Copyright 2023 Christopher D.B.

This story is written by Christopher D.B, please send comments and appreciation to christopherdb113@gmail.com

On a lower level of the citadel, there was a long stone corridor along an outside wall. Large windows on one side overlooked a terraced garden where other men worked. Beyond the garden's low walls, the rocky landscape tumbled down over tall cliffs into the sea.

My task for the morning was to sweep the corridor and mop it later. While the men outside were permitted to wear loose fitting ragged clothing, I was only given a flimsy pair of sandals, and some thong underwear made of a rough cloth that would sometimes chafe at my scrotum.

The air was cool on my exposed skin, so I worked a bit more slowly when I swept in front of the windows, savoring the warm rays of the sun.

Two young female guards were loitering near the end of the passage, smoking cigarettes and talking in a language I didn't understand. The island was ruled by women, and I'd been tormented by these sadistic guards before.

Sometimes they could be avoided but now I had no choice but to keep working my way towards them. They wore black knee high leather boots, and their high heels echoed off the stone walls when they periodically walked over to an open window and casually flicked their cigarette ash outside.

The men in the garden below worked even more slowly, though they didn't appear to be supervised at all. Perhaps they were too weak to escape. I'd mostly been fed a thin gruel since I'd arrived perhaps a few weeks ago. I was losing track of the days, and becoming weaker, probably malnourished.

One of the guards began to slap the face of a small leather paddle against the open palm of her hand as I got closer. The other gave a low menacing laugh, and periodically flicked her riding crop through the air with a whooshing sound.

In addition to their high heeled boots, they wore snug fitting shorts and long sleeve jackets, both made of black leather. They wore their blonde hair pulled back. The taller one's hair was in a pony tail, and the shorter one, her hair was pulled back in a thick knot.

The woman with the ponytail also had two silver stripes on the sleeve of her jacket, which I thought might be an indication of rank. At least she seemed to be the leader of this pair, continuing the menacing slap of her paddle against her hand. Her sidekick or assistant just laughed.

When I reached the two guards, they dropped their cigarette butts to the floor and ground them out under the pointed toes of their boots. After I dared to sweep their cigarette butts off to one side, the lead guard said something to me. I didn't understand her language, which had a thick, eastern European tone. Then she thrust one of her boots forward.

"Kissy kissy!" she ordered, and then could not help laughing along with the other guard.

Leaning my broom against the wall, I got down on my hands and knees, and began to kiss her boot. This wasn't the first time they had put me through this routine, and when she was satisfied, I was presented with her other boot to smother with kisses.

I could hear the second guard whooshing her riding crop through the air. Wearing only a thong, my buttocks was clearly exposed, and I was surprised she hadn't whipped me already.

The two ladies had a brief conversation, and then the lead guard walked around behind me. She gave each cheek of my ass a firm swat with her paddle.

"Kissy kissy," ordered the second guard who now stood in front of me.

The swats with the paddle continued. Not so painful as to cry out, but they hurt and it did not seem as if they would ever stop. I tried to focus on the second guard's boots in some effort to take my mind off the pain.

The black leather of her boots was more scuffed than those worn by her leader, and the rubber tips on the heels were slightly mushroomed out with wear.

I was relieved when the paddling stopped, but then the second guard walked around behind me. After they conversed and laughed for a while, the other guard began to whip my bare ass with her riding crop. I'm sure she could have whipped me harder but after having been paddled, the pain was unbearable and I groaned out loud, begging her to stop, even if she might not understand a word I said.

The whipping stopped. The two ladies were talking softly and giggling. Then I felt one of them forcibly pulling down my thong. The spiked heel of one of their boots pressed painfully against one cheek of my ass, pushing me forward so they could pull my thong down past my knees, yanking it off and laughing. I looked up just in time to see the assistant guard throw my thong out an open window.

The head guard stooped and picked up one of their crushed cigarette butts from the pile of dust I'd been sweeping, and menacingly held it in front of my face.

"Oop arse!" she snarled. I was confused, then had the realization she wanted me to put her cigarette butt up my ass. Her assistant's laugh echoed loudly in the long stone corridor. "Oop arse," she commanded once again, and I meekly reached out and took the cigarette butt from her hand.

"Sorina! Elena!," a woman's voice suddenly called from the distant end of the corridor. There was the echo of high heels slowly approaching, and although I didn't understand what she then told the two guards, I could tell she was angry with them.

Loredana was tall, mature, and her long blonde hair was always worn in elaborately woven braids. Any time I had seen her, she was always wearing a form fitting jumpsuit made of silver metallic leather, with matching silver thigh high boots. On one sleeve were a number of wide black stripes, topped with a crest that looked like the outline of a bird. She was in charge here and it was unusual that Loredana would be walking around checking on her subordinates.

The two guards slowly walked over to Loredana as she continued to scold them. It seemed as if they didn't dare talk back to her. I just lay there on the floor, still holding the cold cigarette butt, not wanting to draw any attention to myself.

To my surprise, the two guards followed Loredana off down the passage, high heels clattering on the stone floors, fading into the distance and eventually around the corner at the far end. I finally thought I could breathe a sigh of relief.

"Aye, mate. Those birds have quite a thing for you, eh?" called out a cheerful man's voice. I looked around, but I was the only one in the corridor.

"Who's there?" I whispered cautiously.

"McGonnigle is the name. I'm down here. The lassies have me cleaning the old drainage tunnels," he replied, and I noticed the sound of his voice was coming from a metal grate in the floor not far away. "You're new here, eh?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied. "Went overboard. Long story. Ended up here. Loredana says I'm her guest, but she has me working until she can get me off the island."

"I always got on well with Loredana," he said. "But her getting you off the island, that's a load of rubbish. Told me the same story a while back."

"How long have you been here?" I asked.

"I've seen it snow a few times," he replied, not losing the cheerful tone in his voice even though I thought he meant he'd been here for several years.

"I was taking a long holiday, sailing me cutter across the ocean. The plan was to bring at least one other bloke along for the passage but he didn't show. I've single-handed before. No big deal, mate," he explained. "I'd been in a bit of weather for a few days, really tuckered out. When the storm broke I thought I'd tie off the tiller and go down below and catch a few winks. I was running north of the shipping lanes, so no traffic to worry 'bout."

"Is this an uncharted island and you ran aground here?" I asked, hating to cut off his story but I suspected the guards would return soon.

"Oh, this island is on the charts," he said. "I was certain I would pass it to the south, but seems I made a navigation error," he gave a dry laugh. "Not sure how long I'd been in me berth when I woke up with my keel smashing into something. Went up to the cockpit, saw the island, didn't look like I was hard aground and thought I'd have a go with trying to come about and make it to safe water. That's when I hit the bottom a second time. Saw water coming up in the companionway and knew there was no getting out easy. Was going forward on deck for the life raft when me hull struck something else and pitched me over the rail. Waves had me bumping off a few rocks for a while but I made it ashore. Met the welcoming committee soon after that."

I heard the sound of several pairs of high heels echoing down the corridor, they sounded just around the corner.

"Listen, the guards are coming back," I whispered. "I have to go."

"Good day to you," he replied. "Chin up, mate."

The citadel may have been an old fort or castle. It was a maze of passageways and mostly empty rooms. From the end of the corridor where I'd been was a room that had a back exit, and I used that route to slip away from the guards.

Loredana's suite was on one of the uppermost levels. Outside her private chambers, in a small office area, Stanimira stood by an open window smoking a cigarette and looking out over the ocean.

She was a short brunette, and wore silver leather thigh high boots with tall heels. Her leather shorts and jacket were colored in silver metallic and there were four wide black stripes on one sleeve, topped by the familiar crest.

Stanimira was clearly surprised to see me. When she saw that I was naked, she knew I had come to see Loredana. I felt embarrassed, and ashamed.

"Wait here a moment," she told me in perfect English, and then disappeared into Loredana's chambers.

Other times I'd had to come up here, I'd been kept waiting for a while. There was a heavy wooden bench along one wall and I considered sitting down, but my buttocks was still painfully sore from the whipping and paddling, so I thought I would be more comfortable standing.

The outer office was sparsely furnished, and there was no telephone or computer. In fact there was only a single electric light fixture on one wall, with all wiring exposed. From what I had seen of the citadel, it lacked modern technology.

After I'd been standing around for a long time, considering sitting my sore ass on the bench, the door to Loredana's private chambers opened.

"She will see you now," Stanimira said coldly.

Just inside the door was Loredana's office, which was a bit more lavishly furnished, and through an open doorway to one side appeared to be a comfortable apartment where she lived.

Still wearing her silver jumpsuit and matching thigh high boots, Loredana stood in front of her desk, giving me a stare of distain.

"Once again you've had problems with the lower guards," she said in perfect English, though with a thick European accent. "You must stand up for yourself."

"Please, ma'am, I've told you that if I try to resist them, they just rough me up even more," I tried to explain, though I was sure I sounded pathetic.

"They are bored, and this is a game for them. You will have to learn to play the game better. You have lost your clothing once again. You know there is a price to pay for that, do you not?" I suppose the question was rhetorical but I answered anyway.

"Yes ma'am."

"Stanimira will handle this," Loredana said, nodding towards her assistant that was still standing by the door. "You are dismissed."

I turned and walked slowly to the outer office. Trying to speak with Loredana any further would be of no use. Stanimira wasted no time in opening a desk drawer and pulling out a large wooden paddle.

The paddle was made of a light colored wood, and the long, wide face had three large holes drilled in it, like a modern version of the paddles that teachers had used in private schools decades ago.

I knew the routine, and placed my hands on the desktop, my buttocks thrust outward. Stanimira was a cool professional. Never scolding or laughing, and she took discipline seriously. The first swat of the paddle landed firmly across my ass and I felt my feet go up on their toes. I didn't cry out, but began breathing heavily.

More heavy swats echoed loudly off the stone walls. I was certain that Loredana could hear me being paddled, but I kept my sobs of pain as quiet as I could.

To my surprise the paddling was over quicker than I'd expected. Perhaps she was showing some mercy, or that was Loredana's orders. I would never know. Stanimira walked around her desk to put the paddle away, and then handed me another thong made of the same rough grey cloth.

"Go back to work," she told me with authority.

Later, as I was mopping the long corridor, any time I passed by one of the drains in the floor, I would tap the handle of my mop on the metal grating. There were no guards loitering around, so I dared whisper down into the drains,

"Hey, McGonnigle. You still down there?" I didn't get an answer. Then I had the idea to dump some of the water from my bucket down each one of the drains. Evidently there was a tunnel of some kind under the floor where the other man had been working. He may hear the dripping of the water, or feel it under his feet if the floor was dry. Clues that I might be in the corridor above.

"Say, old chap, good to hear from you again," He finally responded from a drain near one end of the corridor. "Listen, I don't know when we might chat again, so let me fill you in. I got an idea about how to escape."

He explained that months ago he'd been doing some work on one of the highest levels of the citadel.

"You know this is a small chain of islands, mate. We're on the largest one," he went on to explain that it was low tide when he looked out a window to the next island, which was not far away. He noticed the tops of rocks sticking up through the water, and waves partially breaking, all in a line from this island to the next one.

"I suspect they're all connected under water. Maybe a sandbar, maybe a reef, can't know for sure," though he sounded optimistic.

Then he explained that this time of year was the neap tides, or dead low tides as some people called them. At low tide a land bridge connecting the islands below the surface of the water might be exposed for a short period of time.

"The island at the end of the chain, it has a lighthouse on it. This is the best time of year to make a go for the lighthouse," he said. "The low tide just after dark."

"So what?" I asked. "I'm sure the lighthouse is unmanned. Why don't you try to escape then?" I thought my words sounded too harsh. "Sorry. Didn't mean to come across like a jerk."

"No worries, mate," he answered cheerfully. "Honest questions to be sure. I assume the ladies are keeping you scantily clad, and maybe you feel like you're losing your strength?"

"Yeah," I said, though it felt like an admission of guilt.

"It's the grub they serve around here," he explained. "They're keeping you weak, it might even be drugged, and it will only get worse. The time I realized there might be a route to escape, well me body had just deteriorated so badly. There's snails crawling round in this tunnel down here leaving me in the dust," he said with a dry laugh.

Then he explained about the lighthouse. There was a slim chance that an emergency distress signal transponder might be there. If not, if I could somehow disable or cover the light beacon, a passing ship might report a malfunction and a repair crew would be sent out.

"The dead low tides will only be round for a few days," he said solemnly. "If you got the stones to make a go for it, might be your only chance."

"Don't worry about that," I said. "Tell me where they keep you here. We can leave together."

"I'll only slow you down," and I detected the first note of sadness in his voice. "You just send someone to rescue me."

I assured him that I would, and was thanking him when he interrupted me.

"You'll need some clothing for the weather, and some kind of footwear for the rocks. Need to get all kitted up with anything you might need to live in the rough a few days until a rescue team shows up," and he went on with suggestions and instructions on how to catch rainwater for drinking, and collecting sea creatures trapped in tidal pools for food. Gathering driftwood for a signal fire or using a scrap of metal as a mirror to signal any passing ships.

It would probably be too much for me to remember, and suddenly we were interrupted by the sound of high heeled boots echoing off the stone walls.

