assumed that all the sloshing around helped clean her out, so it was worth it - to me, anyway.

Her Ex could watch her holding the massive intrusion in her ass and shouting her displeasure all day - hell, he could watch her all day and night if he wanted, but I would remove it at nightfall and reinstall it every morning.

The packet boat had come in and a young boy escorted my guests up the hill to my house. I flipped the youngster a dollar piece, and invited the couple inside to my interview room. Comfortable chairs faced a small desk with another computer - but this one didn't have a chained woman as an attachment. I walked over to the man - fortyish looking, well groomed, expensively turned out. His wife was the same way. A little over weight, but not bad. They were well off, no doubt, but that was a given. If you didn't have lots of money on tap, you wouldn't get close to my establishment.

I held out my hand. "Mr. Martin, Mrs. Martin, I presume. John Conway." Not the name on my birth certificate, but a good name. And it matched my passport. One of them at least.

He was nervous - normal, given the circumstances, but he returned my greeting and both sat down at my invitation. "Is this your first trip to the islands?" He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it. "And our last, if I can help it." She looked at him and continued. "Why we left Paris for a trip to the Pacific is beyond me. This is the business meeting you needed to get to?"

"Ah, yes Madam." I interjected. "Paris is wonderful this time of year. I was just through there a couple of months ago." A lie, of course. A few more banalities seemed to put her somewhat at ease. Then I turned to her husband. "From your last email, you still wish to go through with the transaction?" Another given - otherwise he wouldn't be here. He gulped, but nodded yes. "I don't wish to belabor the matter, but you still understand that the agreement can't be rescinded?"

Another nod, which brought forth a helpful interjection. "For Pete's sake, Howard. Have you lost your voice? What's wrong with you?"

I ignored that. "Do you still wish the on-site action that you requested?"

This time, he spoke up, after looking at her for a moment. "Yes. Definitely, yes."

I stood up. "Very well. We will initiate the contract." He stood up also, followed by her. "Please follow me," I said. They followed me down the hall to the back of the house where I had a room already prepared for her. I opened the door, gestured for her to enter and when she turned to enter, made a sign for him to stay. I would have no problem with handling a middle aged woman, but I didn't need for him to get in the way.

She got to the middle of the room and stopped, surprised. It was practically empty and windowless. Not exactly the suite or lounge she was expecting. She turned around and started, "What the hell is thi..." That was as far as she got as I put my fist into her solar plexus - not a damaging blow, by far, but enough to take the wind out of a soft and unexercised female.

As she bent over, gasping for breath, it was just a moment for me to fasten the chain and neck collar on her, and not much longer to fasten the wrist and ankle bracelets. These were connected to chains that went though pulleys and then to two small boat winches. Tightening them would spread her arms toward the ceiling and her ankles wide apart on the floor. I left the wrist chains loose, but tightened most of the slack out of the ankle chains. That would prevent her from thrashing around the room and getting tangled up until we came back. Everything was locked, so she wasn't getting loose. Meanwhile, she had gotten her wind back and was screaming bloody murder. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING! HELP! HEEEEELLLLP! POLLLIICCCEEEEE! HOWARD! DO SOMETHING!" On and on.

We left, I closed the sound deadening door and we went back to the conference room.

"Sit down, Mr. Martin." He was somewhat in shock at his plan really happening, but sat back and almost slumped down.

"Goddamn. That woman..." he started. Then apologized unnecessarily. "Sorry. But seeing the actual thing happen is a whole lot different than my imagining how it was going to be."

I just smiled and sat down at my desk. I pulled his file up and purused it for a few seconds. I opened my desk and pulled out an envelope with his name on the front and handed it to him. "This is your computer key and a spare." Actually, just two flash drives with encryption routines on them. "These are the only way you will be able to access the cameras on your wife... ex-wife. If you lose them, you will have to physically come back her to get replacements." I looked back at the monitor as he leaned over and took the envelope. "You are paid up for a year. That gives you twenty six hours worth of activity."

He thought about that. "So I can look at her for only twenty six hours worth of time during the year?"

"No. No." I replied. "You misunderstand. You can look at her twenty four hours a day if you want. The fee gets you, say, one half hour of activity by me with her one day a week, on the average. Activities that I will perform on your property according to your desires while you watch - or don't watch, its your choice. You can always buy more time, but I have found that for the average viewer, a half hour a week is good. Any more takes the chance of becoming stale." I looked at him over steepled fingers. "Any questions?"

He nodded. "So, I understand that if I terminate the... the... contract after the year is up, she is... what?"

"I consider her abandoned property and I usually dispose of her. And by dispose, I don't mean dropping her in the ocean. Usually they are sold to a man in a country where, shall we say, women's lib hasn't caught up with the rest of the world." That wasn't really true, but I didn't want to go into details.

He thought about that for a moment. "So at any time, I can change my requests to something else?"

"Certainly," I assured him. "Unless the new, ah... request requires some kind of special setup, there is no additional charge."

"And I can look at her, anytime, day or night."

"Mr. Martin." I started in on my regular spiel. "There are two main reasons that I set up shop here. One, it is law by wealth here. Those with the money make the laws. In my case, money makes the local law ignore anything I want to do. Second, a major Internet fiber pipe comes through this island on the way to Australia and so I have all the bandwidth I need for streaming video to my customers around the world." I thought of something else. "By the way, my network isn't set up as a voyeur site for the world to watch. Only the person with the key I just handed you can see your wife. Nobody else."

I stood up. "Mr Martin, your wife is ready for you to say goodbye, if that is still your plan."

It was.

We stopped outside of room the room holding his Ex. He was holding a whip - a large lash, actually - that he had selected from my equipment display room. Plus, a couple of other items. He hesitated. "Will you be in the room with us?"

"No, Sir." I assured him. "This is private business. Nobody will be in there but the two of you. There is a curtain that you can pull down to cover the window if you want even more privacy, but I can assure you that there won't be anyone outside the door. There's nobody else around but me, anyway. The cook has already gone home. You're free to do anything with her that you want." I left him standing outside the door, and walked back to my office.

My secretary scuttled to her knees on her sleeping mat as I entered, then moved over to the knee opening at the front of my desk so as to reach anything that I might want played with. I sat down and keyed up the cameras for the newly occupied room.

The ex-wife to-be was strung up tight. He had cranked the winches to take out all the slack. Per request, she still had her clothes on but by now, she was apoplectic, with spittle running from her mouth. Mr. Martin - Howard - was just standing in front of her looking with folded arms and apparently patiently listening. "...don't know what you think you are doing, but I assure you that you will regret it! Get me down from here right now! This hurts!" Pause. "God Damn you, Howard! Now!" Pause. "If this is supposed to be a game, it isn't fun and you are going to rue the day, you bastard!" More of the same came out for a while, but Howard had apparently learned patience while living with her.

I felt a hand on my leg, then as I didn't draw back, it began a gentle massage. During the last decade or so, my secretary and I had developed almost a telepathic relationship in that she could almost always tell what I wanted, how much and when to stop.

I suddenly notice that Howard had finally moved. He picked up a pair of scissors - one of the items he had brought into the room - and stooped down in front of the enraged woman. Slowly, carefully he began to cut a slit from the cuff of her pants leg to the crotch. The decibel level increased even more, if that was possible. "HOWARD!! "What the hell are you doing?!!! GODDAMMIT STOP THAT!" He did, and stood up with that same grim smile on his face. Reaching up with both hands, he caught hold of the vee of her blouse, then just slowly pulled. Buttons flew like peanut shells and a full bra was revealed. Then, he placed the scissors between the two round globes and, snip, the bra fell away and two nice boobs jumped out. Sagging somewhat, but nice for all that.

Now she was beside herself, and what she was mouthing was barely understandable. Picking up another item, he stepped in front of her, and waited for a few moments, then took a nipple between his finger and thumb and squeezed. As her mouth few open with an "OOWWWWWWW", he jammed the ball gag into her mouth, then pulled the elastic behind her head.

By now my secretary was up to my balls. Nothing to turn me on, just a pleasant and very casual lifting and squeezing. My chair, specially made, had a vee shaped notch cut in the front of the seat. It held up my legs on both sides, but the center was open and my dick and balls were essentially dangling in space. Since, in this climate, I usually only wore a very light polo shirt and loose baggy shorts, it was easy access for her hands or mouth.

Back on the screen, Howard was pouring out a lifetime of stored up wrath on his ex-significant other - one who could no longer answer back. "...with your fucking brother. Remember? The nutcase that is always talking about the Rapture and how we need to sell everything and give it to his two-bit church. I can tell him honestly that Hell does actually exist, because I have been living in it for twenty years! Remember when I had my heart attack. I didn't. That was a time I tried to kill myself. Because of you..." There was more of the same to come. Lots more if I was any judge.

A key tap brought up a schedule on my monitor. I looked for a moment, then toggled up another camera in another room. I saw that Greg was hard at work on the chubby lady strapped on her stomach to a table - arms and legs tied to the corners. Greg resided on Tambu, down the chain of islands a bit. A hermit, he was also a first class tattoo artist who apparently had left his home country just ahead of the law. Anyway, he was glad to get a commission from me for work, four times a month. He had come in on the packet this morning, and would leave again when it came back by this afternoon.

Right now he was working on a leg, but at this point I couldn't tell what the picture would be. So far he had done about half of the woman in some of the most artistic multi-colored skin ink that I had ever seen. It was also some of the most obscene art that I had seen anywhere. And I don't mean pornographic - I mean, some of the most salacious, bawdy, profane artistry in existence, as far as I knew. Such as an Alien pissing into a the mouth of a beautiful four breasted woman, while she was shitting into an ice cream cone, and while... Well, anyway, you get my drift. There were a half dozen full scenes so far. Her keeper had a creative mind and had her body all mapped out for the next year or so.

When the session was over after an hour or so, by agreement with the watching owner, he had the privilege of emptying his rocks into the painted woman, in any hole he wanted.

The picture that I was watching didn't scan or zoom, so I had no idea if her significant other was watching or not.

My new customer, Howard, was apparently getting close to the end of his lecture. By now he had cut every last stitch of her clothes off and was taking liberties that he probably had only dreamed about in his marriage. I was about to move on, when he began to disrobe himself. Hmmmm, this is interesting, and probably spur of the moment. I reached down and moved my girl Friday's hand. She began a light stimulation on my growing rod.

Howard was really getting into his act, although I don't think it was an act. He would pull her tits for a minute, then reach down and grab a handful of pussy, while she thrashed in the bonds, mouthing unintelligible words around the gag. The struggles had to be outrage since he hadn't hurt her in any way yet - not that I could see. Then more tit squeezing, all the while keeping up a running lecture about their earlier lives together.