I was back on my feet, mop in hand, when one of Loredana's elite guards walked around the corner at the far end of the passage. Their black leather boots were thigh high, and their shorts were matching black leather. They wore jackets of the same silver leather as Stanimira's, but they didn't have the crest insignia above the rank stripes on their sleeves.

I rarely had any trouble from women who wore silver leather. Perhaps she had a message for me. A change of work assignment, or better yet, news that I would be released and heading back home soon.

Partway down the corridor she stopped by a window, sunlight gleaming brightly on her silver leather jacket. Opening the creaky window, she lit up a cigarette and leaned against the sill. Relaxing, or perhaps bored. I continued mopping.

A while later I heard the sound of high heels and women's voices in a room off to the side. Another back passage must lead to that room. It was the two guards from earlier, Sorina and Elena. Loredana had called them out earlier by name.

As they came out of the room, I could tell by the tone of their voices that they were excited to see I was there, and one guard began to twirl her riding crop in her fingers as if a majorette's baton. Then they noticed the other woman wearing silver, farther down the corridor. She was still leaning casually against the window sill but gave the other two ladies a cold look.

Now silent, the two guards walked slowly towards me. I continued to swab the floor stones with the mop, attempting to ignore them but as they approached, the echo of their high heels ramped up my anxiety.

They stopped next to me. I gave a quick glance at the other guard down the corridor. She was watching us but was making no move to intervene.

"Teacher's pet!" The guard with the two stripes on her black leather jacket said with disdain. She'd been smoking a cigarette, it was only halfway finished, but she flicked it into my mop bucket where it hissed out in a faint puff of smoke. The two guards walked off down the passageway, eventually disappearing around the corner.

The afternoon wore on. I had nearly completed mopping the corridor. The elite guard had wandered off a short while ago. Before long I could put away the mop and bucket, and then retire to my room.

Perhaps McGonnigle was still down in the tunnel below and I could try to get more information from him. That was when I heard the clicking of spike heeled boots on the stone floor. From the far end of the corridor, Sorina and Elena were approaching.

They didn't speak, but cast casual glances into the empty rooms along one side of the passage. I assumed they thought a member of Loredana's elite guard was still close by. To my surprise they walked past me without saying a word. However, once they had reached the opposite end of the corridor and saw that nobody was around the corner, they doubled back towards me.

The senior ranking guard circled around behind me while I was preoccupied by her assistant, who was firmly tapping the end of her riding crop on my bare chest. Suddenly the guard behind me pulled my thong down to my knees.

"No!" I shouted, and pulled it back up into place. I had no desire to face Loredana twice in one day to report that my thong had been taken. I was also hopeful that the elite guard had not wandered off very far and might have heard my voice.


Suddenly the lead guard's leather paddle smacked loudly on one cheek of my ass. Caught by surprise, I cried out in pain. She then suddenly pulled my thong down to my ankles. Her assistant firmly cracked me on the chest with her riding crop and I instinctively stepped backwards. I stumbled, my thong down at my feet causing me to trip.

Although I was able to break my fall, I then lay on my back on the wet stone floor. The lead guard firmly planted one of her boots on my chest and slowly ground in the spiked heel. I squirmed at the pain, which only made it worse.

I reached for her foot, in an attempt to remove her boot from my chest, but then I heard her assistant say,

"No, no, no," in a mocking tone, and felt the cool smooth sole of her boot pressing lightly against my scrotum. Afraid to move, I froze.

"Teacher's pet," said the lead guard in her heavy accent with a condescending tone. Then the two women spoke to me in low voices. I couldn't understand a bit of their language, but I interpreted their words as threats.

They pulled me to my feet and forced me into a dark chamber off the corridor. One of the guards switched on a dim overhead light. There were chains anchored to the wall with cuffs on the ends. They jammed me face first against the wall and secured me with the metal cuffs.

The lead guard began to spank me heavily with her paddle, and I panicked when I heard her assistant close the heavy wooden door. The second guard stood at my other side. The lead guard would smack one cheek of my ass with her paddle while the second guard whipped my other butt cheek with her riding crop.

I struggled against the chains and begged them to be released. Even if they didn't understand anything I was saying, the tone of my voice would have made my message clear.

All of a sudden the door was flung open. I was relieved. Saved by Loredana or one of her elite guards. I looked over my shoulder and was terrified to see another guard dressed in black leather, a single silver stripe on one sleeve of her jacket.

I feared that she had come to join Sorina and Elena's party, but she spoke to them with a sense of urgency. They wasted no time unshackling me and pushing me out into the corridor. The lowest ranking guard, the one who used the riding crop, picked my thong up off the floor and tossed it towards an open window before the three of them walked quickly away down the corridor.

Wiping my eyes on my forearm as I walked to the window, I saw that in a rare stroke of luck, my thong had gotten hung up on the window ledge instead of falling several stories into the garden below. It was cold and wet from having been on the freshly mopped floor.

The elite guard that had been standing watch in the corridor walked around the corner and saw me pulling on my thong. She came over and inspected my buttocks, which I'm sure was bright red, possibly covered with bruises or welts, and shook her head in disappointment.

Later as I was returning to my quarters, Stanimira was coming down the stairs. She told me that some honored guests would be coming to the island in a few days. They would be staying for about a week and during that time I would be confined to my quarters.

"They are important men with money. Staying here is like a fantasy camp for them," she said.

"Maybe one of them can take me off the island," I suggested.

"These men, they are very private," she explained. "Loredana may consider your release, but not at this time. Consider yourself lucky that while confined to your quarters, the other women will be entertaining our guests in the dungeons, and have no time to bother you."

My room was on the level below Loredana's suite. It was sparsely furnished but had a comfortable bed. There was an old fashioned toilet behind a partition and a sink on the wall that had only a cold water tap. A few other rooms like mine were on a small corridor, and shared an open shower stall at the end. At this time, I was the only one living in this private area. I suppose I was the teacher's pet after all.

I was pleasantly surprised to see that a few gifts had been left for me on the small table in my room. A nearly empty bottle of cognac, a foreign brand I had never heard of. Cognac was the only word on the label that I could understand. There was also a thick cigar, the end freshly clipped, along with a disposable lighter and small metal ash tray. These may have been left for me by Loredana, consolation for the rough day I'd had.

A large bowl of cold gruel was also here, the evening meal, which I wasn't interested in right away. After removing my uncomfortable thong, I took a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around my body like a robe or toga. A sip of cognac from the bottle went down smoothly and I enjoyed the warmth of the strong alcohol as it went down my throat. Then I puffed on the cigar until it was properly lit.

. . . .

Before I was on the island I worked for a powerful man. An underworld figure, you might say, and he ran a large operation that I won't elaborate on. There was a lot of corruption within his organization. Opportunities for employees to run their own hustles on the side, or skim a bit of the profits. I was one of those who took advantage of my position. One of many, I might add, and I thought it went unnoticed, or was at least accepted within reason.

I was with a group of employees that had been invited by our boss to go on a cruise on his yacht. There was plenty of good booze on board, as well a number of pretty ladies that were available for our pleasure.

An old friend was on board as well. For his own protection I won't mention his name, but we had been friends since grade school, and fell in with that certain criminal operation at the same time. My friend was smart, but had no ambition when it came to getting promoted. As I moved up in the ranks, over the years we saw less and less of each other. I was thrilled to find out he was working as a crewman on the yacht. There would be plenty of time to catch up on things and laugh about the old times.

To my surprise, on that cruise he was always preoccupied with his work and we had almost no time to socialize. It was a few days into the voyage when he waved me off to a private corner and gave me some news.

It seems that my employer was unhappy with me and the other guests on his yacht. The pleasure cruise was a trick to get us isolated, with our guard let down. Our boss planned to kill those who had stolen from him, or wronged him in other ways. My friend wasn't sure if our bodies would be dumped at sea and some phony accident reported, but those details didn't matter.

I thanked him for taking the risk to tell me the bad news. Though I tried to be stoic, inside I was panicked. The yacht had been out of sight of land for over a day. No escape seemed possible. I drank heavier than usual that night.

I'd been having a pretty young Asian lady share my bed for most of the cruise. She didn't stir when I woke at about five in the morning and had to vomit. After washing up a bit in my cabin's tiny bathroom, I knew I was still too panicked to fall back to sleep. I pulled on some sweatpants and a bathrobe, and restlessly wandered the outside decks.

At the stern there was a hot tub, a bar, and plenty of seating. The area was vacant now, and I walked over behind the bar to grab a bottle. Any one of them would do.

Suddenly, to one side of the yacht and off in the distance, I saw a bright yellow light. It flashed twice and there was a long pause before it flashed twice again, and so the pattern repeated. A lighthouse! Far to one side of that beacon, I could barely make out some dim white lights. Houses, streetlights, I didn't know, but it was dry land and not far away.

Setting the bottle of liquor back on the bar, I quickly moved to the very back of the boat. A jet ski was parked there on a launch ramp. During the day, younger men often rode on it behind the yacht, jumping the wake to impress the ladies. It was too far to swim to that lighthouse, so I would use the jet ski to make my escape.

Launching the watercraft was clumsy, and I nearly fell into the churning wake behind the yacht. I waited until it pulled away before daring to start the engine, concerned that someone else might be wandering the decks and hear the noise.

It had been years since I had ridden one those machines and I rolled groggily in the waves until I could figure out how to start the engine. I was horrified to see that the fuel gauge showed the tank was nearly empty. I nudged the throttle and turned towards the lighthouse.

Running at a modest speed in hopes of conserving fuel, it seemed to take forever to get towards land. I realized that in my haste to make an escape I had forgotten to pull on a life jacket, even though there had been several hanging near the launch ramp. A gas can was probably close by in a locker and I cursed myself for not taking just a minute to think my escape plan through before shoving off.

As I got closer to land, I saw that the lighthouse was located quite a ways off from the white lights, which I assumed were houses or buildings, and I veered off towards them. The early morning was still dark with clouds and it was difficult to make out much detail of the shoreline, which appeared to be nothing but high rocky cliffs.

The gas gauge was hovering over the empty mark and the waves grew more intense as I neared land. I was scanning the base of the cliffs for any sign of a beach or any place to land safely when the jet ski hit something on the bottom, nearly throwing me over the handlebars.

In the dim morning light I saw the tops of jagged rocks momentarily exposed when the waves subsided. Too far from shore to swim in the surf and the rocks, I desperately tried to get the watercraft turned around and back out to deeper water. I was successful after smashing the bottom of the machine into a few more rocks, which made awful grinding sounds on the fiberglass hull.

Running parallel to land, in what I thought was safe water, the engine coughed a few times but kept running. The gas gauge was below the empty mark, but what concerned me even more was that the jet ski seemed to be riding lower in the water, wallowing any time I tried to steer and avoid the main force of the waves.

I thought I noticed a break in the cliffs. It might be a path to the top or perhaps a dry waterfall, and I spotted what looked like a thin strip of shoreline at the base of the cliffs. I turned in towards land, the jet ski nearly rolling over on its side. The engine coughed once but sprang to life as I punched the throttle.

There was a hint of sunlight now, and I managed to dodge some underwater rocks. I blasted the little electric horn. If anyone was up on the cliffs I wanted them to know I was approaching, just in case there was no way for me to climb up from the shore. Leaning back as far as I could to keep the nose of the sinking watercraft out of the water, the engine sputtered badly, and suddenly I was flung off the machine and into the churning surf.

Dazed, disoriented, I surfaced and a wave crashed into my face as I tried to take a breath. The jet ski was nowhere to be seen. I'm sure I had smashed the bottom on another underwater rock and that was the final blow that caused it to sink.

Fighting off panic, I was able to orient myself and start swimming towards shore. Several times my body was tossed by the waves into jagged underwater rocks. When at last my feet could touch the bottom, I was farther out from shore than I would have expected.

I cursed myself for not having worn shoes as I tried to walk carefully on the rocky bottom, waves periodically knocking me off my feet. It felt like I walked miles before I painfully stepped onto the shore, which was a narrow strip of small sharp rocks at the base of the cliffs.

Sitting down on a large boulder to rest, I realized that at one time it had fallen down from the rocky face above. Another boulder could fall at any time, but I didn't care. There were bloody cuts and gashes on my arms and legs from being slammed against the underwater rocks. My feet were sore and lightly bleeding from numerous small cuts.

I pulled off my soggy wet bathrobe. Using a sharp edge of the boulder, I was able to cut through the hem of the robe and tear it into wide strips, and I used those to wrap my injured feet. Improvised bandages, but also protection against the rocks, as it looked like I would be walking the rocky shoreline, after I rested for a while.

Later as I slowly picked my way along the narrow shore, I hoped that I was heading in the right direction towards that gap in the cliffs that I had seen from out on the water. Up close, all I could see was the nearly vertical rock face in both directions.

Then I spotted three people approaching along the shore. From the way they were dressed I assumed they were a security patrol of some kind. Most surprisingly, all three were women.

They wore what looked like leather motorcycle jackets. Two of them wore black jackets, while the third woman's was a shiny silver metallic that gleamed brightly under the sun. All of them wore black leather shorts, and black rubber knee high boots with flat heels, like a horseman might wear.

The woman in silver was out in front, middle aged, the oldest of the trio, her long dark hair pulled back in a thick ponytail, appeared to be the leader and had three black stripes on one sleeve of her jacket. She held up one hand as if to command me to stop walking towards them, and called out to me in a language that I didn't understand. I tried to speak to them but they didn't understand me.