Finally, he stepped behind her, stark naked, and... what was he doing? Suddenly she really began thrashing in the chains and shouting around the gag as he reached around and grabbed both tits as handles. I switched to the other camera, then I realized that he had run his dong up her rear shaft and was pumping away at full tilt. THAT had do be something that neither of them had done together, or probably even dreamed about. He was really into it, going ninety to nothing with no finesse at all, just a desire to blow out an orgasm. It didn't take long. He stiffened with it jammed all the way up, his hands squeezing her tits probably to the point of drawing tears from her, then fell back, exhausted.

Slowly, he put his clothes back on, stepped in front of her and said, "That is for all the nights you had a headache, which was just about every day of the year. This is for all the days of hell that I have had to live with you." He reached up and pulled the ball gag out and let it hang around her neck, but even with it out, she was just babbling nonsense. Picking up the lash, he stepped back behind her and to one side and let her have one across the middle of the back.

No warm up. No teasing. Just full strokes as hard as he could swing. She just swung back and forth by her wrists as far as the slack would let her, which wasn't much. And screaming single words - "STOP! AHHHHHHH! PLEEEEASE! STOP!" and so forth.

I stood up, shucked off my shorts and pulled the girl's head forward. She knew that it was showtime. Her tongue went to full power and her mouth swallowed me all the way, over and over. Meanwhile, her hands explored my hanging sac, and my rear hole. I got off before my customer was through. I put my shorts back on, reached into a locked drawer and tossed a wrapped candy bar to the floor. It disappeared immediately.

By the time Howard's arm had tired out, his Ex was just hanging limply in her bonds. He took one last look, tossed the whip on the floor and left the room. I hit a key to change the screen to a spreadsheet and waited for him.

Many years before

I grew up a geek, a nerd, dork - fill in any word you want for a kid who was completely at home with computers and the Internet. Named Bill. Not that I didn't have an interest in girls, they just didn't seem to have any interest in myself and my friends. Four of us went to college together, successfully, and graduated with honors in various technical fields. Right out of graduation, as luck would have it, life found us taking a flyer on a project against other far more powerful entities - like some of the top end 100 corporations.

With the massive help from a venture capitalist, we actually won a contract to install a nationwide computer system in the mail system of the US. Normally, this story would have ended in a crash and burn scenario, with us bankrupt and on the run from creditors, but with two years work - hard, 18 hours a day, gut wrenching decisions type of work - we were successful and were millionaires - and still in our early 20's. Along the line, all of us picked up girl friends - and nights with them were really the only reason we came out on the top of the job with our sanity.

I had a sociology professor, a very wise man, who taught me three things and made sure I learned them well. 1 - never draw to an inside straight. 2 - trust your gut. And most important, 3 - allow no bureaucrat access to your fortune. They will tax it away piece by piece, inflate it until it is worthless, or just plain confiscate it in the name of the Peepul. Once I became wealthy, I looked for professional advice and eventually moved all but my investment monies into US stocks, but, purchased abroad in the name of a closely held corporation. I wasn't tax evading - I paid in full and on time, although, since I seldom bought and sold after the initial purchase, my tax liabilities were even less than that of the usual family.

On top of the world, I wanted to see more of it and Jodie - my girlfriend - and myself set off on a self administered cruise to anywhere we decided to go. We hit the usual places, London, Rome, Paris and other places in those environs. Then off to Africa for a month long safari - not the shooting kind. Then India, Sri Lanka - oops, we had to haul ass from there overnight - some kind of insurrection was going on with people showing up dead.

Australia, New Zealand...

We were relaxing on a plodding island steamer, roaming around many Southern Pacific islands, seemingly at random, and we stopped for the night a a wonderful little island. It will remain nameless, but won't wont be hard to figure out if you want. During and after the war - WWII - it had a well deserved reputation for harboring mosquitoes carrying a strain of anopheles malaria - deadly. Over the years, this was conquered, but the stigma still stuck to the little island. As a result, it wasn't an overrun tourist trap.

For some reason, it hit me hard - not malaria, the island paradise. I loved the place and couldn't get enough of it. We stayed in a cozy little cottage close to the beach, next to the only major town of about two thousand. I kept delaying our departure, again and again as we wandered the beaches, the rainforest and up the mountain. For some reason, this place was calling me to stay.

Major problem. There were no malls, discos or hamburger shops and Jodie was close to a fatal dose of credit card withdrawal. Finally...

"Bill!" (I might have mentioned that my birth certificate didn't have the name John Conway. Remember, this was twelve years ago) she said one morning. "Enough already. I agree that this place is nice, but two months is overkill. We need to get on the packet tomorrow and head for Hawaii like we planned." Well, the sex ended that day, but the fights didn't. Just to shorten the story by about two dozen fights, let me say that she left on the island packet by herself. Mad as a wet wildcat, I might add. I hated to lose her, but if it came to a choice between my... this island and her... Well, it's obvious - I was still here and she was gone.

I sort of went native. Since the local wage was about ten US dollars a month, that made me a trillionaire amongst them. Money wasn't a problem, but on the other hand, I didn't want to come across to the locals as the Ugly American. So, I wore shorts and a flowery shirt, went fishing with the men in the lagoons, helped rethatch roofs and wire electricity to different places - not exactly to US city code, but who cared? And, be it known, dipped my wick in some of the local females.

About this time, a major fiber pipe came to the island as a repeater point on the way to Australia and I made sure that a local node was broken out for the islanders. I even contracted as the local service provider for the node. I became known as that strange American, friendly and helpful, who must be hiding from a woman back home. But the clincher that got me permanent residence on the island was my help with a little girl.

The local sheriff, or honcho, village leader, whatever... and I were on friendly terms. I helped him get his new 'puter online, and gave him and some of the educated people of the village lessons on this new method of communicating. I didn't want to turn this paradise into a western city, but the Internet is lifestyle neutral.

Anyway, I stopped by one morning for our usual coffee - he and I were both addicted and I always had a new supply coming in on the packet. The minute I walked in the door, or hole in the wall, there being no door, I knew that something was wrong. Three women were bawling in the front room and I could hear some more in the back. Tarka came out with a look of desperation and said, "Beel, my little Meri is bad sick." Meri was a beautiful little girl that some day would twist some unsuspecting boy around her finger. I would have been interested myself in the little minx except for the fact that she was only twelve years old.

"Can I see her?" I asked. I wasn't a doctor - hell, I wasn't even a good first aid giver, but I knew that the local "doctor" wasn't going to cure her with bones and incense. He led me into the back room, moved the bawling women out of the way and I could see right then that this was bad. I looked over the little naked body, trying to catalog the symptoms, then quickly went out into the "living room" to his new computer. A little surfing later, and I was fairly sure that she had appendicitis. God damn! What do we do now? More surfing.

Finally, I found the closest hospital. It was four hundred miles away, clear on the other end of the island chain. Two days by that slow packet, even at full speed. A plane? No airport. Hmmmm. I realized that Tarka was looking over my shoulder. He could speak and read Engish, but not nearly fast enough to keep up with my surfing. I heard the horn from the packet boat, coming in. Yes! I knew the captain and that he had a radio to connect to base. I ran down to the dock and waited.

The dock man hadn't even tied the first rope and started on the gangway before I vaulted over the railing. The captain met me at the ladder up to the bridge, "Bonjour Monsieur. What is wrong?" I told him and asked his advice - he would know far more about the islands than I would. He waved me into the pilot house and began to think about options. There was a speedboat or two on the next island, but they had nowhere near the range needed. Any of the boats with range were too slow - all they would do would deliver a body. Then he pointed to a harbor on one of the plantation islands. There is a seaplane based here, he said. A seaplane! I asked him to try to get it here and told him to pass on that I would pay any expenses, in American dollars.

Back up the hill I went, told Tarka what was going to happen, I hoped, and asked him to get her ready. His wife didn't understand and the witch doctor wasn't enthused, but Tarka was about as educated as one born in this part of the world could be. He trusted science, not shaking bones in a cup. Now if the plane would just show up. Three hours went by with nothing. The little girl was just hours away from falling into a fatal coma, when I heard an engine. Religious I am not, but I said several hosannas to some heaven somewhere as the little plane settled down and motored into the harbor. The little girl was already on the dock, wrapped in a blanket. She was placed in a boat, and we motored out to the plane.

The only person on board was a single man, middle aged - the pilot. He was waiting in the door as we pulled up and said, "Yo, what's the deal."

I was caught by surprise at the accent. "Hey man, you from the States?" I asked.

"Yep, he nodded. Illinois. Sam Phillips."

I took his hand and said, "Montana. Bill Staples." I pointed at the blanket in the boat. "The little girl has appendicitis, I think. She needs to get to the hospital at Tongaville, asap."

"Can do."

I turned around and said, "Get her on board, quick." I stepped into the plane, and took the blanket with the girl, then waited for Tarka and his wife to enter. That took no time at all, then he cranked up the engine and taxied out, then gunned it off the water. I was sitting next to him in the copilot's seat. I leaned over and shouted a question, "How long?"

He held up a hand with two fingers. Hmmm, two hours. Good. Then he shouted back, "I hope someone can cover the gas. I don't have a lot of bread, right now." I just gave him the ok sign and a thumbs up, and nodded. Looking back, I could see Tarka looking out in fascination, and his wife holding their daughter with her head down and eyes closed. I just smiled. It had never occurred to me that this would be the first plane ride for both of them.

A few weeks later, when the packet boat came by again, I took possession of a box, opened it to make sure it was what I had ordered, then delivered a case of top end whisky to the captain. Tarka's little girl had a scar, but was still on course to make life miserable for some young man some day. I almost couldn't get her mother to stop bringing me food and cleaning my clothes and house every day. As for Tarka, anything I wanted to do was ok with him.

I paid the freelance pilot in full then added a generous bonus. It never hurt to have a compadre from the motherland as a friend in a far land. I also arranged for him to be my delivery service for packages that I needed in a hurry.

Up in the hills was an old mansion, falling down somewhat, isolated and abandoned. It took some doing, but I finally got some of the history of it. Apparently it had been the abode of some planter from another island, was converted into an administration center during the war by the Japanese, who installed a token French governor in it. After the war, it was occupied by various people, then let to fall into disrepair. Poking around, I thought it could be put back together. For one thing, a lot of the building was stone and imported redwood, so the structure was fairly good. The roof was the main liability. It would have to be replaced in total. I mentioned the idea to Tarka, and he enthusiastically help me to begin to investigate the possibility.

I wasn't a citizen and couldn't own property here, but with Tarkan's friendship and my Yankee Dollars, I finally had possession of a certificate from the governing board on the main island allowing me to lease the house and adjoining property for ninety nine years. It took a year, but with lots of imported materials and local labor, I had a nice house on the hill. No millionaires mansion - just a nice home, although fairly large. The power from the village was about as reliable as a cork anchor, but so what? If the lights went off for a few hours on this paradise, candle light worked fine with a beautiful buxom brown babe in my bed. My few electronics boxes were the main problem. I finally, put in a huge replaceable plate battery and hooked a half dozen solar panels to it. That solved the power problem for my computer and Internet electronics.

I ran a fiber from my office on the second floor to the switching office in town. As Internet connections went, since this little nowhere island was directly on a major backbone link, even a computer in a grass shack had better and faster access than most Americans enjoyed. I paid for the connection - two of them, actually, and donated one for the town and kept one for me.

Life was good, laid back and enjoyable. I had to look at the computer if I needed the date. Even though the island was entering the fringes of the technical world, life here was still slow and relaxed. I explored the island from one end to the other, then one day while having a working party cleaning up the grounds, found a cave in the hillside, just behind the house. I didn't even own a flashlight and running down to the big box store wasn't an option. Finally, I had a boy make me a set of torches like the natives had been using for hundreds of years.

I quickly found that it wasn't a cave - it was a tunnel. An old mine I assumed, but what they would mine on these islands was beyond me. Further research quickly showed that the tunnel was a fortress - a series of strong points that the Japanese had dug to fight the invasion. One that never came. I also discovered that some previous owner had apparently used a short section of on as a wine cellar.

A cave might have been interesting. After the initial exploration, long empty tunnels and chambers of rock were not.

Then, into this paradise, came a rat. Or a snake. I was relaxing on the veranda, watching a man in, of all things, a western business suit climbing the path to my house. What the heck? Taxes, maybe? I was far out of range of any IRS reach, but I knew that I was current on my taxes, small as they were. My guess wasn't even close.

"Mr. Staples?" I nodded the affirmative. "My name is John Smith, attorney at law. I'm here for Bilk and Wheedle to represent Jodie Hart." Not his or his firm's real names, but I don't remember what they were. My surprise was complete. What the fuck was this? Was she suing me for passage money home? Couldn't be. I had paid for everything. He handed me an envelope and I realized that my earlier surprise was nowhere near complete.

"She's suing for divorce? From me?" My look of astonishment couldn't have been more complete.

"Correct, sir. The reasons are in the first paragraphs."

I still couldn't believe it. "Divorce! What the hell are you talking about? I was always under the impression that to get a divorce, you had to be married!" Damn, I knew I should have ordered a gun the last time I bought tools.

"According to our investigations, you were legally married to her in the state you were residing in at the time."

"What?!! You're nuts!" I was incredulous. "One thing I'm definitely sure of is that I never got a marriage license, stood before a judge, or jumped over a broom handle."

He was unmoved by my emphatic declarations. "Did you not co-habitate with Ms. Hart during the years 1997 and 1998 inclusive?"

"If you're asking if she was in my bed and I was fucking her during that time, the answer is yes."

He nodded. "By the laws of the state, either party has the right to declare a common law marriage if the length of co-habitation exceeds one year."

God Almighty Damn. I'm in the last unspoiled paradise on earth and a fucking lawyer crawls out from under a rock. "What the hell. If she wants a divorce for a marriage that never happened, where do I sign?" I should have known it wouldn't be quite that easy.

He pulled out some more papers. "Well, there is a matter of declarations of your communal property to be divided. I have a form for you to fill out listing all real property, bank accounts, stocks, bonds and any other communally held items of value. It is required for you to swear accuracy on penalty of law."

I was still in my twenties, but my blood pressure was now approaching that of a terminally ill octogenarian. I was young and in excellent shape, my current blood pressure notwithstanding, and this was a pasty faced, deskbound paper jockey who was still panting from the gentle climb up the path. I could break him in half and deposit him in the bay for the sharks with no problem. I went over the prospect in my mind and wondered if I should start with his neck and get it over with quickly, or start breaking bones in his legs and move upward.

I took a few deep breaths for a moment, then told myself that I and my fortune were far, far outside of the reach of any judge and state court back in the world. Well, I had a bank account there, but it just a convenience account for paying taxes and Internet purchases. I tried to remember how much was in it - probably only a couple thousand. The rest of my stash was split between three different countries - all of them with no treaty about sharing info with others. Not only no treaty, but offshore accounts were their major source of income. So, no danger there.

I had just visited the States a couple of months ago, so the clock had been reset for my living abroad. I wouldn't have to touch US soil for almost five more years.

"I would need to talk to Jodi before I do anything."

He shook his head. "All communications will be between your legal representation and us. She will not...

I stopped him right there. "Playtime is over." I broke in. "If she wants to let you take a major cut of what she is asking for, that is her business. But before I do anything, she will talk to me face to face. For all I know, this is some elaborate scam to get me to reveal my personal business details."

"I assure you that when you appear before..."

"Listen up, asshole. This is my home and I am not leaving this island, so I am not appearing before any tin plated judge, anywhere. You know what to tell her." I pointed back down the path. The packet will leave in about ten minutes. If you hurry, you can get back on before it leaves. Be so kind as the get the fuck off my property."

That evening I composed a long email to my three former business compadres about what had happened and if they hadn't yet taken our sociology professor's advice, that I suggest they do so, posthaste.

Life went on. Wonderfully, I have to say. On occasion I would visit New Zealand or Australia if I needed to purchase something that wasn't convenient to get via the Internet. I also set up a drop point that Internet purchases would go to, then could radio Sam to pick them up next time he flew down that way. And, I sometimes just vacationed around that part of the world, a couple of times stopping by at Guam which would reset my five year countdown timer. I certainly didn't want to lose my US citizenship and passport by staying out of the country past the legal deadline.

Then, son of a bitch! Once again, I was sitting on the veranda, sipping the South Pacific version of mint juleps, when up the walk comes my old girlfriend. This ought to be interesting, I thought. I started out by giving her the benefit of the doubt. "Hello, Jodie."

"Bill." she replied. "You're looking well. I figured you would have gone totally native - grass shack, fat wife and kids by now." She was smiling, so I think it was just a pleasant joke and not a gig.

I offered her a lounge chair and ordered a set of drinks from my bar girl. Actually, just a part time housecleaner and cook, but a young one with all the right parts - some of which I used on occasion. She settled back, wondering how to start, I assumed. My first question, but one that I didn't ask, was how she got the money to come all the way out her. It wasn't cheap, for sure. "So. Pleasantries aside, I assume that it wasn't my matchless sexual skills that have brought you back."

Now she got a serious, even an apprehensive look. She pulled an envelope from her bag and handed it to me. I knew what it probably was but waited for her to tell me.

She waited for a few seconds, and when I didn't open the envelope, she said, "It's a judgement against you." Another pause. "For half of our property."

"Our property?" I asked sarcastically.

Stubbornly, she continued, "You didn't show up to defend yourself. The court set the judgement, not me." Desperately, she went on. "You went to school, I worked. We were both partners when the big show went up." Did she actually believe all that, I wondered? She was a part time girl friend, with the computer skills to turn one on and check email, but somehow has convinced herself that she was part of our four partner enterprise. I waited for her to go on, which she finally did, confused that I wasn't protesting, or exploding with wrath, or, for that matter, even showing much interest.

"My attorney is freezing your assets - you won't be able to get your money unless we come to some kind of agreement." Another pause. "It isn't like you're living the life of a millionaire, here. You probably don't even use the interest you make." Pause "Say something," she finally blurted out. I began to realize just how afraid she was - afraid of failing, of being laughed back to the US, probably afraid of being beaten to a pulp by me.

"What would you like me to say?" I asked, in a reasonable tone. Then, "I'll have to think about it and what I can do. It isn't just a matter of writing you a check." I stood up. Where's your luggage?" She pointed down the hill. "Let me get you to a room where you can relax for a while. I expect it was a long journey. I'll have some one collect your bags." I waved my hand at the door, and we entered the house.

She WAS tired. When she didn't come back down, I went up to look and she was collapsed, half undressed and sideways on the bed. Jet lag.

I walked down to the equivalent of the local coffee shop, waved to my friends, then sat down with a drink and cogitated about the last hour's surprise. One option wasn't even on the table - hell would freeze over and be leased out for the winter Olympics before I would give a dime to the golddigging little bitch. Since her attorney wasn't going to find any assets to "freeze", that empty threat didn't require even a second's thought. I supposed that someday she might make trouble for me if and when I went back to the States, but my wealth now was huge, and increasing by the day and I would have no problem hiring a law firm that could tie that up into a mess forever. And even in the unlikely event that everything went her way, she still wouldn't have access to my money. Being incarcerated for civil debt has been illegal in the US since 1833.

So, that left me with a female waiting for money she wasn't going to get. I could play games with her for fun, string her along, then watch her as her hopes collapsed. Or, keep her around as a nice piece of American tail, which she was, by telling her that she would have access to some of my money as long as she stayed around - or more accurately, on her back with her legs open.

Or... Something else. Hmmmm...

The next morning, she joined me for breakfast on the open air veranda. Once the cook had served and left, I said, "No need to ask if you slept well, last night."

She nodded, still somewhat groggy. I made a few more comments about the weather, which never changed this time of year, and other items of absolutely no interest to her. Actually, I was waiting for her to get totally awake. Finally, I could see that she was trying to formulate a question, and I held up my hand. "Let me talk. I expect I know what you are wanting to hear. First, you will have to stay here for a few days - my fortune is scattered all across the globe and it takes time for me to get my attorney's advice. Second... well, there is no second. My money, my rules, as the saying goes." That part was mostly true. But I had no intention of consulting a lawyer, anywhere.

I continued. "Your choices are to agree. Or not wait at all and go home. Or go back to Australia or New Zealand and wait in a hotel. Or something else that you decide." I knew that her option of going anywhere and staying at any hotel wasn't valid. I had gone through her purse and knew that except for the other end of some round trip tickets, she was broke.

She pretended to try to make up her mind, then opened her mouth to reply. I held up my hand. "Not finished," I interrupted. "If you stay here, I will want payment. Specifically, you will sleep in my bed just like before. Any refusal and you are on the dock with your passport and you can wait anywhere in the world for whatever legal events play out." Forever, I suspected since her current efforts were destined to fail.

I watched her eyes get wide as what I said sunk in, then thoughts and emotions fought with each other as she tried to decide whether to explode in anger or give in. Finally, the result I expected. "Ok, staying here will be more convenient. And you always were a good lay."

Over the next week, confusing and noncommittal reports came in from my legal staff. Not surprising, since I was writing them and emailing them to myself. I also availed myself of an available American cunt, no matter whether she was in the mood or not. Just for fun, I would suddenly surprise her while reading, or taking a nap, or while she was walking around the property, tell her to strip 'em off and spread 'em. A few times she was in the mood and enjoyed it, but mostly, she just complied in fear of being sent packing.

Finally, two week later I heard what I was waiting for. Sam's single engine amphibian coming in for a landing. I moseyed down to the dock and waited . The swells were low enough today that he could tie up directly to the dock this time. Two young boys immediately snugged the plane against the rubber tire fenders in hopes of a tip. I flipped both of them a US dollar piece and waved to Sam as he opened the hatch.