The woman in charge pulled a pistol from a holster on her belt. It looked like a Russian made Makarov. I had no use in my job for guns but most of my coworkers carried them. A few were gun fanatics and I know that they had an interest in Makarov pistols at one time. I stopped walking towards them and held up my hands.

The group of ladies stood a comfortable distance away from me. After the woman in charge had tried to talk to me in what I think were several different languages, none of which I understood, she removed a large walkie talkie from her belt with her free hand. It looked like a piece of military equipment, several decades old. I assumed she was reporting in to someone. What sounded like a female voice responded and they conversed for only a short time.

Clipping the walkie talkie back on her belt, she gave orders to the two other women. They approached me. One was a blonde, and the other had auburn hair. Each had a single stripe of silver on the sleeves of their jackets. They were both attractive enough but had a cold and aloof attitude.

They roughly removed the remains of my torn bathrobe, checked the pockets of my sweatpants and patted me down like police officers might do. One of the ladies took a pair of shiny handcuffs which had been hanging on her belt, and she cuffed my hands in front of me. She said a word I didn't understand and pulled me towards a small boulder a few steps away. I assumed she wanted me to sit down on it, so I did.

Satisfied that I was detained for the moment, the woman in charge holstered her pistol but remained at a distance. The two other women stood closer to me. One pulled a pack of cigarettes, looked like some foreign brand, from a pocket of her jacket. She handed one to her coworker and took one for herself. After they both lit their cigarettes, as the one lady was ready to put the pack away she turned to look at me, holding up the pack of smokes as if to offer me one. I only smoke on occasion, but it seemed like we would be waiting there for a little bit so I nodded yes.

She handed me the cigarette from her lips and then lit a fresh smoke for herself. That would be the only gesture of kindness that I would receive from the ladies who dressed all in black.

We waited there for what seemed like a long time, the woman in charge periodically speaking with someone on her walkie talkie. They all spoke with a heavy accent which to me sounded eastern European, although I thought they might be Russians since the one lady carried a Makarov pistol.

Then a second patrol showed up. Another group of three women, but they came from the same direction that I had. As with the original three I had met, there were two younger women dressed all in black leather. An older woman who wore her brown hair loose down past her shoulders, had a jacket of silver leather, but she only had two stripes on the sleeve. She also wore a Makarov pistol and two-way radio on her belt.

The two women in silver spoke quietly for a while. The new ladies in black leather eyed me with suspicion. The second woman in the silver jacket spoke to me, probably in a few languages.

"I can't understand you," I said with disgust.

"You understand now?" she suddenly asked in English. "How many others with you?" she demanded to know.

"I'm alone," I told her, though she didn't seem to believe me.

"No other comrades? Amigos? Companions?" she asked with an accusing tone.

"I rode here from a yacht, on a jet ski. It crashed on the rocks," I explained

The two women in charge conferred in their foreign language. The ladies in black leather, who had been casually smoking cigarettes now backed away from me slightly, suddenly now on guard.

"This jet, ski. It is small vessel?" the woman who spoke English asked with a tone of suspicion. The other leader had walked a few steps away and was radioing to someone on her walkie talkie.

"The jet ski, it's a," I stuttered and tried to think of words she would understand. "It's a small watercraft. You ride it like a motorcycle. Like a motorbike," I held up my cuffed wrists and hands as if they were on handlebars.

After the women in silver conferred with each other, they spoke to their assistants who then tossed down their cigarettes and circled around me.

"We see no wreckage of your craft," the women told me with hostility. "You come with us."

I was taken along the narrow shoreline in the direction I had been heading. One of the ladies with a silver jacket took the lead, while the second one brought up the rear. I was in the center of the group and surrounded by the women in black leather. While I'm sure they could see that my feet were injured, they hustled me along at a brisk pace.

We eventually reached a gap between the two cliffs. It may have been the same one that I saw when riding in towards the shore. Here, a wide channel wound its way down from above, with a small stream of water splashing through it. On one side of the channel, there was a steep and narrow trail, sometimes with steps cut into the rocks.

As we made our way up the trail in single file, I had a nice view of one young lady's ass, seemingly molded with perfection into her tight black leather shorts. Although the women gave the impression of a military operation, the clothing that they wore, it seemed to have a fetish quality about it. A dominatrix look. I know that some men are really turned on by that fantasy but it never did anything for me.

Regardless of who these women were, I was hoping they could get me to an airport, or some transportation that could get me to an airport. I could make a few phone calls, get some money wired, and buy a plane ticket to get back home. Of course I would still be on bad terms with my employer, but once home I could pack up some things, get some money out of the bank, and lay low for a while. There was the chance that I might have to live the rest of my life in obscurity, hiding out from the organization I worked for, but I was hopeful that wouldn't happen.

At the top of the cliff, what looked like a medieval castle or old stone fortress loomed above us. We entered through a dimly lit tunnel, where the stone ceiling arched high overhead, and I was taken to a room that seemed to be their medical infirmary, though all the equipment looked really old.


They didn't remove my handcuffs and instead began to cut my clothing away from my body with medical scissors. They were not gentle about it and forced me down on a cold metal table. One of them began ripping the improvised bandages from my feet. I struggled and cried out.

"Be still. Medical check," the women who spoke English explained. One of the women in black leather took large wads of cotton in long stainless steel clamps. Soaking the cotton in a stinky orange fluid that I assumed was antiseptic, she roughly scrubbed at the cuts on my feet and limbs. It burned so badly that I screamed out loud, and when I tried to get up, the women surrounded me and restrained me to the table with wide leather straps.

One of them was shining a flashlight in my teary eyes and another was looking in one of my ears when the door to the infirmary opened. The women abruptly stood at attention as another lady walked into the room.

She was a tall, older woman, with long blonde hair in elaborate braids. Dressed in what looked like a military jumpsuit of form fitting silver leather, with matching thigh high boots that laced up the front and had tall spike heels that clicked loudly on the stone floor as she walked into the room with calm authority. One sleeve of her jumpsuit was decorated with numerous wide black stripes and an elaborate crest or insignia at the top. The women stepped back as she walked slowly around the table where I was bound.

While she was clearly in charge, I noticed that she only had a radio on her belt and was not carrying a pistol. Smoothly reaching into one of her pockets, she pulled out a cigarette case, and lit a smoke with a small chrome lighter.

She spoke for a while in a foreign language with the woman in the silver jacket, which was apparently the only one that spoke English. There were long, awkward pauses, when she just stood there smoking her cigarette, looking me over.

The tall blonde picked up one of my hands and examined it closely, and then checked the other, softly making comments to the other women. Then she poked at my belly and squeezed my soft biceps, and made some comment that the other women laughed at. As she was lightly tugging at my hair, I asked the women who spoke English what was being said.

"She says it is unlikely you are operator," I was told.

"Operator? What do you mean?" I asked, but the woman who appeared to be in charge calmly held up one hand as if for the others to be silent. She talked softly with the group for a few moments, and then left the room, high heels echoing off down the corridor. "What's going on?" I asked, my voice wavering nervously.

"We finish medical," the woman in the silver jacket told me. "Then we have many questions for you."

Once they were done with the painful first aid treatment, I was secured to the table with more straps. The group of women left the room. Only two of the ladies dressed in black leather stayed outside the door, presumably standing guard. When the others had been gone for a while, they no longer stood at attention and started smoking cigarettes while talking casually, paying no attention to me. It seemed I was left strapped down on that table for most of the morning.

Later in the day I was released from the table but put in heavy chains and shackles. I was allowed to wash and use the toilet, but was not given any clothes. Then I was escorted by a large group of female guards in black leather. They had changed into knee high black leather boots with high heels that clattered loudly as they took me to a large room with windows overlooking the ocean. A sturdy wooden table was in the center of the room with what looked like a comfortable office chair behind it. I was roughly sat down on a low, cold, metal stool, on the other side of the table.

The woman who spoke English walked into the room. She had also changed her boots and now wore a thigh high pair, black leather, with tall spiky heels. The pistol and two-way radio were no longer on her belt. She carried several old looking binder notebooks in olive drab, and a fountain pen, along with a bottle of ink.

"I am Anastasia," she said and extended one hand. "We were not properly introduced." Her handshake was firm and I told her my name.

"I have many questions for you. I ask nicely, so you answer. Sometimes we take breaks. You want cigarette, then you smoke," she said, removing a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from a pocket of her jacket and setting them on the table. "All very friendly."

The door to the room had been left open, I was pretty sure a few guards were standing outside, and then I heard the sound of high heels approaching slowly. I turned around to see the tall blonde woman all dressed in silver, with what must be a high rank displayed on the sleeve of her jumpsuit. Leaning against the door frame, she calmly blew a puff of smoke from her cigarette, and nodded towards Anastasia.

"You look to me," Anastasia said firmly. "I will ask questions.

Anastasia first asked me how I had come to be here, at this place they called the citadel. She took plenty of notes in one of the binder books, witting surprisingly fast despite having to repeatedly dip her fountain pen in the bottle of ink. After I told her my story I said,

"Listen, I just want to get to an airport, get some money wired, and fly back home. I can pay you for the inconvenience." Then as if an afterthought, I asked, "Could I please at least have some clothes or a robe?"

"You stay naked. Ensures truth," Anastasia explained. "We are on private island. No airport or regular transport by sea."

"There has to be some way to contact the outside world. You must have a radio, or maybe a satellite phone?" I asked.

"You know how to use satellite telephone?" she asked, her interest suddenly peaked. "Not normal communications device like cellular telephone. Have you served in military force of any kind?"

I told her that hadn't, but that only made her suspicious and she pointed out how I had improvised bandages from my robe after making it to shore.

"Perhaps you spent time with informal militia, armed religious group, or scouting?" she asked with suspicion. I let out a huff of laughter when she mentioned scouts and Anastasia abruptly cut me off.

"Scouts teach honor and other good skills. Firearms training for those who want it," she said with emphasis. "Many grow up to be fine men. No, you were not scout," she said. "Grown scout would have checked gasolina and put on float vest before leaving private vessel for island. Departure delay yes, but increase chance of mission success."

Someone loudly cleared their throat from behind me. It was the tall blonde. She spoke softly to Anastasia in their language.

"We do not judge," Anastasia told me flatly, with a scowl.

Then she turned to some other section in her binder and asked me a bunch of technical questions about electronics that I couldn't answer. Anastasia also wanted to know what sort of communications gear was on the yacht that I'd been traveling on, and I didn't know, other than that cell phones worked most of the time.

"You did not go to wheelhouse?" she asked with disbelief. "On private vessel is common practice. Men like to see helm station and radar screens. Crew like to brag about electronics but you have no interest."

She then opened one of the binders and showed me a drawing with a bunch of colored lines and symbols and said,

"This is wiring diagram of simple time delay detonator. You have ten seconds before explosion so what wire do you cut to save your life?"

"I don't know," I said. "The red one?" When she asked me why I chose red, I admitted it was a guess.

"Life or death situation and you take guess," she said with disgust. That was when the tall woman who seemed to be in charge again cleared her throat behind me.

She approached the table and spoke softly to Anastasia, picking up one of my shackled wrists and showing my hand to her. Then she pointed roughly at my body and made what sounded like condescending remarks in their foreign language.

The two women then seemed to argue, although they kept it civil, Anastasia's tone of voice always respectful but defiant.

"Did private vessel have surface drives or normal propulsion?" Anastasia suddenly asked, and I told her I didn't know. Once again she was annoyed. "Did not ask to see engine room? The way man that does not use spanner will ask to look under bonnet of sports car because it is interesting or maybe pleasing to see?"

The women in charge had some final words for her and then walked back to the doorway, where I heard her light a cigarette. Anastasia took several sheets of blank paper from one of the binders, set them in front of me along with the fountain pen.

"Draw picture of private vessel and small craft you wreck on island. As much detail as possible," she instructed, then got up from the table and walked out of the room. Looking over my shoulder, the woman in the silver jumpsuit still stood in the doorway. The expression on her face was difficult to read. I could also see that there were guards in black leather jackets standing on either side of the doorway.

The fountain pen was awkward to use and my shackles didn't help. My sketches of the yacht and jet ski were crude and sloppy with blotches of ink. Anastasia returned and looked at them intently.

"Large open deck at rear of vessel. Was there large circle on deck with letter H?" she asked, pointing at my drawing.

"A chopper pad? No," I said. Anastasia seemed to be intrigued that I knew what a landing pad for a helicopter looked like, but I think that's a pretty common thing to know.

"Was there equipment for diving, scuba tanks on board?" she asked, and I told her I didn't see any, but it was really large boat. It seemed to annoy her that I used the word boat.

Once again she was taking a bunch of notes, and asked about weapons on board the yacht. I had only seen a few guys with pistols, but that was a normal thing with my coworkers.

"Who makes better assault rifle? Kalashnikov or Colt?" she demanded to know.

"I've never heard of Kalash, whatever," I said with frustration.

"You know of AK-47 and M16?" she asked, and of course I had, but those are popular guns.

"AK-47 made by Kalashnikov. M16 is Colt," she said as if making an important point. I heard the woman behind me loudly clear her throat, and thought I saw Anastasia glare at her for a moment. Then she began to take a large group of papers from one of the binders and set them in front of me.