"You going to start weight training?" he asked.

Confused by the question, I asked, "What?"

"If you had ordered one more package, I couldn't have brought them all in one trip."

Ah, now I knew what he was talking about - weight. "Nope, just some tools and supplies I needed for a project." He began to hand them out and I stacked them on the dock. When we had the plane emptied, I waved to some older boys and "hired" them to lug the stuff up to my house. "You got another load somewhere, or can you stay for lunch."

"Sure. Need to stop in town for a moment." I flipped another dollar to one of the younger boys and told him to run up the hill and tell Tika that a guest was here and make a good lunch. We casually strolled down "main street" as he told me of his latest adventures. Stopping in Tarka's corrugated metal office, he delivered a package to the Chief, who, all smiles as usual, embraced Sam with a bear hug. As we continued up the hill, Sam responded to my quizzical look by saying, "A little something he wanted from the mainland. Never hurts to stay in good with the local politicians."

That night, I surprised Jodi with a bottle of Tequila, some mix and a bag of limes. Margaritas were her favorite drink, period. As the night went on, we got happier and more vocal, even though after the first couple of rounds, I had switched to straight lime juice. I kept her glass filled as she went on babbling about this and that, most of which I had no idea about. Finally, after a statement of what she wanted to do in bed tonight, and one that was anatomically impossible, she just slowly sank off her low foot stool onto the floor.

I stood there looking at her with a smile. Just another uneducated broad who thinks her body can get her anything. And sometimes they can, for a short while, early in life. I left her there and went into my office and started unpacking boxes. Finally, I found a long heavy gauge eyebolt with screw threads. The hole in the floor I had drilled a week ago, so I just started the bolt, stuck a large screwdriver shank through the eye and proceeded to screw it into the floor and the heavy beam under the planks. Next was an eight foot chain, connected to the eyebolt with a false link that I screwed shut with two wrenches with as much force as I could muster.

At the other end of the chain, I set another false chain link. Lastly was a thick sleeping mat and pillow that I laid on the floor in front of my desk. I picked up the chain to measure what it would allow access to. Holding on to it, I could reach the little bathroom, which was nothing but a primitive flushing squat toilet. I couldn't touch the window in the north wall or even stick my head out of the door to the south. I could reach about two feet beyond my desk, however and that would be a problem for a while. I slid the entire desk back toward the west picture window out of range of the chain. That would be temporary.

It was show time. I went down to the lounge, picked up the unconscious girl, slung her over my shoulder and climbed back up the stairs. I deposited her on the mat, then stripped off her t-shirt and shorts - all she was wearing. Finally, I rummaged in a box and picked up a hinged ring. It was a beautiful thing, an inch wide, almost a quarter inch thick and shiny chrome. I had ordered it, and some other items, from a sex shop in California. Turning the girl onto her stomach, I put the collar around her neck, closed it, put the false link through the matching eyes, and threaded it shut. Again, using two wrenches I tightened it down with everything I had. Even if someone gave her the wrenches, she would have nowhere near the strength to loosen the nut on the false link.

Lastly, I set a bucket down beside her - I had a feeling that she might need it later as the alcohol set in, and I was afraid that she wouldn't notice or recognize the toilet chamber across the room. I expected that tomorrow morning was going to be interesting. For one thing, she was going to learn the first rule of blackmailing - don't accost your target on his turf.

I went downstairs and built myself a real drink, then sat on the porch looking at the lights of the village, and practicing several lines for the morrow.

I got up early the next morning and went through my usual routine, except that my cook was off today. So I walked down to the small market area and purchased a couple of things to eat - a fresh fried fish and some local fruit. I was in no hurry, so I watched the activity on the dock as the women sorted the night's fish harvest. Then over to Tarka's for some coffee and chit-chat. Finally I strolled home. Just in time, it appeared. I could hear some kind of ruckus upstairs.

At the door of my office, I stopped, unseen for the moment and watched a very hung over girl trying to pull a chain loose from a bolt in the floor. Unlikely, without the services of a power winch or something. For some reason she just kept trying and refusing to admit that the force required was far beyond the ability of a mere female. Finally, I spoke up. "That chain is rated for a full ton. You're just going to hurt yourself."

She turned around in surprise, saw me, then started in. "What the fuck is this shit?" She stood up, not all that steadily, and put a hand to her forehead. Apparently, the hangover was in full force and her head was telling her all about it. "Take this off!" When I made no reply, she made another request. "Goddammit! Take this chain off! Now!"

I walked over to her - I had six inches and fifty pounds on her. And far more muscle, so I wasn't worried about any physical assault - and grabbed a arm that she was swinging my way. "Careful. Sit down and let it wear off before you hurt yourself."

She yanked her arm away, and loudly said, "Fuck you. What are you trying to do? If this is a joke, then you can..."

I reached out and grabbed the sides of her jaw and squeezed enough to stop the diarrhea of words. "You have a new career. Care to know what it is?"

She futilely tried to pull my hand and arm away - she was in pitiful shape, from a physical stamina standpoint. Her body was still good looking, but there was no muscle under the skin. Apparently she had stopped any physical type of activities since I had last seen her. "UUMMMMFH" was all she could get out between her clamped jaws even with both hands trying to free herself. I let go and walked into the hall where I had stored the rests of the packages that Sam had brought. As I rummaged around looking for certain items, she continued to spew words. Only now it was threats concerning authorities, and my future demise, and other interesting comments on my ancestry.

As I walked back in the room, she suddenly stopped speaking, confused, trying to determine what I was holding. I dropped the items beside her mat, and as she watched them hit the floor, grabbed her by the arm and gently kicked her feet out from under her. As she dropped to the mat, I rolled her over on her stomach and sat down on her butt, my legs straddling her. With her protesting vigorously, I pulled one arm behind her and closed a manacle around the wrist, then the other arm and wrist. I connected a short piece of chain with a snap connector to the connecting link of the manacles, then pulled her arms up into her shoulder blades and connected the chain to an eye on the back of her collar. Not high enough to be painful - yet. Then I got up.

She struggled and thrashed and finally got to her knees in preparation to stand up, then I pushed her over on her butt. "Enough babbling," I said. "I will do the talking for now."

"Bullshit, you fucking son of a bitch." I bent over unhooked the link at the collar end of the chain, shortened it somewhat and clipped it back. "That's too tight, you bastard. What the hell..."

I clamped her jaws again, and stooping down, said to her face, "Every time you start jabbering, I am going to pull your arms higher."

"Why are you doing this? You won't get away..." Click, clink, snap." Her arms moved higher.

"Ow, that hurts. You're breaking my arms." I just stood there and watched. "Please... Let my arms loose. I'll be quiet." More watching. "This hurts! Please let them go." With a grim look, I bent down and reached for her arms. She pulled back and almost screamed, "NO! Please! I'll be quiet!" I stood up and waited to see if she really was settling down.

I had never been in the B&D scene before - well, we had played at it a few times, with her arms tied loosely to the head of the bed or a scarf around her wrists behind her, but those times were just lover's frolic. This was real, and to my surprise, highly stimulating. I realized that I had a rock hard dick trying to poke out the front of my shorts. This might be a lot of fun, in addition to fixing my minor legal problems.

I took her behind the neck, and laid her out prone on the mat, on her stomach again. "Good, I said. Now listen up, because it's my turn to talk." What the heck, I shucked my shorts and t-shirt off - I knew that I wasn't leaving the room without enjoying a piece of her ass.

"You are now hired as my secretary. Full time secretary. And to make sure you are always on call, you will reside in this room on the end of that chain from now on." I popped her on the behind as she began to reply. "No. No. Unless you want your arms even higher, listen - don't talk." She clammed up.

"We'll start your duties slowly. See that coffee pot over there? You will have a fresh pot made every morning at exactly 7:00. And again at 13:00 - that's one o'clock to you. Two scoops. You missed the mornings brew, but you can start this afternoon. If you get that right for a few days, then your duties will expand. Of course, as a loyal secretary, you will be responsible for emptying my nuts when needed. Like right now." I went to the corner and pushed a large soft footstool, about two feet square, a little more than a foot high, to the center of the room. She was looking around at me now, so I pointed and said, "Lay across that on your stomach, knees spread." A pause. "Now!"

At first there was a hesitation, her mouth opened, but then shut as she struggled to her knees again. Well, maybe she was teachable after all. She got to her feet and walked over to the stool, then hesitated again, weighing her options, I guessed. Finding none, she managed to get back down on the floor, one knee at a time then lay across the foot stool, collapsing as she bent over and her weight overcame the leverage of her legs. By now, my rod was throbbing as I looked at a helpless girl - no, by god, a slavegirl - Mine! - bent over the cushioned stool, ass in the air, her body hanging over the other side, head down and tits dangling.

I managed to enjoy the scene of all of five seconds before my cojones made me get down to business. I knelt down behind her, moved her knees apart and began to feed my dong up her pussy. Then channel wasn't anything I hadn't explored many times before, but in these circumstances, it was like starting with a whole new girl. Grabbing a dangling boob in each hand, I got down to some serious banging, ripped out a load and fell back to sit on her mat. As I watched the sticky liquid slowly drip out of her crack, I realized after this first experience with for-real genuine bondage and discipline, that I had been missing a major aspect of sex all my life.

As it turned out, Jodie wasn't the only golddigger in our crowd. In fact, the idea wasn't even hers - that designation belonged to Twyla, Dave's girl friend. And, Thomas'es woman went along also. Only James'es cunt didn't join the pack. From a practical standpoint, James and Thomas had no problems - like me, they had moved their newly acquired fortunes offshore in split accounts that were now effectively invisible. Dave didn't. Why? Busy, too much bother, a belief that life is fair? Who knows? Emails between us told me that she was putting the screws to him, also. She was living with him, demanding to be treated as his wife, or properly divorced. I told him that I had fixed my problem, but there was no way I was going to put the actual facts in an email - my momma din't raise no dummy.

Life went on, thoroughly enjoyable for me, less for my secretary. I had learned the joys of the whip, and she had learned to obey it. At first, she would start off on a complaint, or an offer to forget all that divorce and marriage crap, and so forth. I discovered that a couple of whops with a riding crop would shut her up instantly. After the first couple of times, just the sight of it would have her on her hands and knees begging for mercy. Unfortunately for her, I discovered that I liked having a woman writhe under the lash, so I was always looking for reasons to use it. I have to admit that sometimes my accusations for her malfeasance on a job might not have held up in court. I had several new eyebolts in the floor, walls and ceiling for use in restraining her in various positions.

Anytime I was at my desk, her job was to kneel under it and perform whatever task I needed at the time. Usually, it was just a gentle foot or leg massage, other times it was a hand job, slow and easy. Sometimes, it was a full blown blowjob while I was surfing.

When she ate, it was from my hand, and usually only scraps that were left over. That is, if she had been satisfactory. Otherwise she went hungry. If I happened to be away from the island, then the cook brought her something.

By now she could make coffee pretty well, she kept the room spotless, and every few days, I brought a washtub into the room so she could bathe better than just using the usual damp cloth and towel.

Eventually Sam brought in another load from the States. I had ordered about one of everything at a sex shop. After it arrived I gradually tested each item for its erotic value - no rush, just something new out of the boxes every week or so. We like to live much slower lives here in the islands - none of this breakneck rush, rush, rush of what is called a more civilized country.

One day the packet boat brought something I wasn't expecting. Or someone, I should say - Dave. As now was custom, the captain of the boat gave three short blasts on his whistle as he motored into the bay. This was his way of telling me that I had cargo on board. Puzzled - I couldn't remember ordering anything lately - I walked down to the dock and waited for him to tie up. Then, standing on deck, I saw my ex-partner. "What the fuck," I said to myself, then looked for his "wife", but didn't see her. He just waved and waited till he could jump down to the dock.

We embraced, shook hands, and he took my by both shoulders, stiff armed. "Damn, look at you, " he exclaimed. "Tanned, muscles - maybe this really is nirvana."

I poked him in his slightly larger midriff. "Maybe you need to get out some more. You're starting on a desk donut there. Where's your stuff?" He pointed to a pair of suitcases. I crooked my finger at two boys, waiting on the dock in anticipation of a tip or two. They picked up the luggage and hotfooted up the hill with it. "You need a brew, or coffee, or something to eat? The local eatery here isn't exactly a fast food joint like you're used to, but it has good stuff."

"I'm ok." He looked around. "Doesn't anyone want to check my passport?"

"What for?" I asked. "If you insist, we can see if the chief can find his stamp somewhere, but nobody will care but you."

"Man! This IS at the edge of nowhere."

We walked up the path to my house, with him mostly answering questions about what was happening back home, and with our other two dudes. Finally, we stopped in front of the house. "Nice." he commented. "Like something out of an old musical about the south sea islands."

"Well," I replied. "It used to be a genuine mansion before World War II, but I when I restored it, I wanted a whole lot less ostentation. Most people here live in a two room hut - that's all they want - and I didn't want to come off like some reincarnated colonial overseer. I had to follow the original stone walls - that's why it's so big - but I cut way down on the eye fluff, like the Victorian pillared porch and dropping from four stories to two."

His luggage was already sitting on the porch, so I showed him to a bedroom, and told him I would be waiting on the veranda with cold drinks. Shortly, he joined me and we got down to whatever it was that brought him here. He gave me the whole story of the common law wife scheme, what he had tried and what she was trying. Finally, he asked for details of how I had gotten rid of Jodi.

I poured myself another sling, propped my feet up on the stool, and looked at him for a moment. Finally, I said, "I didn't."

Puzzled, he looked at me. "Didn't? You bought her off?"

I shook my head. "No. I just convinced her to see things my way."

"Shit man. I need you to negotiate for me if you have that kind of horse trading skill."

I stood up. "Well, it isn't quite what you think. Come on." Surprised, he got up and followed me indoors.

I don't know who had the greater shock, Dave or Jodie. He just froze in the doorway and stared. For her part, after the initial surprise of a strange man appearing in the doorway, she suddenly recognized him, jumped up, tits bobbing up and down and for an instant tried to hide behind her hands. Very quickly, she realized that was a futile gesture, and just exclaimed the single word, "Dave!" I pointed my finger at her, then at the mat and she instantly dropped to a squatting position. After education by the whip, it was an automatic reaction.

Dave finally thawed in the doorway and stepped in. "What the fuck?" was all he could come up with. Wide eyed, she just stared at the girl on the mat, squatting with everything she had in plain view. He looked at me long enough to say, "What the fuck?" again, then back to her.

Obviously his needle was stuck in the groove, so I tried to move the conversation along. "This is my ex-significant other. Now my paid secretary. She realizes that she has been a naughty girl in the past and is trying to make up for her actions." I reached over to my desk and picked up the usual riding crop. Pointing it at her, I asked, "Right?" She nodded vigorously, not taking her eyes from the crop. "Explain," I demanded.

With her eyes down, she began. "I was a bad girl. I tried to steal money and property from my man using a flaw in the legal system. This is my way of paying him back. I won't..."

"Enough," I said. I had made her practice a self-deprecating speech that she would repeat to me, but I never dreamed that she would be saying it to a third person.

Dave finally began to observe something in the room besides the girl. "You keep her chained by the neck? And naked?" I nodded. He finally took his eyes off her and looked at me with a unbelieving expression. "Ok, spill it. What's going on?" I waved him back out of the room, and he reluctantly followed, his eyes looking back at her as long as possible. Back downstairs to the veranda we went, sat down, and poured ourselves another drink from the pitcher. He filled his glass to the brim, took a gulp, the filled it back up.

For the next hour, I gave him full details of what had happened - how, when and why. He mostly listened, interjecting a question every now and then.

"You can't keep her in that room forever. Some day you have to let her go, then what?

"You have the outlook of a harried western civilization citizen. Here, we take the long view of, what will happen will happen, and who cares until it does?" I sucked in a piece of ice. The pitcher was empty and I didn't want to refill it or we would be singing and dancing up and down the road. "Ok, here is one scenario... In a little over four years, she will have been out of the US for five years. She will lose her citizenship, or it will at least be very muddied. Her passport will have long since expired. So she will be a penniless unperson to the civilized world. With no money, she couldn't even leave these islands. Well, maybe by offering herself as the onboard concubine to the captain of a tramp steamer, she might go somewhere, but she would probably wind up being traded among ships as a permanent ship's whore. Even if, somehow, she made it back to the States, she would have no resources to make any kind of claims - especially against the kind of legal horsepower that I could buy."

"Yes, but..." he started. I interrupted him.

"More likely, she will become a chattel to some man in the third world. I know of at least fifty places where I could trade her for goodly amount of money, or anything - dope, looted treasure, other women." As an afterthought, I said, "Energy costs are heading for the stratosphere. The days of the average person zipping overseas on a four hundred dollar plane ticket are over. It will be like the eighteen hundreds, if you want to leave the country, it will take years of savings to do it.

He just sat back in thought for a while. "So how does this work for me?"

"Bring her here. I have lots of room for another girl Friday."

"Goddamn, man! When you give suggestions, you don't just fuck around, do you?" He shook his head. "Just put her on the boat and dump her here? And nobody asks questions?"

I waited a moment before replying. "Ok, listen up. I'm not telling you what to do - you have to figure it out on your own. But, here is a scenario."

"First, my girl was stupid. Rather than getting her ducks all lined up and giving someone back home - her attorney, for instance - her plan and itinerary, she just waited till she could find a discount ticket to Australia, then bought a ride on the packet boats to get here. Cash, no way to prove where she had been or what she was going on. Her legal firm probably wondered where she went, but without any particle of info, all they could do was file her papers in their cabinet and forget her. Twyla won't be that stupid. You follow so far?" He nodded, slowly.

"So... Something like this. Ok, by now you can't stand her guts, let alone the idea of spending your life with her. But, you go back and lovey-dovey it up with her. Ok, she wants to be your wife, so be it. But first, a pre-honeymoon. Say, in Hawaii. First class, naturally. Stay at an exclusive hotel. Nothing but the best for the newlyweds to be." I definitely had his attention. "Unfortunately, a day before you leave, something has come up that you HAVE to take care off. But the reservations have already been made, so, 'you go on out there Honey, and enjoy yourself. Here's an unlimited credit card in your name'. After you see her off, you head for, say, London. Take the train for Rome or Naples. While you are there, you buy a phony passport. On that, you travel to Japan, or Australia, then on to Hawaii to meet your beloved. Still with me?"

"Yes, keep going," he replied.

"So you have a nice time. Fuck her on the beach under the stars, on the slopes of the volcano, wherever. A trip to remember for your little dove. When the action starts winding down, surprise her with the fact that you are going to return home by flying around the world, Australia the first stop. Then a nice laid back cruise though the islands, to here. Where her special room will be waiting. Unfortunately, you have to leave immediately and she can't. You go back to Europe, throw your phony passport away, go home. Where is Twyla? Beats me, you say. I've been in Europe for weeks."

I stopped and decided I did need a little more to drink. I excused myself and fixed us a short pitcher. When I got back, he was deep in thought. I sat down, poured our drinks and waited.

Finally, he said, "You were always the techie who didn't even know there was a world outside of what you saw in the monitor. Where did you get your machavalian education?"

I just smiled. "The tempo is slow here. The time I save by not having to deal with taxes, traffic jams, bureaucrats, and other civilized bullshit gives me plenty of time to expand my horizons."

Dave left a couple of days later. I wondered what he would do.

Six months later, I had just returned from a sight seeing trip to Japan - most interesting - and got an message from Dave. It was just a normal missive between friends, but it had a single pre-arranged sentence that was significant. Interesting. During the next couple of days, I made a few preparations.

I sat back and thought. And looked at my eye candy across the room. My secretary, having finished her morning duties, i.e. making coffee, was standing in front of the desk, wrists manacled together and high above her head, held by a chain hooked to the ceiling. Her legs were spread and kept that way by other chains hooked to eyebolts in the floor. A rope from her ponytail tie, went down her back to a metal device, looking exactly like a gigantic fishhook, except that the pointy end had an inch and a half metal ball, rather than a barb - now stuck way up her asshole. The device kept her head pulled back and her being able to look only at the ceiling. I was continually amazed at the items one could order from certain erotic shops on the Web. I expected that by the time of her next chore, afternoon coffee and lunch, her neck would be quite cramped and sore.

One could get used to helpless females. That would be a good career, if I could figure out how to get into one. It made good fantasizing while I walked around the desk to do a little fingering and titty pulling. I wasn't particularly horny at the moment so I passed up use of the only available hole - later maybe. For now, I was going to meet Tarka for lunch.

For the next couple of months, I waited with interest for the packet boat to arrive, but it never had the passengers that I was expecting. I put it to the back of my mind and went on with my life.

Down the island chain aways, I met a most interesting character - Greg by name. Over drinks in the local coconut thatched bar we swapped stories. He was a Canadian - ex-Canadian. Apparently he had a... well, a difference of opinion over the amount of taxes owed from some windfall he had received. Eventually he wound up here, living the easy life, sort of like me. And plying his skill - tattooing. That subject was far outside of my expertise, or even knowledge, but he was apparently an expert. But he was a good dude, and we liked each other. I invited him to visit my place if business got slow.

Whoop. Whoop. Whoop. The packet boat. And with something for me. This might get interesting.

I waited on the dock, watching the boat get closer, and the two figures standing on the deck - two people that I knew very well. Shortly, Twyla was hugging me with her arms around my neck. "Bill." she exclaimed, then again, "Bill. You're looking great. And fit. Who would have thought you would settle here in nowhere land." She stood back, but with her hands still on my arms. "I missed you." Then she got serious for a minute. "I'm sorry it didn't work out between you and Jodie - you were made for each other."