"You will complete battery of tests. Skip question if you do not understand. Food and water will soon be brought, as well as adding machine for mathematics test. You need toilet, it is there," she pointed to a wooden bucket in the corner with a lid on it. On top of the lid was what looked like a stack of toilet paper sheets, instead of a normal roll. Anastasia picked up her binders and notes, and left the room.

She walked off down the hallway with the tall woman who seemed to be in charge, but now several other women in black leather stood outside the door. A few were standing at attention while others leaned against the wall and smoked cigarettes.

I didn't know if I'd accidentally wound up at some secret cold war era military base or what. Looking through the test material, it looked like it had been printed on an old ditto machine, like tests I had taken in grade school. Thankfully it was all printed in English, but it looked difficult.

A short time later two guards in black leather walked in. One carried a metal tray with compartments, like what you see in prison movies. There was a large helping of gruel, and a small loaf of dense, dark bread. They left a tall glass of water, along with a mug that contained some type of steaming hot broth. Then one guard came back to the table with a large old calculator. The kind that had a big green LED display.

The food was bland, but the broth was amazing. It warmed my body, which was chilled from having sat naked on the metal stool for what seemed like hours. I was only briefly interrupted by Anastasia, who came into the room and placed several more blank sheets of paper on the table.

"You draw picture of private vessel and small scooter craft again," she ordered. "Show more detail on private vessel, and list color of hull and topside. Show all radio aerials, radar scanners, any other thing you remember, even if not know what it is."

My mind was worn down at that point and I lost my cool. I told her it was just some big generic yacht like you see at some large marina or on TV shows. Standing up, rattling my chains I said she couldn't keep me as a prisoner and that I just wanted to go home.

My raised tone of voice got the attention of the guards outside the room, and they quickly came in and roughly forced me back down onto the stool. Anastasia had remained calm through my outburst.

"You are not prisoner here," she said calmly. "You are detained because you arrive without invitation, under suspicious circumstance. I ask you nicely, so you draw picture. Your people are criminals. They know you are missing as well as agua scooter. Maybe turn around and come look for you," she explained.

"If large vessel spotted on horizon we want to know if it is your people. If they try to make landing here, we will turn them away, by force if needed, which is why I ask about weapons. Not make, hostage ransom game with you, because their intentions bad. If all is as you say," Anastasia added with a note of suspicion.

Before leaving the room, Anastasia told me they still hadn't found any wreckage of the jet ski, so she needed more detailed drawings. An overhead view, front, back, and sides. Showing all stripes and stuff, labeling colors. I told her it was probably smashed to bits and washed out to sea and would never be found.

"You are not first man to crash here on rocks. We always find wreckage," she said, and walked out of the room.

The battery of tests, as Anastasia called it, started out as what you'd probably find on college entrance exams. None of it was multiple choices and I had to write in the answers as neatly as I could with that old fountain pen. I might have done okay on some of it, but there was a ton of advanced stuff that I just had to skip over. Other sections of the test were probably psychological and maybe some of it was to determine my I.Q.

Oddly enough there was a large section that had a lot of questions about my sexual experiences and fantasies. There were extensive questions about sadomasochism and if I liked to be flogged or paddled, and I answered no to all of that stuff. Anastasia periodically walked in and collected portions I had completed.

The testing was mentally draining and also demoralizing. There were so many questions I couldn't answer. As far as all the kinky sex stuff, I'm just a regular guy that likes to get laid and have his cock sucked, and not much more than that. When at last I was completed, Anastasia sat down across the table from me, her written notes in hand.

"So you are, Mr. Van. For many years you are employed to do office work for criminals. Several days ago you board large private vessel capable of crossing ocean but you do not pay attention to name of vessel. You only have interest in liquor and whores, and do not ask destination or length of voyage. Spend most time in cabina, drunk, in bed with whore," she said with a strong tone of disapproval.

"Crew member confide with you that life in danger. You see island and make escape on this, jet ski, as you call small scooter-like craft. You do not bring whore with you. Do not bring comrade who warns you, just try to save self. Crash into rocks near island, make bandages because you say is obvious thing to do, and are found by patrol in morning," she slammed her notes down on the table. "Is that all to story? You leave out anything we need to know? Best to tell me now."

"That's the story," I told her, and I know my tone sounded apologetic. "You don't have to make it sound so bad."

"We are finished with questions today," Anastasia told me. "You have been much inconvenience to us, so before you are taken to night quarters, you will be given task.

A group of guards in black leather roughly escorted me to a chamber located near the large set of doors where I had been led into the citadel. Several walls of this chamber were covered with mostly empty racks containing the flat heeled riding style boots that the women seemed to wear when patrolling the grounds and narrow coastline.

A large pile of those boots was in the middle of the stone floor. Some were relatively clean, but others were coated in mud. It seems their search for jet ski wreckage or maybe other intruders had been pretty thorough. Perhaps it would continue through the night.

Only two of the female guards stayed in the room with me, although I was pretty sure the others were outside and close by. They adjusted the chain lengths between my shackles so I had more freedom of my arms.

One of the ladies took a boot from off the floor over to a trough with a faucet on the wall. She spoke to me in her foreign language as she scrubbed the boot under the faucet with an old fashioned style brush, that looked like a small wooden paddle with coarse bristles attached on one side.

She then curiously made this licking motion towards the clean boot, as if I was to lick the boot after I washed it. Then it was placed on the rack. The guard pointed to the pile of boots on the floor, handed me the scrub brush, and they both laughed.

As I washed the first boot, the two guards just seemed to ignore me, lighting cigarettes and chatting away like good friends. It really didn't take too long to scrub off the grime but as I did, I noticed the size number on the sole, and realized there would be some sorting to be done as I put them on the rack. A better look at the racks showed me that certain areas were labeled for different sizes. I also assumed that some boots were more heavily worn than others, and since they had no distinguishing marks other than size, I would just need to pair them up the best I could based on their condition.

"No, no, no," one of the guards scolded me as I walked away from the boot rack. She stuck out her tongue with a licking motion and pointed to the boot I had just put away. The two women were sitting on tall wooden stools by a work bench of some kind. It looked like there was a small pile of boots there, spike heels broken off, waiting to be repaired. I then saw the guard had a riding crop and she whipped it through the air threateningly. I had thought she was joking about licking the boot before putting it away, but that was not the case. She didn't seem to be satisfied until I had ran my tongue over the entire boot, including the sole.

As the pile of boots on the floor dwindled down, and my mouth got dry from all the licking, I had to cup my hands under the faucet several times to drink some water. The guards had become preoccupied in conversation with another pair that stopped in to toss their gritty boots on the pile.

While at first I was surprised that the second pair didn't pay any attention to me, I thought that the rumor and gossip mill here had to run quickly. No doubt every woman knew I was here and what I was doing. All four of the women only had a single silver stripe on the sleeves of their jackets. Perhaps the gossip flowed quicker among the lower ranks. That worked out well for me with them being preoccupied, I didn't have to be as thorough with the boot licking.

After the other women had left and I'd licked the last boot and put it on the rack, a guard pointed to a broom that was leaning in a corner. That would be the first of many sweeping assignments at the citadel. As I swept up the grit, dried mud, and numerous crushed cigarette butts, the two guards looked over the racks of boots. I assumed they were checking to make sure I had sorted them properly.


As I put the broom away, the two guards called out to me. They were sitting on their tall stools again, tapping riding crops in the palms of their hands. One of them made the licking motion and then tapped the tip of her riding crop on her spike heeled boot. My mouth was dry but I was pretty sure there was no way they would let me go to the water trough first. I just had to kneel in front of her and start licking her boots.

Their knee high boots looked like they were made of a fine quality leather that was warm with their body heat, and somewhat pleasing on my tongue after licking who knows how many pairs of rubber boots that had been run under a cold water faucet.

The toes of their boots came to a gentle point, a zipper went up the inside of the shaft, and the slender heels might have been four inches high. These were the sort of boots a woman might wear afterhours, and probably not to an office. Certainly not appropriate for any military force, although they seemed to be part of some paramilitary unit at least. While at first the two guards appeared to be wearing identical pairs of boots, I did notice they were slightly different in the stitching, where the shaft met the base of the boot. Any military would have a standard uniform, including the boots.

I was then taken to what looked like a holding cell in an old castle dungeon, with a large arched opening covered with iron bars and a heavy gate. Once I was locked inside, the ladies reached in through the bars, removed my shackles and walked away down the hall.

The cell was large, dimly lit, and had what looked like a comfortable bed. A chamber pot bucket like I had used earlier in the interview room was in one corner. On a table was a small loaf of bread, a bowl of that slimy gruel, but also a mug of broth, still steaming as if freshly poured.

Most interesting to me though was an old cast iron radiator against one wall, and it was giving off an amazing amount of heat. I had been so chilled, naked in the old stone fortress all day, so I wrapped myself in a blanket from the bed, pulled the stool from the table over to the radiator and sat down to enjoy the hot broth. Down the corridor I could hear faint muffled voices of at least two guards, and I assumed they would be standing watch down there all night.

After I finally ate the gruel I was ready to go to sleep. It had been a long and stressful day. That was when the voices down the hall stopped, and I heard the sound of high heels slowly coming down the passageway towards my cell.

It was the tall blonde woman that dressed all in silver with the tall boots. She stood a distance back from the bars and just looked at me for what seemed like a long time.

"I'm guessing you're the person in charge here," I told her quietly. "You interrupted Anastasia a few times during that interrogation so maybe you can understand me. I just want to go home."

Then I noticed she was carrying a thick, unlit cigar in one of her hands. She raised it to her lips and very neatly bit off the tip, lightly spitting it to one side. Taking out her lighter, she puffed on the cigar for a while, still eyeing me with a blank expression on her face.

"Trabuc?" she asked with a pleasant tone of voice. I didn't know what that meant, but she held out the cigar towards the bars, as if to offer it to me. I assumed it was some cruel trick, but for the sake of getting it over with I walked up to the bars, and slowly reached for the cigar, expecting her to snatch it away. To my surprise, she let me take it.

I am by no means a regular cigar smoker and wouldn't know a good one from a cheap one, but I took a few puffs and nodded with satisfaction. When I thanked her and reached the cigar out to return it to her, she turned and walked away, leaving it for me to enjoy before turning in for the night.

The next morning I was awaken by the sound of high heeled boots echoing down the passageway. It was two guards in black leather and they handed me a bowl of gruel with a spoon, a small loaf of the usual bread and a mug of the broth, through an opening in the bars.

While the menu here had a lot to be desired, I was surprised that I had slept really well. I wasn't even finished eating when I heard a large group of the women approaching. Anastasia, dressed as yesterday in her black thigh high boots and matching shorts, silver leather jacket glowing in the dim lighting, had about four ladies with her in knee high boots and black leather jackets. They were carrying chains and shackles.

"Stand by gate," Anastasia ordered. "We take you for medical check. Replace bandages." After the ladies had me all chained up I was roughly hustled down the corridors. Along the way I noticed that most of the pain was gone in my feet. Whatever medicine they had put on my cuts yesterday, painful as it had been at the time, seemed to work quickly.

At the infirmary, I was once again forced down on the cold metal table and secured in place with wide leather straps.

"Do they really have to strap me down like this?" I pleaded with Anastasia as a young blonde placed one spike heeled boot on the edge of the table and tugged at one of the buckles to tighten it one more notch, grinning with satisfaction as I winced in pain.

Anastasia didn't answer me but said a few words to the other women in their foreign language, and then walked out of the room. All of a sudden I cried out in pain as the women swarmed over me, ripping bandages off my body. I was gasping and panting, but painful as it was, it was at least over quickly.

A brunette woman with three silver stripes on the sleeve of her black jacket took a jar of the orange fluid from a metal cabinet, and I realized there was more pain to come as she began soaking thick wads of cotton in it.

I recognized that she was one of the women that patched me up yesterday. Although I couldn't move much because of all the restraints, I tried not to flinch as she roughly cleaned my wounds and applied fresh bandages. Her painful first aid got good results and I didn't want to make her job difficult.

The other women just lit up cigarettes and chatted with each other while she worked, and a few of them even stepped outside the room. Eventually, all of the women left the room, but they stood outside. Maybe waiting for the medication to soak in, or maybe waiting for more orders.

After what seemed like a long time, a large group of women in black leather entered the infirmary and began to release me from the table. They were being directed by a woman in black thigh high boots and a silver leather jacket, similar to Anastasia's uniform, but this woman had three black stripes on her sleeve. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and I recognized her as the leader of the group that had found me yesterday on the shore.

I thought they might take me back to the cell where I had spent the night, or maybe the room where I'd been interrogated. Instead, I was lead through a maze of corridors, eventually ending up in a large room with a high ceiling, and windows covered with bars.

It looked like some S and M torture chamber you'd see when surfing for porn on the internet with all sorts of paddles and whips hanging on the walls. In the center of the room was a wooden framework built of heavy timbers, and just beyond it, Anastasia sat behind a table, one of the binder notebooks open as she calmly flipped through the pages and smoked a cigarette.

I started to freak out and told her there was no need to torture me and I would answer any questions she wanted. I swore I had told the truth yesterday when she questioned me.

Anastasia didn't look up from her notes. The other woman in silver was directing the younger ladies in black leather as they strapped my body into some elaborate harness of leather straps, while at the same time removing some of the metal shackles and chains I'd been forced to wear.