"You're looking well, too, Twyla," I answered. And she was. She was a big boobed redhead - a real stunner. Her only defect, that I knew of, was a typical redhead fiery temper that could go off like nitro on a moments notice. Well, that and the fact that she was a conniving golddigger. I continued, "Welcome to my Paradise." Looking at Dave standing behind her, I saw him nod to me.

She took my arm as we walked off the dock and kept talking. "We almost didn't make it. Naturally, Dave got a business call the day before we were scheduled to leave. In fact, I had to start it without him." She looked around, then continued. "I don't suppose this place has a convenience store? No? Never mind. We're only staying overnight." I hoped she had stocked up before she left. It might be a while before she went shopping again.

Lunch came and went - Twyla never stopped talking, mostly about what she bought here and shopped for there. And a long dissertation on the pro's and con's of every store between here and America. Her good looks notwithstanding, if she had been my woman, I would have dropped her overboard on the way here. Or, maybe, long before into one of the active Hawaiian volcanos.

Finally, she stood up and announced, "I need to change. Dave, bring in my suitcases." She looked at me, "Which room do we stay in?"

We both rose also, and I replied, "Follow me, Madam," and held the door open for her. As Dave passed me, I gave him a slight nod. We walked down a long hall to the rear of the building, I opened a door and she entered. Then stopped, confused. There was not much in the room but a pallet with a small pillow on the floor. Well, there were a few other items, but she didn't notice them yet.

"THIS is our bedroom?" she asked incredulously. Before she could turn around, I flashed a finger signal to Dave and we both grabbed an arm and I kicked her feet out from under her. In a half second she was laying on stomach on the mat. I gave the arm I was holding to Dave, and he held both behind her back and his knee across her butt. It was only a second more until I had the pre-positioned collar and chain around her neck and the lock snapped shut.

Because she was going to be like a wildcat in a trap for a while, I slapped two manacles on her wrists to keep her hands behind her. Then, for good measure, a spreader bar on her ankles. By the time we had let go and stood up, she had gotten over her surprise and was cranking up to full volume.

"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING! LET ME GO! DAVE WHAT'S GOING ON..." and so forth nonstop. I waved at my partner and we left, closing the door behind us. That lowered the volume somewhat, but we could still hear her as we climbed the stairs to my office. Dave plopped down on the casting couch, not even bothering to look at my naked secretary, who was surprised to see him again. I walked over to the wall bar, poured myself a drink, and Dave a double and handed it to him. He could barely hold the glass without slopping the liquor out, he was shaking so badly. I sat down and just sipped mine in silence and waited for his nerves to calm down.

Finally, the shakes subsided. "Goddam," he said, shaking his head. "It's one thing to daydream about it for months, but that doesn't prepare you for the real thing." I nodded, and reached in my desk for an object.

I flipped him the flash drive. "When you get home, install this. It will allow us to do video chatting inside of an encrypted data stream. IM me when you get back. And DON'T say or send anything incriminating until you get it installed." He nodded and put it in his pocket. I went on. "It's too bad you can't stay for a while. The next few days will be fun with her, but you have to hotfoot back. The packet boat will come back here this afternoon and you have to be on it."

"The same boat will stop by again?"

I nodded. "Yes. I told to Captain to be sure and stop in coming back even if he doesn't have passengers or cargo for here. He will. He's a good friend." I leaned on the desk. "Now, when you get back, remember that if anything is suspected, you have motive. So you have to make sure that nothing comes up. I suggest that in a few days, you start asking your friends... and her friends if they have seen Twyla. Don't belabor it, just act like you are wondering. Then drop it and let it just fade away."

He nodded. "She doesn't have that many friends - too bitchy. Her mother is the type to send a Christmas card once a year."

"How about her attorney?"

He shook his head. "Shouldn't be a problem. We paid them off and terminated her dealings with them months ago when I agreed that she was my wife."

"Ok," I said. "Just keep your head and don't try to overdo the innocence."

He got on the boat as planned, and left me with a pissed off redhead. By now I had more experience in taming a woman, so I just let her stew until sundown. Of course, but then she had pissed on herself a couple of times and was definitely hungry. When I re-entered the room, she started up again, but not with as much passion or volume. I just ignored it as I cut her clothes off, then used them to wipe up the pee. A couple of strokes of the crop on her bare behind got her attention and quieted her down after the initial screams. I released her feet, showed her where the hole for the squat toilet was, and hand fed her a few scraps and filled a bowl with water. Then I left her for the night with her hands still behind her back.

It was a sore, pissed, hoarse, and scared woman that I found the next morning. She was awake and sitting up when I walked in with a plate of food. When she saw me, she tried to rotate her body to hide her nakedness. - just an automatic female reaction. By now her arms were sore from being manacled behind her all night. It didn't slow down her mouth, however. "Goddammit, Bill! What the fuck are you two playing at? Give me my clothes back and take these damned handcuffs off. If you hit me with something again I'll have your ass arrested so fast your head'l swim." She leaned over and looked behind me. "Where's that bastard husband of mine?" She started to struggle to her feet, but I put my hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. She struggled for a moment, then gave up. "Take these goddamned chains off me! I'm not into that bondage shit!"

I finally got a word in edgewise. "Well... Thats what I wanted to talk to you about. We've decided that you should get into that."

"What?!" She had finally stop trying to hide her nakedness turning away. "I'm warning you, take these chains and cuffs of or els..."

I reached over and grabbed her jaw with a hand, then squeezed hard enough to turn off the word stream. "There is no 'or else'" If you stop talking, you can eat and I will explain to you just what is happening." I looked into her eyes. "Otherwise, I will leave you here and let you eat from this plate like a dog. Which is it?" The fury was still there, but she finally tried to nod with my hand holding her face.

"Much better. Now turn around." I knelt down behind her and unhooked the link holding her two wrist manacles together. The metal cuffs stayed on. Against her feeble attempts to pull her arm free, I pulled her right arm up and reconnected the link to the eye in the front of her collar. Now she had use of one hand - her left and non-dominent - to eat with. And wipe her ass if she wanted, although there wasn't any toilet paper in the room at the moment. I pushed the plate toward her and watched the conflict in her eyes as she chose between flinging it back at me or feeding her now growling stomach. Fortunately, she finally chose the saner route and began to stuff her mouth.

I just waited and watched for a few minutes. God, she was beautiful, cross legged with her crack wide open, leaning over to get food off the plate with her tits bobbling naturally. I was looking forward to violating that gorgeous body, and my rod was doing more than just looking. First, I was going to use my... Woah, I told myself. Down boy. When you go to a banquet, you don't dive onto the table and and start cramming delicacies into your mouth. I took a deep breath and relaxed.

About halfway through, she had cooled down a little and could ask somewhat lucid questions. Like, "What the hell is going on here?"

I sat down in front of her. "Well, do you want me to explain it gently, or just lay it on you?" No answer - she was still munching. "Ok, it's like this. You're the big top event in Dave's new circus act." That got her attention. She swallowed, and started to say something, but I continued, "See that camera on the wall behind me?" I had mounted it, but it wasn't connected yet. "When he gets back home, he's going to connect to it and watch you perform."

Looking up at the camera, she asked, between bites, "Perform? Perform what? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Whatever he wants. I'm sure that whatever it is will be entertaining." If I didn't get up and stop staring at that open crack and bobbling boobs, we were going to start performing now. I stood up and looked around. The room had already been fitted out for her, minus any furniture that we needed. The ceiling and floor ropes were already in place, but piled in a corner of the room with all the slack left out. There were several D-rings on the walls and floor without specific purpose, but just for future use. She finished eating, and I handed her a toothbrush then left her alone while I went down to get another box of stuff that we had especially selected for her. By the time I returned, she was standing up and trying to get her neck chain loose from the wall. Entirely futile with out a hacksaw or huge wrench.

Some of her wrath came back. She turned as I entered, and said in no uncertain terms, "Unlock this damn chain. RIGHT NOW! And my arm!" Rather than argue some more, I took her free arm and, against her struggles, brought it up to the other, and locked the manacles together, then picking up the rope leading to the ceiling pulley, tied it to the center link between the cuffs. Finally, I unhooked her wrists from her collar. By now she was sputtering and yanking, trying to both get away, and unhook her wrists at the same time. Futile, since the wrists were locked together with a padlock, and even if they came loose, the neck chain to her collar wouldn't have let her leave the room. About all she could try to do was untie the rope knotted to the bail of the lock between her wrists. Before she could begin to try that, I stepped to the far wall and started pulling the other end.

She screamed and sputtered, trying to pull the other way as her arms began to ascend above her head. Finally, I tied the rope off, giving her enough slack that her elbows were partially bent. Now she tried kicking to express her displeasure. That stopped when she connected with my thigh and just about bent her toes back double. Making sure that she didn't kick me in the face, or cojones, I knotted two short ropes to her ankle manacles, then to a pair of D-rings at each wall. Now she was secured, legs widely spread to allow access to any crack or holes that might be wanted, and arms over her head and unavailable to shield any boobs that might be dangling. He mouth was still in high gear, however.

I picked up a lash, really a small bullwhip with with a hollow braided tail that was far less damaging than the real thing. Another nice thing about it, that I had found when I unlimbered it on Jodie, was that it made a loud crack when it hit, giving the impression of far more severity than it actually gave. Not that being under it was any pleasure, as my secretary could attest.

I stepped behind the babbling redhead, lined up and gave her a fairly hard swat. She threw her head back and screamed. About two dozen lashes later, the screams were still coming but with far less volume as she began to run out of energy from struggling. Finally, she was just reduced to just whimpering for mercy. Her back and butt were crisscrossed with bright red welts, but no serious damage had been done.

Since I was about to spew jism all over her or the room, I left to cool down for a while. With both doors shut, she couldn't be heard from my office.

A couple of days later, I had everything ready, and a connection message popped up on my computer. It was morning, our time, which made it prime time evening in the US. Shortly, we were sharing a hi-def video conference link. I checked the protocol status to make sure that we were indeed inside of an encrypted secure session.

"Yo. Bro." I greeted. "S'up."

"Hey, man. What's the temperature like there?"

I assumed that he wasn't talking about the weather, so I replied, "Hot and stormy. We could have a bad breakout at any time."

"Well, I'm glad I'm here and not there. It's been a beautiful day - especially compared to the shitty year I've had."

"Hold on a sec, I'll get you a weather report." I hit a couple of keys, and the image on his monitor, I hoped, changed to another room. One in which a gorgeous redhead was on her back on a small table, wrists connected to the corresponding ankle, and ankles held high and spread by a bar tied with two ropes from the ceiling. Apparently it did, because I saw his jaw drop open and him almost stick his nose through his screen trying to look closer.