One of the first things they did was connect one of my leg irons to the base of the wooden frame with a short chain, so there would be no chance of me running away. The harness was then anchored by numerous points to the heavy frame, so I was firmly mounted in place, standing upright, yet my body leaning forward slightly.

My arms were pulled away from my sides and strapped to the upright supports, and one of the ladies slid a long wooden trough in between my legs on the floor, as if they expected me to lose control of my bladder, or worse.

When at last I was secured, the women stood either to the sides or behind me. The only sound was Anastasia occasionally turning pages in one of the notebooks. Her cigarette had burned down to the butt. She flicked it towards me, and it came dangerously close to hitting my exposed penis, before landing in the trough on the floor between my legs.

"I ask questions again today. Mostly same questions as yesterday. Again, I ask you nicely, so you answer nicely," she said calmly. "My kolegas will provide you pain and distractions. Your test battery yesterday says you do not like dominatiz game, so that will make short time here."

"That isn't necessary," I tried to tell her. "Ask me anything you want."

However, it was no use. She called out to the ladies in black leather, gave some instructions in their language, and two women walked over to a wall. Each of them took down a medium sized wooden paddle. High heeled boots clicking on the floor, they walked behind me, one standing on either side.

I saw Anastasia give a small nod of her head, and one of the ladies gave me a firm swat on the left cheek of my ass with her paddle. That was quickly followed by the other one swatting me on the right cheek of my ass. The swats hurt, but I was surprised they were not more painful, if that makes any sense.

However, it got worse from there because they didn't stop. It just went on, each one giving a swat, back and forth, the sound of the wooden paddles smacking against my bare buttocks echoing in that tall room like some perverted tennis match.

The pain and burning of the paddling seemed to sink deeper into my buttocks, and before long I was gasping with pain after each swat landed on my backside. Tears in my eyes, I begged Anastasia to make them stop, but she just coldly lit up a smoke, and got up from her chair to slowly walk around behind me, maybe to inspect their work, or perhaps worse, to join in.

I heard her say something to the two women and the paddling stopped. Gasping for breath, I thanked them over and over, even though Anastasia was probably the only one who understood what I was saying.

As she returned to her seat across from me, she gave orders to another woman. I begged for mercy, not even sure what she was going to do. However, she simply pulled a rag from a bucket of water, wrung it out, and wiped the tears from my eyes, and the snot from my nose. I thanked her repeatedly as she walked away.

"Now," Anastasia said firmly to get my attention. "You will tell story of how you come to be here."

She already knew. I told her yesterday, but there was no way I was going to argue with her. Anastasia wrote down notes as she did yesterday, but it looked like she had notes from the other day out on the table and was probably comparing. Checking for lies, but there wouldn't be any. I had told the truth yesterday, assuming I had nothing to lose.

Periodically one of the ladies behind me would swat me on the ass with her paddle. I flinched every time, and there were a few times I thought I heard them giggle. Then I got to the part of my story where I was found by the first group of three ladies.

"The one wearing the silver jacket seemed to be in charge," I explained. "You only have two black stripes on your jacket but she had three, like your ranks. The women in silver are like officers, and yesterday they were the only ones with walkie talkies and Makarov pistols."

Anastasia, who had been taking notes without expression, suddenly stood up and approached me.

"You tell me have no military or weapons training. Do not know of Kalashnikov but know of Makarov less common in your homeland. Why is that?" she demanded to know. "Pain and distraction stir memory?" she asked with an accusing tone.

Behind me, I heard the sound of high heels slowly approaching across the stone floor. A woman came around the side of the heavy wooden framework. It was the tall blonde with the elaborate hair braids. I had no idea that she was in the room. Dressed in her usual silver jumpsuit and matching thigh high boots. She took a long drag on a half smoked cigarette then dropped it in the trough between my feet.

There was some quiet, yet intense conversation between her and Anastasia. They said Makarov many times, but I could make out nothing else. I blurted out how Makarov pistols had been a fad for a while with some of my coworkers and that was how I knew what they looked like. They scowled at me.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you both," I hastily apologized, realizing I may have made my situation even worse. "I didn't think to mention the guns or the ranks you have. I'm pretty sure she's the one in charge here," I said, tilting my head towards the tall blonde.

The two women argued quietly some more. Anastasia began flipping though pages in one of the binders, evidently proving her point, as the blonde woman in the tall silver boots gave a sigh of disgust and walked off to one side.

Anastasia called out to someone behind me, and gave some instructions. It was the woman who wore the silver jacket with the three black stripes, the one I had been talking about. She walked with purpose in her black thigh high boots over to the wall behind Anastasia's table, and took down a long, coiled, black whip.

"You have already met Ula," said Anastasia. "She is expert with bull whip. Normally not used for play games except for threat. Enforce stress."

Ula walked a distance behind me, and began cracking the whip, the lash snapping loudly just inches beside me. Anastasia popped open the rings in one of the binders, removed a page and brought it over to me, but held it behind her back so I couldn't see what was on it.

"On page is wiring diagram from yesterday. Simple timer for explosive device. You have ten seconds to cut one wire to stop explosion. Ula will provide explosion." Anastasia gave a brief nod of her head and the whip cracked loudly just to one side of my ass, and I swear I could feel the breeze of the lash as it popped.

"You should not guess like other day," Anastasia said menacingly. "Explosion is, painful."

I was barely aware of her giving a hand signal, and am still not sure if I heard the crack of the whip but I immediately felt a hot and forceful impact that felt as if it plunged deep into the right cheek of my ass.

I was still groaning with pain when the one guard in black leather wiped my face clean with the wet rag. Behind me, someone was applying some kind of salve to what must be a wound on my butt. When at last I had calmed down, Anastasia held up the diagram in front of me.

"Ten seconds before explosion," she said with surprising calm.

Her simple diagram was a tangle of colored lines and symbols like some road map of hieroglyphics. I looked intently, knowing time was running out quickly.

"The blue wire!" I shouted out. Anastasia held up one hand, and I sensed she had stopped Ula just in time.

"Why blue wire?" Anastasia asked curiously, turning the page slightly so that she could see the diagram. "Is this a guess?"

"The blue wire goes to that plus sign on that black rectangle. I'm thinking it's the battery that powers the timer or the detonator. No power, no explosion," I explained.

The silence was long and very uncomfortable. I heard the click of a cigarette lighter somewhere behind me.

"Blue wire is good answer," Anastasia said calmly, and slowly walked back to the table. She replaced the page in the binder and snapped the rings shut. Then she flipped through some more pages, and removed one of them with a devious smile. Again, hiding the page from my view, she approached me.

"Perhaps you are more clever than you show. I have diagram for more complicated detonator. Multiple power sources, and what you call booby traps," Anastasia said with an evil grin. "I will give you twenty seconds."

There would be no countdown. I heard the tall blonde speaking from behind me to Anastasia with an irritated tone of voice. She walked up faster than usual and took the page from Anastasia's hand.

I caught a glimpse of the diagram. There was no way I'd have figured it out in twenty seconds. The blonde in the silver boots was pointing at the diagram, and clearly displeased with Anastasia. Then she pointed at my hands, and squeezed my thin biceps as she did yesterday. Some of her language was the same too, but I didn't understand what it meant.

"What is she saying?" I dared to ask.

"She says you are not operator," Anastasia said, clearly annoyed.

"Operator? What the hell?" I asked" "I don't answer phones. I told you I work in an office."

Anastasia was walking back to her table. After putting the diagram back in the binder and giving the rings a loud snap shut, she said,

"Operator. One who does covert operations. Commando. SEAL. James Bond."

A few of the ladies behind me giggled and then stopped when the tall blonde turned to look at them. She spoke once again to Anastasia, who looked defeated, at least for now.

The blonde all in silver gave orders to the other women, who began to unbuckle me from the leather harness, though they left one of my ankles shackled with a short chain to the base of the wooden frame.

A low table was brought over to me, along with a small cushion to kneel on. Anastasia, who had been riffling through one of the binders, brought over a stack of papers and slammed them down on my table.

"Take test battery again. Draw detailed pictures of private vessel and small watercraft," she nearly spilled the ink bottle when she roughly set it on the table, along with the fountain pen. "There will be distractions," she added before she walked out of the room, high heels stomping loudly on the stone floor. The tall blonde followed her out and closed the door behind them.

I gave a quick glance around the room before turning to the paperwork. Ula was the only one left in the room wearing a silver jacket. Thankfully she was coiling up the whip and walking towards the wall where I assumed she would hang it up.

There were about six ladies in black leather. The two that had spanked me earlier had set their paddles down and were smoking cigarettes. Ula called the others over to the wall and began to hand out what looked like riding crops and slim bamboo rods. Then she spotted me looking around.

She called out to me, though I didn't understand her, and made a motion with her hands as if writing on paper. Clearly she was in charge for now, so I focused my attention on the tests.

They were the same ones from yesterday, and for some reason I seemed to be able to get through them faster. Every now and then one of the women in black leather would walk over to me and give a light flick of her crop or cane on my sore bottom. Sometimes they would circle around the table first, high heeled boots slowly clicking on the stones. Other times they might swish their crop through the air behind me, giggle, and then walk away leaving me untouched. It was distracting as Anastasia had promised.

The usual food was brought in after a while, and Anastasia stopped in briefly to collect portions of the tests I had completed and drop off that old calculator. I'd been working on the drawings and she gave them a critical look but said nothing. After chatting for just a few minutes with Ula, she left the room.

Now I hate to give their interrogation techniques any credit, but I felt as if I was doing better on the tests, or at least trying harder on some of the math and science problems. I also had the idea that they weren't finished torturing me, and thought the longer I spent on the tests the shorter time I might spend trussed up on that wooden frame.


One of the ladies came over and stood by me placing one of her feet up on the low wobbly table. She tapped the toe of her knee high boot with the tip of her riding crop. Looking up, I saw it was one of the two women from last night in the boot room, her reddish brown hair worn in a single, thick braid down her back. I gave the top of her boot a few licks, assuming that was what she wanted.

Ula only walked over to me a few times, never seeming intent on distracting me, only checking my progress. When I was near the end of the tests, she sent one of the guards out of the room, I assumed to get Anastasia, and the blonde who seemed to be their leader.

Only Anastasia returned. She looked frustrated, but issued orders calmly to the women in black leather. They promptly surrounded me, pulled me to my feet and roughly strapped me into the leather harness again. I pleaded with Anastasia.

"I've been honest with you. Ask me any more questions you have. I answered the tests as best I could. Just no more paddles or whips. Please!" My eyes were already tearing up.

"You stall for time. Dilly dally as you say. I am not pleased," Anastasia said, leaning back in her chair and lighting a cigarette. She gave a brief nod of her head and the monotonous paddling began on my already sore bottom.

Groaning in pain, I struggled and pulled at my restraints but was barely able to move. I begged for Anastasia to order the spanking to stop, but she just avoided any eye contact, swiveled her chair a bit to the side, and occasionally took a drag on her cigarette.

When at last she had flicked her cigarette butt into the trough between my feet, she quietly gave the order for the spanking to stop.

"My kolegas enjoy making pain for you. It is my turn now," Anastasia said calmly. Getting up from her chair, she walked over to the wall behind her, where a worn out, flat heeled rubber boot was used as a holder for slim bamboo canes. She pulled out one of the longest rods, and swiped it though the air with a menacing hiss.

"I stalled for time!" I blurted out. "I admit it. I didn't want to be paddled any more. Please, I've answered your questions and your tests honesty." My voice sounded pathetic and whiney, but I felt I'd been pushed beyond the limit of what pain my body could handle.

She walked around behind me, still periodically whipping her cane through the air. I imagined it would feel like being slashed with a hot wire on my already burning ass.

"Anastasia," a soft voice called out, and then continued to speak to her in their language. I recognized the voice as that of the tall blonde. Evidently she had come back in the room and had been watching.

Without a word, Anastasia came back around the wooden frame, set her cane down on the table, and began to go through the days notes.

"So, Mr. Van, you do office work for criminals. Are invited aboard large private vessel, not told destination or how long voyage take, and you ask no questions. Liquor and whores on board are all you care about," Anastasia said with a tone of disapproval. "You are most time in cabina, drunk, in bed with whore."

"Comrade say your life in danger. See island at night and escape on small watercraft. Did not think to bring kolega or whore. Only care about self. You claim crash onto rocks," Anastasia said. "I tell you we find no wreckage after searching almost two days." She flipped to another page of notes.

"You make bandages at shore though no medical or survival training. Claim it was obvious thing to do," she said as if in disbelief. "When found by patrols you observe rank stripes on clothing and those who wear silver are elite, what you call officers, and carry Makarov pistol which was what you call fad, and that is how you recognize," she slammed her notes down on the table. "Is that all to story? You tell me now."

"That's it," I said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. "I don't know why you won't believe me.

Anastasia just walked out of the room without saying another word. I heard the tall blonde speaking again, and soon I was being released from the heavy wooden frame and the harness. I've never felt such a feeling of relief in my life.

The guards took me to the boot room again, where the pile of rubber boots on the floor was only about half as large as yesterday. Perhaps their search for jet ski wreckage was winding down. If they gave up I wasn't sure how that was going to work out for me.

After the chains on my shackles were loosened, all of the guards walked out except for two of them, the same ones from yesterday. I told them I knew what to do, even though they probably didn't understand me, and just picked a boot up off the floor and walked over to the wash trough. They seemed okay with that. Before I put the first clean boot up on the rack, I turned to face them so they could see I was licking it.

One of them nodded in approval. They had been chatting and smoking cigarettes and paying no attention to me. One of them had been in on that interrogation, the one who wore her reddish brown hair in a thick braid. They both had the same rank of one silver stripe, but the one with the braid did most of the talking, while the other listened intently. I assumed she was telling her coworker all the details of my interrogation. At one point she said,

"James Bond," and they both laughed hysterically.

As I was taking another boot off the floor, a pair of women dressed in black leather walked into the room. They were carrying pairs of black leather knee high boots with high heels, which I assumed they planned to change into, after they took off their rubber boots that were splattered with mud.

When one of the ladies started to remove her boot, the woman with the thick braid called out to her and she stopped. She said something to me that I didn't understand, but then pointed to the two women and made a licking motion. I knew she wanted me to lick the mud off their boots.

The other two women, they also had the rank of a single stripe, started laughing at the idea and started pointing at their boots and waving me over. The lady with the reddish brown braid had circled around me to the wash trough and picked up the paddle shaped scrub brush. She waved it menacingly, and made whining crying noises to mock me.

Degrading and nasty as it was, my ass was so sore I didn't want to be swatted with the backside of that brush, so I quickly got down on my hands and knees and began to lick the mud off their boots.

The mud had a salty taste and was probably from the shore of the island, a mix of seawater and grime. I discretely let small clumps of it fall out of my mouth onto the floor. Just no way I was going to swallow it.

They laughed at me as expected, but then started talking, maybe about their day's search, and I know the lady with the braid was telling them about my interrogation because she periodically made whining sounds and once again said, James Bond, which got them all laughing.

Another pair of women came in. I noticed their boots were not as dirty. Very quickly, the woman with the braid handed me the scrub brush, and started saying something to me while pointing at the wash trough. I took a quick glance at the two ladies who had just walked in the room. Both wore black leather jackets but one had two silver stripes on her sleeve while the other had three. It seems their playtime was over, and I was glad to get back to work.

The women of higher rank carried on some serious conversation with the group, and somehow that made me nervous. Several other women came in, although they just tossed their rubber boots on the pile and walked out.

When at last I was done cleaning the rubber boots and had swept the floor, only the woman with two stripes and the original two boot room guards were still there, smoking and chatting. I looked at them as I leaned the broom in the corner.

The woman with two stripes on her jacket motioned with her finger for me to come over, and pointed to the spike heeled boots that she now wore. I would end up licking the leather knee high boots of all three of the women, as well as another who straggled in to toss her rubber boots on the floor and zipped on her leather pair of heels. It seemed like I would never get out of the boot room that evening.

When I was taken back to my cell, my buttocks were too sore to sit down. I was covered with a blanket, kneeling in front of the radiator and drinking a mug of hot broth, when I heard high heels approaching. I knew the sound of the slow and easy, yet perfectly measured pace.

The tall blonde, her hair now braided in a different style, stood outside the bars in her silver thigh high boots and matching jumpsuit. I didn't get up, and just continued sipping my broth while she coolly lit a cigar. After a while she motioned for me to come over to the bars.

When I did, she made a shrugging motion of her shoulders, as if she wanted me to remove the blanket. Then she held an index finger up in the air and twirled it. So I let the blanket fall to the floor, and slowly spun around. I assumed she wanted to inspect the damage.

She harshly called out some orders to someone at the guard post down the hall. Soon afterwards a low ranking woman in black leather showed up with a jar of some sort of cream and some gauze.

With hand signals and words I couldn't understand, I was instructed to stand as close as possible with my back to the bars. I had expected their antiseptic or whatever it was to burn, but instead it was cool and had a slight numbing effect.

When the guard had been dismissed, the blonde in silver, who had allowed her cigar to go out, made an elaborate show of relighting it, and then she handed it to me. I expected her to walk away as she did the night before. Instead she unzipped a pocket on her jumpsuit and pulled out a slim silver metal flask and matching shot glass. She poured a clear liquid into the small cup and drank it down smoothly. Then she filled the shot glass again, and handed it out to me.

"Vodka?" she asked pleasantly.

I reached out and gently took the metal shot glass, realizing I'd known her offer had been genuine and not a cruel trick to snatch it from me at the last second. The vodka was strong, and it burned my throat on the way down. Though I tried to keep a straight face, I know she saw me wince, as a smile flashed for a brief second on her face.

After I handed the small metal cup back to her, the woman walked off down the hall in her usual easy pace, the sound of high heels on stone eventually fading away.

The next morning the usual food was brought to me by two ladies in black leather and knee high boots. They kept making motions as if they wanted me to eat quickly. Then Anastasia showed up with several other guards in black leather and said I would be taken for another medical check.

At the infirmary I was forcefully bent over the table while the medic lady rubbed some type of salve on my buttocks, which still burned from yesterday. Then I was strapped down on the table on my back, and it seemed as if the ladies were competing to see who could rip off the bandages and get the best reaction out of me.

The pain was not as bad as before. Perhaps after yesterday's interrogation I was building up a tolerance for pain. In reality though, my wounds seemed to be healing quickly. The medic lady didn't use nearly as much antiseptic, and the new bandages were fewer and smaller. I was left strapped down to the table and all of the women left the room. Only two guards in black leather remained, but they stood outside the door.

I had to assume that Anastasia would question me some more, but would it be in that first room that was mostly empty, or would they be taking me down to that dungeon again? Maybe they had some other interrogation method that would be worse.

Anastasia walked into the infirmary, twirling something on one of her fingers. She held it in front of my face so I could see it. A bright yellow plastic wrist strap attached to a coiled cord with a plug of some sort on the other end.

"Safety interlock. What you call kill switch. Just like your drawing," she said.

"Yeah! Hell, yeah!" I exclaimed. "I told you I tossed it down on the shore before I ripped up my robe for bandages. You found it!" I was excited beyond belief. Some proof had been found to back up my story.

"Other wreckage found," she said. "Is being recovered now. You come see."

Anastasia called in the two women in black leather that had been standing guard outside the door and they unstrapped me from the table. To my surprise, most of the shackles were removed except for my hands that were left cuffed in front of me.

After going through some long corridors, we came to a pair of large steel doors that were propped open. Inside was what looked like an elevator shaft enclosed with a rusty metal cage, and a narrow metal stairway that circled around the outside of the shaft and down into the darkness. I could hear what sounded like a truck engine running somewhere far down below.

Perhaps the elevator was out of order, because I was led down the metal stairway. It seemed like it would be dangerous to walk down in high heels and in darkness, but the ladies managed just fine. There were no other landings off the shaft, and the stairs seemed to go down forever.

At the bottom was a large chamber. The truck I had heard turned out to be an ancient looking diesel motor that powered some sort of hoist. It looked like a cross between a winch and a chair lift from a ski resort.

Heavy cables wound over a series of overhead pulleys and ran out a large set of steel doors, above an open area at the edge of the cliff, then down over the side and out of sight. Something was being hoisted up.

A woman in a silver leather jacket stood at the cliff's edge with a walkie talkie and was giving hand signals to a woman dressed in black leather, who stood with a hand on one of several control levers for the machinery, her jacket was unzipped to reveal what looked like a sweaty black sports bra, while a cigarette dangled out of a corner of her mouth.

The stone floor below the cable was wet and two women in black leather and the rubber work boots were opening up a large net. I was thrilled to see the bright yellow seat from the jet ski, part of the nose of the craft, along with the handlebars and a tangle of wiring.

Along with the wreckage were some scuba tanks, swim fins, and some other equipment. While I had envisioned the women walking the narrow shoreline looking for any debris, it seems that their search and recovery was a more intense salvage operation.

To my surprise, a woman in a silver gray wetsuit climbed up over the edge of the cliff. There was a narrow rusty ladder bolted into the rocks that went down over the side. She looked tired, probably from the dive and what I assumed was a long climb to the top. Her glass facemask was propped up on her forehead and she had three black stripes on one sleeve. Soon afterwards another woman came up the cliff ladder. This one wearing a black wetsuit with three silver stripes on one sleeve.

All of a sudden the woman in the silver jacket, who was standing watch at the edge, gave a shout and a hand signal to the lady at the controls. She threw several levers, the engine speed reduced to a low throb, and as the cable slowly came up over the pulleys at the edge, a large net on a hook come into view. The woman in the silver jacket was then on the walkie talkie, possibly with someone at the bottom of the cliff, but I didn't pay much attention.

I was looking at the contents of the net as the cable hoist slowly brought it into the room, perhaps more of a cave that had been blasted out of the rocks long ago. The net contained the remaining parts of the jet ski.

The machinery screeched as the dripping net came to halt, then after a clanking of more levers, the net was slowly lowered down onto the floor. Anastasia gave some orders and the women began to open the net. One of her binder notebooks was down here by the hoist controls, and she opened it up to some pages that contained my drawings.

The diesel engine coughed loudly as it was shut down and the cave was uncomfortably quiet. Then there was the click of high heels on stone behind me, and I caught a whiff of cigarette smoke. The tall blonde who dressed all in silver stepped out from behind me.

She may have come down the stairs, heels on metal drowned out by the roar of the engine, or perhaps she had been standing in the shadows all along. She walked to the outdoor landing to talk with the woman in the silver leather jacket, standing at the edge with the two-way radio.

The divers had been standing off to one side smoking cigarettes, but they walked over to join the ladies who were outside. Anastasia was still ordering the other women around, getting the remains of the jet ski positioned in certain ways.

"There is no prop. Is water jet propulsion system," she said aloud as she looked over my drawings. "No navigation or communication equipment. Expensive toy as you say." She looked at me with a cold glare.

The one who appeared to be in charge, her long braided blonde hair, silver leather jumpsuit with tall matching boots gleaming in the sunlight, stood in the open doorway and appeared to have little interest in the salvage operation.

Tossing her cigarette butt on the floor, she slowly walked into the chamber. Anastasia spoke with her intently, pointing at my drawings and the wreckage that had been recovered. Then they both turned to look at me.

I was too uncomfortable to say anything and was relieved when they turned back to each other. Anastasia seeming to be arguing, but the tall blonde walked away from her and back to the outdoor landing, where she briefly turned her face out of the wind to light a smoke.

"There will be conference," Anastasia told me. "To determine your," she paused for a while as if trying to think of the right word. "Your station. You will be taken back to quarters to wait."

Anastasia addressed the two women in black leather that had brought me down the stairs, and gave them some lengthy instructions. I wasn't sure if that was good or bad. However, before long I was escorted back up the endless metal stairway, taken to a washroom where I could clean myself up, and then returned to my dungeon cell.

Although I was relieved that I wasn't going to be questioned or paddled, not knowing what would happen next caused me a lot of stress. Anastasia had said they would decide my station, but her English wasn't perfect and given the way she had said it, I think that station was a rough translation from her native language.

I lay down on the bed for a while, hoping to doze off and not have to think about my situation, but my mind was racing. I'd never pursued serious relationships with women. They were all just amusing diversions. Strippers, escorts, or as Anastasia had so crudely called them, whores.

Having seen the remains of the jet ski, knowing I had set out into the open ocean on that thing with a nearly empty tank of gas, I even considered that I might actually be dead. This isolated island of foreign speaking women, who only wanted to torment me, might be a version of hell that I deserved.

Perhaps I was finally able to doze off, but I suddenly heard several pairs of high heels approaching. I snapped back to reality and felt panic coming on. However, it was just a pair of women in black leather jackets and shorts, who left me a bowl of gruel and small loaf of bread, then walked away without any taunting or laughing. I was disappointed there was none of the warm broth. It would have been soothing.

The hours wore on. As usual I was aware that a few women were standing guard somewhere near the end of the hallway. I would sometimes hear them talking softly or catch whiffs of their cigarette smoke. It occurred to me to try and talk with them, and just try to get some sense of what my fate might be, but realized it would be no use.


Anastasia was the only woman on the island that spoke English, though I suspected the tall blonde who appeared to be in charge understood it to some extent. Also, the women who dressed all in black appeared to view me as nothing more than something for their amusement. I was unlikely to get any sympathy from them.

I lay down once again, and was later awoken by the sound of high heels on the stone floor. It sounded like a large group. When they came into view I saw it was the same two women in black leather that had brought my food, and two others.

The other ladies wore silver leather jackets and black thigh high boots. One of them was Ula, the whip expert, although she seemed unarmed. The second officer, or elite as I guessed they were called, also had three stripes on her sleeve. Her shoulder length blonde curly hair looked familiar, and I realized she was one of the divers I had seen this morning.

One of the women in black held up a pair of handcuffs and motioned for me to approach the bars. I hesitated. Where could they possibly be leading me off to?

Ula spoke what sounded like some kind words to me. The diver lady smiled, made an okay sign with her fingers, followed by an enthusiastic thumbs up. I allowed myself to be cuffed, and they led me away.

We went through plenty of corridors, but mainly went up stairways. Some of them dark and narrow, and others that were more inviting. Although I'd started to get used to the cold, being kept naked, the upper levels were noticeably warmer and more pleasant.