I laughed and said, "That isn't going to work. If you want closer, I'll have to zoom in for you. In a few weeks I'll have some real remote controllable cameras, then you can zoom and move around." I stood up as I said, "Stand by, I'm going down to her room." I walked down the hall, entered the room and saw the same scene that I had been viewing electronically. From here, I couldn't see Dave, but he could hear me. "Yo, you still there?

"Yeah, man." I walked around into the head of the small table, into the camera view. "Ok, there you are," he called.

I looked down at Twyla, who was furiously looking back. She wasn't saying anything at this time - probably because of the huge rubber ballgag stuffed between her teeth and strapped behind her head. I grabbed hold of her pony tail and lifted, or bent her neck actually, to look into the camera. "Dave," I called. "Meet the red headed bitch from hell." Still holding her head up, I pointed to the camera. "Smile sweetie, there's an admirer called Dave who is looking at you." Louder and to the camera, I said, "Introduce yourself, Dave."

From the speaker came, "Hi there Tee! You're looking good, tonight. At least the end I'm looking at does." Now, she suddenly recognized the voice and thrashed around in her bonds, trying to shout around the gag, but only "HUMMMPH MMMMMUMPH" and the like came out. "Open her up. My friends want to see what she looks like inside." I knew that he had nobody with him - that would have be exceedingly stupid - but she didn't know that. I walked around the table, took a pussy lip in each hand, and pulled them sideways in opposite directions. "Still looks nice, Tee. Glad to see you are keeping the parts in good condition." I looked at the camera and away from the girl, trying to keep from laughing. "Pull on her knobs. I want to show them how firm they are." I walked around and took hold of both nipples, and pulled them up, down and sideways - and not gently.

By now she was in a perfect frenzy, not only from the minor pain of her nipples being pulled, but at the idea of being displayed for the pleasure of a group of men somewhere. As per our prearrangement, I picked up a flat riding crop, and held it where Dave could see it for a moment. "Ready for lesson one?" I asked the camera.

"Go for it, " it replied.

Making sure that I didn't get in the way of the view, I stepped to the foot of the table, lined up a stroke and laid it with some force on the inside of her right thigh. That brought out a scream that the gag only partially muffled. I had learned from popping my secretary that a woman is particularly sensitive in that area - much more than the back and butt. Another followed on the other thigh. Then another. By now she was just about berserk, desperately and futilely trying to pull loose from the bonds - a totally impossible attempt - and screaming between panting around the gag. After a couple of dozen, I put the whip down, pulled her gag off, looked at the camera, and said over her shouting, "She's all yours, bro." I'll be upstairs. Beep me when you want me.

I knew that he was now going to verbally abuse her, and I assumed that the pair would want some privacy.

Son of a bitch! He taunted her for more than two hours before he beeped me to talk. I hit a key and his face appeared. "Well, whatcha think?"

"Damn that was nice. Are you going to leave the connection up?"

"You can connect any time you want - talk and watch, both. She isn't leaving that room, obviously. Her collar chain is permanent - it doesn't have any locks, so she's going to eat, piss and shit in that room from now on. Until we sell her to some Arab somewhere, any way." That last was a joke, I think. "Just make damn sure you don't leave the connection unattended, or use it from some public hotspot." It would be very hard for even a friend to recognize the redhead, but why take chances? My network was behind a stealth firewall and proxy and as secure as I could make it, and wasn't published as a website. So if someone did stumble across the address, managed to break in, figured out the encryption, and connected to the camera, he whould just assume that it was an unknown porno site.

"Have you fucked her yet?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Almost did many times, but not yet."

"When you do, let me know. I would love to watch."

I said goodnight to Dave, saw that he had disconnected, then went down and let the captive loose. But before I unlocked her ankles and wrists, I waved the crop in her face warning her to keep a civil tongue in her head unless she wanted more. Then I left and closed the door.

Damn! I knew that he didn't care if I screwed her - and in fact, probably assumed that I did the first night. I knew I would eventually, but as far as having an audience - Hmmmm. I was going to have to think about that.

My package with the cameras and miscellaneous equipment showed up. These cameras were remotely zoomable and movable. I installed two in her room for different views of the action. Once I was delivering her breakfast, before opening the door, heard her pleading with Dave. "Please tell him to let me go, David. I won't bother you ever again..." and so forth. Rather than granting her wishes, he usually came up with a new torture to try.

Looking at the logs, I noticed that Dave signed on constantly in the first month, then slowly increased the intervals between viewings. On occasion, he would ask me to participate. I still wasn't up to being the other half of an online sex showing, but I did everything else - lashings with all kinds of whips, suspension by her wrists, stretching in a new rack that I had made, and so forth.

Eventually, I walked in to her room one night when I knew that Dave would be very unlikely to connect. She saw the whip in my hand, and backed up against the wall pleading for me not to use it. "Ok," I said. "Do exactly what I say and I might leave your skin alone." She waited. "I pointed to her sleeping mat with the whip. "Get down on your hands and knees. It's time I fucked you." I was being as crude as possible.

She hesitated for a split second, then slowly, still with her eye on the whip, began to get down on the mat, the neck chain clanking on the concrete floor. Finally, she was in the doggy position facing away from me. I touched the tip of the crop to her back and she jumped like she had been electrocuted. "Pleeese," was all she said.

"Spread your knees apart." She did. "Now ask me to do it."

"Wh... What?" she stammered.

I lightly popped her on her butt. She jumped again. "What part of 'ask me to fuck you' don't you understand?"

The whip ruled. She wanted no part of it so she said quietly, "Please fuck me."

"I can't hear you, woman."

Louder, she repeated. "Please fuck me!"

"Where," I demanded.

"My... In... In my pussy."

"Tell me how, bitch." Another pop. "You had better start speaking or I'm going to take your skin off. Describe how and where. In detail!"

Now she was almost crying. "Please fuck me in my pussy." Pop - another and harder swat. "Put your dick in my pussy from behind. Pump it in and out till you cum." Swat! "PLEASE. Fuck me hard. Stuff it up as far as you can and fill me with your cum. Pump me hard." She was getting frantic.

I got down behind her and said, "Since you insist, here it comes. Tell me how it feels and what I am doing. Every time you hesitate, I am really going to stripe your back."

Frantically she started babbling. "I can feel it entering my pussy. It feels good. Really really good." I assumed that was a lie, but didn't insist. "You're really pumping me. My titties are swinging back and forth. I can feel it inside going in and out... " And on and on. Her pride lay in tatters on the floor by the time I blew my load into her, pushed her down with my hand and got up and left. Nice fuck it was, too. The first new girl I had had in ages.

Now I had two cunts in my paradise at my beck and call. But, when you're on a roll, good things can come at you fast.

In the clear, pure and unfrenzied environment that was my home, I could leisurely watch the rest of the world going to hell. I knew that problems were on the horizon - every government of every country in the world was spending far more than it was taking in and they couldn't stop - if they did, they wouldn't be reelected, and nothing is more important for a politician, including the welfare of his country. I began to reduce my holdings in the stock market, gradually trading the proceeds for gold coins which I then stashed... Well, I'm obviously not going to give a map to the treasure, but suffice it to say that they were divided up into four different stashes, and placed in secure areas in four different jurisdictions. If a stash was found and confiscated, looted or just taxed, most of my fortune would still be safe. And any single pile was far far more than I needed to live on.

Since I had lots of underground space and unlimited money, I became sort of a hoarder, stocking up on things that I used or thought I would use in the future.

A cusp of sorts in my life arrived with a missive from Dave asking permission to give my name to a wealthy friend of his. Over our secure link, he told me of hinting in a roundabout way of how we solved his gold digging problem. I was hesitant - the last thing I needed was an expose about this just discovered slave camp somewhere down by Australia. But I agreed to talk to the man, just not on my island. I made arrangements to meet him in New Zealand in a couple of weeks.

Somewhere in a city of New Zealand.

That had to be him. At a casual glance, he didn't look any different than any other business traveler, but when you looked closely, you noticed the Bond Street suit, the ten thousand dollar watch, magnesium briefcase worth more than the plane ticket, and so forth. Our eyes met, and we walked up to each other. "Mr. Conway?" My new business name, complete with legitimate passport - well, almost.

I nodded, took his hand and returned, "Mr. Dawson," I presume. "Glad to meet you sir. When we collect your luggage, I have a room reserved for you at the Bonair." Eventually, we got him settled in and I asked him to follow me to a rented car. I drove out to a... well, it looked like a roadside rest area in the States, but it was really just a little used open air park. I pulled a pair of lawn chairs out of the trunk, took them under the canopy of a large tree, facing the cool breeze from the Pacific, and waved for him to sit down.

"I know that this isn't the type of meeting setting you're used to, but there is no chance of being heard or bugged out here." I had already surreptitiously scanned him for any evidence of a bug, on the very off chance that this was a set up. Of course, I couldn't detect certain sorts of passive voice recorders, but I would just have to go with my gut.

"Ok, Mr. Dawson. Call me John. You have the floor."

"Fine. Bob." He returned the favor with his first name. "Our mutual acquaintance has hinted about the method you used to solve your problems. And I gathered that both of them were about the same?" I just nodded. "I don't have exactly the same problem - I'm actually married to the bitch."

"What's she doing?" I asked.

"At the risk of being crude, fucking the yard boys and every other young dick that comes close." He looked around but we were the only persons in the park. "Years ago, she was doing the same thing, but I didn't know about it then. Until my doctor said I had advanced gonorrhea." Grimly, he continued. "When I confronted her with it and the threat of exposing her, she begged to be forgiven and promised to never step out again. Fortunately, it was something curable, and not AIDS. Unfortunately, it was at a critical time in my career and I couldn't afford a scandal - and she knew it."

He paused for a while and looked out over the beautiful blue ocean. Then he started again. "Now, I own the company and am far less naive about life. A few months ago I noticed indications that it was happening again, and a detective has verified it, in spades." Another pause in a difficult tale to a stranger. A really long pause as he tried to find the words about what he wanted to ask.

I took pity on him and spoke up. "And you need her out of your life."

He nodded. "God, that would be wonderful. I'm just beginning to realize how much I've hated her ever since the first episodes." He looked at me and said very quietly, "Sometimes I think I could strangle her and laugh while I did it, I have no skills in that area. But in reality, I know I couldn't really kill another person in cold blood no matter how mad I got."

"But you're ok with someone else disposing of her?" I hit him broadside with that question on purpose. I had no use for and no intention of dealing with a coward.

"NO! I don't want her killed." He sat up straight, wondering just what kind of person he was talking to. "I was under the impression that you had a... a... place to keep a woman who was causing problems."

I sat back and just looked at him, wondering if I wanted to take this any further. Another woman to have to take care of would give me three - and these weren't cats or dogs in that I could fill their food dishes and then ignore them. On the other hand, I was really liking the B&D scene and the thought of another sub was tempting. What the heck, if you come to a Rubicon, then you might as well cross it.