We stopped when we reached a stone archway in an upper corridor. Women in black leather and knee high boots stood guard on either side, and beyond them I could see a stairway curving up to one side and out of sight.

The diver women said something to the women in black leather that were part of our group. They removed my handcuffs and joined the other pair that stood guard. Ula then motioned for me to follow her up the stairway, and the diver came up behind me. Wherever we were going, it seems that the women who dressed all in black were not allowed.

At the top of the stairs, in a short hallway, stood the tall woman with her long blonde braids. Dressed as usual in her silver leather jumpsuit, the elaborate crest and stripes on one sleeve, and her silver metallic thigh high boots.

In contrast, to her left was a short brunette. She was dressed in silver thigh high boots, silver leather shorts, and a silver leather jacket that also had the crest on the sleeve, but fewer stripes than the blonde.

A third woman stood to the right of the tall blonde. It was Anastasia.

After I was brought before the three women, Ula and the diver took a few steps back. There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.

"Mr. Van, my name is Stanimira," the short brunette said. I was surprised at her perfect English, which had only the faint trace of a foreign accent. "I serve as chancellor to Loredana, who is the matriarch of this installation." Stanimira motioned towards the tall blonde. I had been right, thinking that she was in charge.

"Through your own misfortune, you have arrived here at the citadel. We are on a private island, far from your home. Our contact with the outside world is limited, and infrequent," Stanimira said. "We may see that you are returned to your homeland, but that will likely not happen anytime soon. Until then, Loredana is offering for you to be our guest. You will be provided with food and clothing, and a comfortable room." Stanimira pointed towards an open doorway.

The room beyond was certainly a step up from my dungeon cell, a step closer to a dorm room. What looked like a bowl of gruel was on a small table, a pair of grey thong underwear hung on the back of a chair, and some leather sandals were on the floor next to the chair.

"In exchange for this privilege, you will be required to perform menial tasks such as janitorial work. You will have some limited freedom within the citadel, but I caution you not to run off in some attempt to escape."

"You have seen our narrow shore at the base of our cliffs," Stanimira said. "The tides come in quickly here, and you were very lucky that our night watch heard you approaching on your watercraft so that we could dispatch search parties to bring you to safety. Do you have any questions?" asked Stanimira. I thought for a moment.

"You speak perfect English," I told her. "Why didn't you interrogate... Why didn't you interview me?

"Anastasia volunteered to interrogate you," I was shocked that Loredana, the tall blonde, responded in English though with a heavy European accent. "Anastasia has been trying to get promotion." Judging from the tone of Loredana's voice and the small frown worn by Anastasia, I thought it would be some time before she earned another stripe.

"This is one time offer, Mr. Van. Make decision," Loredana said, sounding impatient. "Other choice is to be taken back to normal quarters and be locked up for long wait."

. . . .

So I had accepted her offer. While that was probably the smart thing to do, my situation left a lot to be desired. It would turn out that the only clothing I was given was thong underwear with the sandals, and the only food served was the gruel. I made the mistake once of asking Loredana for some of the broth, and she had me firmly paddled by Stanimira.

Having been their guest for a while now, with no more mention of me being released from the island, I had been keeping my eyes open for any way I might contact someone back home. There had to be a satellite phone or shortwave radio here for communication with the outside world, but I hadn't found either one. Even if I had, I wasn't sure I'd be able to figure out how to use them.

In theory I could try to escape to the lighthouse tonight, but the escape from my employer's yacht had been spontaneous, leaving without wearing proper clothes or shoes and didn't end very well. I wasn't sure if there was cell phone service on this island but I cursed myself for not running back to my cabin on the yacht, grabbing my cell phone and sealing it in a plastic bag before riding off on the jet ski.

Escaping from the island would require a bit more planning. I needed to get kitted up as McGonnigle had said. He was probably some world class adventurer. The kind of man that would sail the ocean alone in a small boat. If he were in my position, what would he do?

There was only about one fingers worth of cognac left in the bottle. If I drank the rest of it tonight, the empty bottle would be removed from my room by someone tomorrow while I was working. However, if I left some in the bottle, perhaps it would still be here for me tomorrow evening.

It would be a good idea to bring some water on my escape to the lighthouse, and the liquor bottle could be used as an improvised canteen. Not that it would be much water, but it would be better than bringing none at all.

I had smoked the cigar about halfway down. Although I would have liked to have finished it, I carefully snuffed the large glowing ember in the ashtray. Hopefully those items would not be taken away either. The lighter could be used to start a driftwood fire to stay warm. The metal ashtray had a dull finish, but if somehow polished up might be used as a reflector to signal a passing boat or plane.

Draped in the blanket, I came up with a few ideas for clothing. Regarding some proper footwear for the escape, I had an idea for that as well.

The bowl of cold gruel looked unappetizing as usual, but I felt weak and knew I needed the nourishment. As I ate, I thought that for my escape I should take the spoon. The sturdy metal might be used as a tool, perhaps sharpening the end of the handle into a spear tip for fishing. Yes, I was getting all geared up, or kitted up as the McGonnigle would say. I would leave tomorrow night.

As I lay down in bed I felt sleep washing heavily over me. The cognac had something to do with that, but I was now certain that the evening gruel was drugged.

The next morning I was given the task of sweeping an outdoor walkway. It was maybe halfway up the side of the citadel, and seemed as if it might wrap around the entire structure. While the morning was cool on my almost naked body, I was thrilled that I would have a chance to fully view my surroundings and possibly figure out a path for my escape later tonight.

I came across several metal grates, either in the pavement or the walls, and after making sure no guards were around I would tap on them with the broom handle and call for McGonnigle. There might be some more advice on survival techniques that he could share, but I never got any response.

When I was approaching one of those metal grates, a heavy wooden door nearby was thrown open and two ladies dressed in black leather jackets and knee high boots came out. They headed my way, one of them twirling a long wooden rod.

I held up my broom, thinking I would fight them off if necessary, but they just laughed. One of them held up a small bowl that contained a thick oil of some kind. She pointed up at the sun, rising in the sky, dipped several fingers in the oil and then rubbed it gently on her shapely thigh. Then she made hand motions showing that I was to rub it all over my body.

It was then that I noticed she had three silver stripes on one sleeve and that she was the medic from the infirmary. The other woman showed me what I feared to be to be a rod for thrashing me, was nothing more than a rag on a stick. She made motions as if dipping the rag end into the oil and then using the long stick to rub it onto her back. I'd been so afraid, and they were only here to give me some type of sun block oil. As they walked away, I heard one of them say, teacher's pet, and they both laughed.

Looking down over the parapet every now and then, in one area I saw a pen with some chickens in it, and another with some goats that might be kept for milk or even meat. The citadel was more self-sufficient than I had thought, but they would still need some supplies delivered a few times a year. Hundreds of cartons of cigarettes for example.

Every now and then I would catch glimpses of women leaning out the windows above me, usually smoking cigarettes, but they paid no attention to me. At one point I was sweeping below a small balcony and heard a woman walk out there, high heels clicking on stone.

I looked up and recognized Anastasia. She still only had two black stripes on her silver jacket. I had rarely seen her since I'd become Loredana's guest. It seems she had walked outdoors to have a smoke, but once she spotted me she gave a snort of disgust, tossed down her cigarette, I heard her stomp it out with her thigh high boot, and she walked back inside.

Later, rounding a corner, I came to a wide and open area. The parapet here was taller, with large notches at the top. There were some giant, recessed, rusty iron sockets in the paving stones at those locations, and I imagined that cannons had been mounted here long ago. While that was interesting to some extent, I was more intrigued by the view.

This cannon area looked as if it could have defended the island on three sides. The two far sides had only a small portion of flat land before the steep cliffs dropped off, but in the center portion, the ground made what looked like a long gentle slope downwards towards the sea, and beyond that I saw the chain of islands that McGonnigle had described.

The nearest island was a narrow wall of rock that towered up from the waves. It was long and made a slight curve. A few smaller islands were beyond it. The lighthouse wasn't visible from here, but I knew it was out there on the last island.

How far was it to the nearest island? I couldn't judge the distance. Half a mile, maybe? I looked at the water in between and watched the waves. They didn't flow as smoothly between the two masses of land, and every now and then I thought I would see peaks of rocks momentarily pop out above the surface of the water. The submerged land bridge that connected the island chain. According to McGonnigle, it would be exposed later tonight by a rare and extra low tide.

I was looking directly over the parapet, trying to figure out where I'd been within the citadel that might exit down below for a quick escape.

"Teacher's pet!" I heard a woman's voice call out. I'd been caught loafing on the job, but when I turned around I saw my situation might be even worse. It was Sorina and Elena.

Both women were brandishing riding crops. The one with two stripes on the sleeve of her black leather jacket, I assumed that was Sorina, was barking orders at me in her language, and kept pointing her crop towards a pair of large iron doors in the wall of the citadel.

I had no idea what she wanted, but assumed she was up to no good. Shaking my head no, I held up my broom in a defensive position. Her response was to laugh, and she called out to Elena, who started to circle around behind me, swishing her crop through the air.

Although I didn't understand what they said, the tone of their voices was mocking. They circled in tighter around me, swinging their riding crops at my bare legs.

I thrust the broom out at Sorina, but just before the moment of contact there was a loud snap and burst of pain at the back of one of my knees. Stumbling, I realized I'd been struck by Elena's riding crop.

In that brief moment, Sorina dropped her own crop, grabbed hold of my broom handle in one smooth motion, and pulled me further off balance. I grabbed for the edge of the parapet wall with one hand and managed to break my fall, but the broom handle was twisted from the grip of my other hand as I slowly went down on my knees.

Elena stood over me with her riding crop poised to strike, while Sorina quickly pulled out a set of handcuffs and snapped them on my wrists. She saw the bowl of sun block and the rag on the stick nearby. I had been carrying those around with me while working, periodically reapplying the oil. She made some comment about it to Elena, and then scolded me in her language, finishing with,

"Teacher's pet!"

Elena was walking over to the iron doors as Sorina pulled me up to my feet and applied some numbing grip on my forearm so I had to follow her.

Although the doors were massive and Elena was a small young lady, they were rigged with an old system of counterbalance weights and cables, so she slid them open with minimal effort. The large chamber inside might have been a bunker for munitions when this place had been used as a fortress, but I could see that it had been converted into a torture chamber.

A version of the wooden framework I had been harnessed to during my interrogation was in the center of the room, and the two women forced me over to it, securing my cuffed wrists to an overhead beam.

Looking out through the open doors at the chain of islands, knowing these two women would be having their way with me in this torture chamber with a view, there was a slight bit of comfort in knowing I would be escaping to those islands later tonight.

My thong was roughly removed from my body. Although I expected them to start whipping me right away, Sorina began poking at my penis with the tip of her riding crop. In the cool air, my cock and balls were shrunken, and she laughed at them.

I was afraid she was going to start whipping my balls with her crop, and squirmed as much as I could to move away from her prodding. She said something to Elena who had circled around behind me, and two quick lashes of her riding crop snapped on my bare ass.

They spent an uncomfortable amount of time browsing through the various implements hanging on the walls, coming back over to me with some shackles to secure my ankles. Once again, Sorina began poking at my cock, and Elena resumed whipping my ass. They laughed and were clearly enjoying themselves.

Then Sorina held up a hand to signal Elena to stop. The two women talked briefly about something and started laughing. They walked out of the chamber, maybe they were going to take a smoke break, but that would not be their plan. Sorina picked up my broom, while Elena picked up the dish of sun block and the rag stick.

As they came walking back to the chamber, Sorina said something in a threatening tone, then straddled the broom handle, the tip poking up between her legs, and she made thrusting motions with her hips.

They stood in front of me, Sorina giving instructions as Elena dipped the rag on the stick into the oil, and began to swab it over the end of the broom handle. Even though they probably didn't understand me, I begged them not to put the broom handle up my ass, because I assumed that's what they had planned.

The two women slowly circled around behind me, high heeled boots clicking and the bristles of the broom scraping on the stone floor as it was dragged along.

I begged and pleaded some more, and felt two hands on my ass, spreading my butt cheeks apart. Then someone appeared at the wide open doorway. A lady wearing a silver leather jacket. She yelled something at Sorina and Elena and I heard the broom handle drop to the floor. It was Anastasia. I never thought I would be so happy to see her.

She walked slowly into the room. For a moment I was afraid that she would be content to stand back and let the others continue. However, she began to yell angrily at them in their heavy foreign language. I caught Loredana's name but couldn't understand anything else.

One of the women replied, speaking casually, and perhaps saying that they were just playing around. All in good fun.

Anastasia had them stand facing the wall. She pulled a pair of handcuffs from a pocket of her jacket and secured one of the lady's wrists behind her back. Evidently she only carried one pair of cuffs, because she walked over to me with a small key in one hand. I started to thank her as she released me.

"Don't speak," she said firmly, as if a warning, then walked over to cuff the other lady who had no stripes on her jacket sleeves, and I suppose was not allowed to carry handcuffs. Anastasia scolded them some more, again mentioning Loredana. She pulled them away from the wall and started pushing them towards the open doorway. Pausing for a moment, she looked back over her shoulder at me.

"Back to work," she said with a snarl.