While I was pondering, he went on, stumblingly trying to fit the proper words together. "Look... The main thing is I want her out of my life and a divorce isn't an option from the standpoint of... well, a lot of reasons, but mainly because if I lost half of everything in the settlement, I wouldn't have enough to buy her out and having her as a business partner is, well..." He stopped there, but visibly shuddered.

"So you would like her incarcerated somewhere, and it appears that you wouldn't be amiss to having a little revenge?" With that, we began to get down to brass tacks, negotiating on what would happen. Although, since I held the cards, it was not so much negotiating as my laying down the rules. For one thing, I would want a substantial incoming sum for upkeep. And I stressed the need for absolute confidentiality, no matter how much he wanted to redeem himself to his associates. Finally, we came to a deal...

Back home, I got on the 'Net and ordered a ton of stuff. I needed to redo everything, starting with a real video server and camera controller. And some think-think about what I would do if this "hobby" continued to expand. I had plenty of time. Even if my latest customer went through with his plan, it would take months. For one thing, unless he was really stupid, and I assumed that the owner of a multibillion dollar enterprise wouldn't be, he couldn't just have her disappear overnight. He needed build a reason for her not being around, like her having the need of experimental medical treatments in Thailand. Or something.

By now, Dave had pretty well burned out on tormenting his Ex, so most of her life was spent in waiting for me to use her. She had stopped trying to beg, bribe or threaten me into letting her go, and now was just concerned with making me happy. If she did so satisfactorily, she would, on rare occasions, be thrown an old magazine to relieve her excruciating boredom. Being kept in a room with just four walls and a door, she was much worse off than my "secretary". At least my office cunt had a view of the outside world through the picture window behind my desk.

One day, I was relaxing in my chair, turned around so I could look out the window. In the distance was a boat... ship. My binoculars showed it to be a fairly large ocean going yacht. And it was headed here. I had at least an hour, so I moseyed down to the "coffee shop" and relaxed until I saw it drop anchor and put a launch in the water. As the small boat tied up to the dock, a man jumped out and offered his hand. "Hello John," he greeted.

"Hello yourself, Bob," I answered. He smiled and turned around and waved at the boat. I've brought that box you ordered." He shouted to to his crew. "Bring it up." It was a little larger than a footlocker and, from the effort required, must have weighed over a hundred pounds. Naturally, the usual hangers on of the town were waiting for a tip producing job, so I gave orders for a pair of them to haul it up the hill and set it on my porch.

With a wink, he handed me a packet and said, "I won't be able to tarry here. I'm taking my wife to a sanatarium in Manilla. The poor woman has had a nervous breakdown." He winked and had trouble keeping back a laugh. All in all, this was a different man than I had met with months ago. Alive, upbeat... well, obviously a major load had been lifted from his life. We made our goodbyes and he motored back to his ship and in a couple of hours it was invisible on the horizon.

I wrestled the box onto a dolly and pushed it down the hall to the waiting room. Inside, I set it on the floor and unlocked the padlock with the key he had given me. Inside, doubled up was an unconscious and nude woman - not a surprise. If it had been anything else I would have been flabbergasted. She was so limp that I almost couldn't lift her out of the box, so I gently pushed it on its side then just rolled her out.

I spread her out out on the floor mat and attached the neck chain and collar, then examined her. Middle aged, maybe forty five or so, somewhat overweight as is typical of so many Americans. Not bad looking, but nothing spectacular. Well, one thing was. On her stomach, written upside down so that she could read it when she awoke, in a black felt tip pen, were the words, "Bon Voyage Bitch." Since she would probably wake up and go bonkers, I turned her on her side and manacled her wrists together. Leaving a bowl of water, I left her to sleep it off.

In my office, I examined the contents of the packet that Bob had given me. He must have had an artist draw up the scenes - they were way too detailed and artistic for an amateur. I shook my head. This was going to be a very interesting payback. I sent word to Greg, my tattoo artist friend residing down the island chain, that I had a very lucrative commission for him.

A couple of weeks later, I was at my desk, with my secretary doing her usual duties, and watching and listening to the first communication that my new client was having with his Ex. She was on her back on the mat, arms and legs spread at maximum and stretched tightly by chains and manacles at her four corners. The current active camera was the one on the wall that her feet were pointing to and it was looking right down her cunt.

The only thing she could move was her head. "... and since you have never cared who stuck his dick in you, when he finishes a session for the day, I told him that he can have any part of you he wants. When he is done, in three or four years, I might even have you displayed in public as a retired circus tattooed fat lady..." There was lots more of the same - about a lifetime's worth of pent up hatred and wrath, but eventually, he came to an end, - with her - and said, "Ok, Sir. She's all yours."

Greg stepped into the picture, knelt down and began setting up his gear and supplies. Eventually, he looked at the camera and nodded, then turned to the woman on the mat, moistened her stomach with a wet rag and began to shave the fine hairs. Then, using something like green soap, he again moistened the area, then carefully laid a stencil down and pressed it into place. When he pulled the paper off, leaving an outline in blue ink, I could see that the image would eventually be a four breasted gorgeous female, squatted like she was taking a dump. Which I knew she was, since I had a copy of what the woman's body would be displaying in a few years hung up on my wall.

Meanwhile, the woman was shouting herself hoarse with "STOP THAT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?" And so forth. Over the last two weeks, her wrath had faded from white hot to just threats and bribes on occasion. But this was the first day that anything was done to her, and she was cranked back up.

In a little while, Greg bent over her with his little gun, or whatever you call it, and began the first "treatment." The touch of the needle was unexpected and resulted in some loud protests, "AHHHH! STOP! THAT HURTS YOU BASTARD! STOP!"

The speaker came on again. "Come on, Doris. Every young kid that came around you stuck something into any hole he could find. What's the big deal about a little needle?" Along with other helpful advice in that line. I turned the sound off so I could concentrate on some other things, just looking at progress from time to time. Today, he would stop after finishing the outline of the picture, then come back next week to start filling in. Bob intended to drag this out as long as possible, until every square inch of her body was covered with very artistic, but unbelievably obscene, skin ink.

Many years later

Very slowly, as word of mouth spread among the rich and powerful - and unhappily married or attached - I gradually accumulated fifteen women over the years. Of them, one had died of natural causes, and the significant others of seven more had disappeared, never to be heard of by me again. Like anything else, the new would wear off of the pleasure of watching and doing, so after a year, on the average, most girls were left alone, even by the significant others who still paid for their observation. That first year could be tough for the woman, though. I wouldn't do anything that would endanger or mutilate a body, but still, some of the punishments were severe. They could range from severe lashings to brutal sex, hanging by their wrists or stretched out in a rack, strange bondage positions or, in one case, total body tattooing. Anything.

The girls that were abandoned by their keepers... well, more about that shortly.

And of course, I used all the women as my personal harem.

Twenty years later.

By now I was a defacto citizen of the island, due in part to my generous sharing of my wealth with the appropriate officials and organizations - but mostly due to the disappearance of organized government in this part of the world.

I didn't travel much now - not only was it expensive, which really didn't bother me, but was fairly difficult. With the implosion of the petroleum industry, and the partial collapse of the dollar and Euro, casual travel had almost disappeared. The packet boat, which used to come around every couple of days, cut the service to once a week, and now only touched at our island every couple of months at the most. Airlines had gone out of business all over the world and were replaced by boats like in the old days - and not fancy first class ocean liners, either. Instead of planning a vacation abroad, people now seldom traveled far from their homes, and almost never on long trips. Even the militaries of the world were vastly shrunken, it being prohibitively expensive to keep large numbers of ships and planes in action - and almost impossible to ensure enough fuel for a long war. I guess that was the silver lining to the end of the oil industry.

There were almost weekly promises of new energies - super fuel cells, new hi tech solar, geothermal, beamed energy from orbit and so forth, but the era of cheap energy was over for now. It might have a resurrection some day with hydrogen fusion or the like, but probably not in my lifetime.

Travel had been supplanted by the Internet. The invention of superconducting data cables meant that even grass shacks in rural jungles usually had access to hyperband connections now. My hobby was still active, although no new girl had been sent to the island for several years. But the some of the ones that I had were still viewed on occasion. Sometimes, the other end would disappear and I would usually never know why - death, I assumed. But I kept the abandoned woman around for my own pleasure. I was getting along in years and didn't need a woman every day, but I still enjoyed one fairly often.

Sam, of course, had long since gotten out of the seaplane transport business back when avgas was approaching the price of liquid gold, and retired on my island in a little shack on the beach. He knew about my hobby, and sometimes came by to relieve his pressures on one of the abandoned girls. Luckily, he was still alive because on that horrible day, he was far out beyond the bay, fishing. Oops. I haven't mentioned the all consuming disaster yet.

The massive Indonesian undersea quake and ensuing tsunami had virtually destroyed the village in the harbor - and most of my friends - and even now had only been partially rebuilt. The water had come almost all the way up the hill, but stopped before reaching my house. As a result, the population of the island was a fraction of what it had been - about three hundred people now - mostly women, since many were inland at the fish drying racks when the water hit. The few males were mostly fishermen who luckily had been far enough out at sea. By now, the ocean stocks were rebounding due to the disappearance of the massive overfishing fleets.

In theory, the island was still ruled by the government down the chain on the main island, but in fact, we were left to ourselves. There was nothing here of any value to the outside world, so we were just about totally ignored. I had long since converted my house to total solar, and with the development of sea water batteries with replaceable elements, I had no problem having enough power to run my electronics, lights and single refrigerator. I had built a solar array for the town large enough to run lights in everyone's house, not that there were that many left, and enough juice left over to power the Internet repeater building - I traded the power to the communications company for connections to the 'Net for me, and my fellow island citizens. And I was the defacto service person for the node - although in all these years, there had only been two failures in all.

My previous years of hoarding paid off. Usually, anything I happened to need, I could either find or build from my supplies in the old Japanese tunnels.

Several years back, when things seemed to be falling apart, I had convinced a doctor - a friend - to retire to the island. I had stocked up on medical supplies by purchasing an entire pharmacy and boxing the inventory up one night and shipping it out as books. Sickness was a rare thing in this paradise, but we now had a trained professional who could fix broken bones and sew up fishhook wounds.

Now, with the island almost physically isolated from the world, I began to let the islanders use the abandoned women - for anything - sex, maids, fish scalers, whatever, in return for labor, fresh fish, fruit and other items. My wealth and stashes of gold coins were worthless on the island, and not much more use out in the world, with transportation scarce and associated costs sky high. The Internet was king now, and I could still order anything, but it might take months to arrive and the shipping costs might and usually were many times more than the cost of the item.

As I told both Greg and Sam over drinks one night, it was no big deal for the world to go to hell, as long as your hand basket was labeled First Class passengers only.