A while later when I was sweeping, I looked over the edge of the parapet and spotted the cable hoist where the remains of the jet ski had been brought up. The ledge at the top of the cable was far below me, and the ladder that the divers had climbed up the face of the cliff looked precarious as it dropped far below to a stubby dock made of stone or concrete.

Perhaps that dock and hoist way were used if supplies were delivered by boat. However it would be a dangerous job as the waves periodically smashed and washed over the little dock. It might require waiting for the right tide and weather conditions.

To me it made sense that the citadel would have a better dock for access by boat. I had only worked my way around maybe less than half of the fortress, and thought there might be a protected harbor on another side.

I heard the sound of high heeled boots approaching and quickly got back to work. To my surprise, it was Stanimira. As far as I knew she never made rounds of the citadel.

"Come with me," she said. "Loredana wants you to see something. We have to move quickly." She led me deep inside the citadel and paused outside a large wooden door.

"Once we go inside, you have to be silent, and watch from behind the partition. If you should, become aroused," she said uncomfortably. "Supplies have been provided." I wasn't sure what she meant about that.

As we stepped inside the door we were at the end of a long balcony that overlooked a large chamber. Loredana was seated on a tall chair in the center of the balcony so she could easily look over the railing. A folding partition had been set up at the end of the balcony so that those entering could not be seen from below. Stanimira positioned me in front of a tinted window in the partition, I suspected it was mirrored on the other side, and then went to stand next to Loredana's chair.



Some type of ceremony was in progress in the chamber below. In the center of the floor was a heavy wooden framework similar to the ones I'd seen in other torture chambers. It had been reconfigured so that persons could be bent over a beam at waist height and strapped firmly into position. There, I was surprised to see two shapely female bottoms were exposed and tilted upwards, black leather shorts and black panties pulled down to their knees, shackles fastened securely around the ankles of their knee high spike heeled boots.

On either side of the framework, ladies were lined up in rows, elite women in silver jackets in front, and women dressed all in black leather in the back. None were slouching or smoking, all were standing at attention. Ula stood in front of the two women who were bent over the framework. She had been giving some long speech since the moment I had stepped onto the balcony.

While I couldn't understand a word that she said, I recognized the names Sorina and Elena. That was when I noticed that each of the two wooden uprights of the framework had a black leather jacket hanging on it. The jacket on the left had two silver stripes on the sleeve, while the other jacket had none. It must be Sorina and Elena that were strapped into place with their shorts down and bare buttocks exposed.

One of the ladies in a silver jacket stepped out from the ranks. She was holding two long slender canes, and handed one to Ula. Each woman took their position on either side of the frame, canes poised above the vulnerable bottoms of Sorina and Elena. They looked up to Loredana, who gave a hand signal.

The two women began to administer the caning. There were no dramatic pauses or swishing their canes through the air like might be done during an interrogation. Just one stroke after another. They only paused every now and then to look up at Loredana, perhaps for the signal to stop the punishment.

The woman on the right, the one with no stripes on her jacket, she began to cry instantly, while the woman on the left remained silent. I was then aware that I was getting an erection and it was starting to be painfully confined inside my thong.

I had noticed a small table by my viewing window when I was brought onto the balcony, but hadn't paid much attention to it. Now I saw in the shadows of the partition, on the table was a shallow bowl with some type of white lotion in it, and next to it were several small, folded cloths. The supplies that Stanimira had mentioned, in case I got aroused.

I stole a quick glance at Loredana and Stanimira, who were watching the caning below. Since it seemed I was permitted, I lowered my thong to release my straining erection. The creamy lotion felt cool and soothing on my penis and fingers. The consistency was just right for lubrication.

Both women below now had bright red stripes across their bottoms. The one on the right still crying, but now the one on the left was giving high pitched grunts when each stroke of the cane landed. To see those women punished, although I felt it was justified, I was surprised that I found it so intensely arousing to watch. Then I realized I hadn't masturbated since I had been on the island. I had always been too tired or otherwise it just hadn't occurred to me, which seemed strange.

Perhaps it was the length of time since my last orgasm, or maybe the dramatic scene below, but I knew I was only moments from ejaculating. I scooped up one of the small towels just in time to catch one burst of cum after another, my knees buckling with the intensity. I was surprised I was able to keep my heavy breathing quiet and not groan out loud with the initial burst.

Looking over at Loredana, she and Stanimira paid no attention to me, and Loredana gave a hand signal and the caning stopped.

Picking up a second towel, I slowly milked the last drops of cum from my softening erection. My orgasm had been one of those so intense that you are sure your balls have been completely emptied.

The other woman in silver had stepped back into the ranks and Ula was speaking once again. I heard her mention the name Sorina several times. Then she pulled something from a pocket of her jacket. I heard a muted click and saw the flash of a knife blade appear. For a moment I thought she was going to use the switchblade on the women being punished.

However, she turned to the jacket hanging on the upright of the wooden frame. The jacket with two silver stripes on the sleeve, and she began to cut off one of the stripes. Ula walked around the framework, so the two ladies strapped over it could see that she held the removed stripe. Ula threw the stripe down on the floor, and stomped it twice with her thigh high boot. I jumped when all of the women standing in ranks stomped their feet twice in response.

After putting her knife away, Ula was handed two items, she stood front and center and held them up so everyone could see. Two large tapered plugs, that looked as if they were made of some exotic polished wood. She said a few words and then looked up to Loredana. There was a long pause.

"Sorina!" Loredana's voice boomed in the chamber as she thrust out one hand pointing toward the woman who had just been demoted in rank.

Sorina must have known what was going to happen and started pleading, her words deteriorating into what sounded like cries for mercy.

Ula had placed the second plug aside and an elite guard in a silver jacket had stepped forward with a small pot that looked as if it might contain the same type of lubricant that I had just used.

What looked like a long artist's paint brush was standing in the pot. Ula pulled out the brush and made an elaborate show of lubricating the large wooden plug. Dipping the brush into the pot once again, she then moved over to Sorina's upturned bottom, raw with red stripes from the brutal caning.

Ula began to poke at the crack of Sorina's ass, then swirling the brush to lubricate her asshole. Sorina screamed, knowing what was coming next. My penis was getting hard again, but as I reached my hand towards the dish of lubricant, I saw that Stanimira was at my side.

"You aren't permitted to see any more," she whispered in my ear, then took one of my elbows and escorted me off the balcony. When we were back outside on the walkway, Stanimira told me,

"If it had been my choice, you wouldn't have been allowed to see any of that. It wasn't just for your benefit. You know there are other men here. Sorina and Elena have been a bother to them as well. Sorina was supposed to be a mentor to Elena and we are all sad that it didn't work out as planned."

I had a few questions for her, like what happens to Elena since she had no stripes, might be a recruit or something, but Stanimira said it was none of my concern. We were back at the place where I had left my broom. Before she turned to walk away, I dared to ask her if I might have a cigarette.

There was a long and awkward pause. Then Stanimira gave a brief sigh, unzipped a pocket of her jacket and removed a pack of smokes. After she had snapped the lid shut on her lighter, she walked away, high heels of her silver boots clicking into the distance.

Standing there in the warm sunlight, leaning on my broom and enjoying my cigarette, still feeling the afterglow of that intense orgasm, I felt better than I had in a long time. When I had smoked that cigarette down and snuffed it out on the stone parapet though, I came back to reality.

Although I enjoyed some special privileges here at the citadel, I knew my body was getting weaker. Eventually I would probably end up a mindless drone working below in the gardens. The escape plan was still on for tonight.

In the early evening when I returned to my room, I was delighted to see that the nearly empty bottle of cognac was still on the table. The remains of my cigar still sat in the metal ashtray, next to the lighter.

As I enjoyed the cigar, I looked at the bowl of gruel on the table. Although I was hungry, I wouldn't be eating it. Tonight I needed to stay awake. I would leave shortly after dark. While I waited, I improvised some clothing.

Taking a sheet from the bed, I ripped a hole in the center so I could slip it over my head and let it drape over my body like a poncho. Tearing a few strips from a second sheet, I was able to secure the poncho around my waist like a belt.

I was nervous, making these preparations. The heavy wooden door to my room was always kept open, but it was rare when any of the elite guards came by this time of the evening. It was tempting to swig down the last of the cognac, but I wanted to keep my mind as sharp as possible, so I poured it down the sink, and then filled the bottle with water.

Flushing the gruel down the toilet, I left the empty bowl on the table near the door. I wasn't sure if the guards made bed checks after dark, but if they did I wanted it to appear as if I'd eaten and was out for the night.

There was a small window in my room, too high up to look outside, and there was a crank mechanism on the wall for opening and closing it. Lying in bed, I stared at that window for what seemed like eternity until darkness came. I agonizingly waited just a little while longer before making my escape.

Like a prison break in a movie, before I left I arranged my blanket and pillow so that if a guard casually glanced into my room it might look like I was in bed. The hallway outside my room was dark, as well as the curved stairway that led down to the lower levels. I descended the stairs as quietly as possible. Listening, but also keeping my sense of smell alert for the whiff of cigarette smoke.

I had no idea if guards were posted at the bottom of the stairs or patrolled the citadel and its grounds after dark. That was a real weakness in my escape plan, but I hadn't had any time to check.

Only a few dim lights were on in the corridors and stairwells. Some areas were completely dark. There was one point on a lower level where I thought I caught the faint odor of cigarette smoke, so I circled around through another passage. Eventually I made it to the boot room.

Here, I took off my sandals, useless for rocky terrain. I knew that the largest pairs of boots were on the bottom of the rack and just inside the door. They were a snug fit, and their flat heels were noisy on the stone floor so I had to walk softly.

Not far from the boot room was an alcove where large overcoats hung on a rack. The ladies would sometimes wear these over their leathers when they went outside in rain and wind. Using the flame of the lighter as a small torch, I selected the largest coat that I could find.

The coat was a bulky fit over my poncho, but I got it to work out. The bottle of water and other items I had with me stowed easily in the large pockets. It wasn't long before I descended a wide stairway and found myself outside the citadel, under a bright partial moon.

I had exited on the side that faced the chain of islands. Although I was aware they had a night watch of some kind, I made my way across the grounds which gradually sloped down towards the sea. The tight boots pinched my toes and chafed at my ankles. However, every time I stumbled on a rock I was glad I had thought to take them.

When I reached the edge of the island, I could clearly see a narrow strip of rocky land, making a slight curve as it extended out across to the next island. McGonnigle had been correct about the dead low tide and the land bridge. However, I stood at the top of a ledge that was perhaps ten feet above the shore below.

I spent what seemed like a long time finding what looked like the safest place to make my decent. When I was halfway down I slipped, sliding on my butt the rest of the way and making a rough landing. Getting to my feet, looking back up at the cliff, I thought it might not be possible to climb back up. I was past the point of no return.

The trek to the first island took longer than expected. It was slow going on the rough terrain and that island was probably farther away then it appeared. Not exactly an island, it was more of a narrow slab of rock rising several stories above the water. I made my way around the side which was illuminated best by the moon and stars, even though the other side looked as if it might have a slightly wider rim of rocky shoreline. When I reached the opposite end of that island, I could see the lighthouse flashing in the distance. It seemed a long way away, at the end of a curved chain of other rocky little islands.

I trudged on through the night. The further I went, the worse the conditions got. The land bridge increasingly became washed with waves, and at times I had to wade through surf up past my knees. It was probably the tide coming back up. The boots filled with salt water and were painful on what I was certain were raw open blisters on my feet. My clothes were soaked from having slipped and fallen too many times to count. I only looked back one time and saw a few dim lights from the citadel far in the distance. Although I was exhausted, I knew I had to keep moving.

After walking all night, when the sun was just below the horizon, I was wading through water that was nearly waist high at the base of some cliffs, waves sometimes rolling in up to my chest. From my vantage point I couldn't see the lighthouse. It might yet be several islands away and I'd have to find a ledge to haul myself out onto until the tide went down again. That was when I spotted something in the distance.

At first it looked like a large slab of rock that had fallen from the cliffs into the water, but then I realized that the edges were too straight to be natural. It was a small dock made of stone, jutting out into the water. It must be the access point for the lighthouse.

When at last I painfully climbed onto that dock, I saw the eroded remains of a stairway that had been cut into the cliff face long ago. It switch backed all the way to the top. Knowing it would be a stressful climb, I reclined against the base of the stairs to rest. I pulled the bottle of water from my coat pocket and took a long drink. It tasted faintly of the cognac and that was pleasing.

When I saw the sunrise, I knew that my escape would soon be noticed. Would I hear a siren blasting away in the distance? The citadel wasn't visible from the dock, so if they did set off an alarm I wasn't sure if I would hear it.

Although my feet hurt badly, and my body ached from the long walk, I knew I would have to climb the stairs to the top of the cliff. If for some reason this wasn't the island with the lighthouse, I would at least be able to get my bearings from up high, and rest until the next low tide, although I didn't know when that would be.

The stairs were narrow and dangerous. In certain areas there were the remains of a rusty iron handrail anchored to the cliffs, but I didn't look safe enough to trust. For a good portion of the climb, I crawled on my hands and knees, not just to keep low and prevent the strong winds from blowing me off the narrow steps, but also to avoid putting weight on my sore feet.

The lighthouse at the top wasn't the picturesque stone tower like you'd see on a postcard. It was just a beacon mounted on a short metal tower, in a flat area at the top of the cliffs. At the base of the lighthouse was a bank of solar panels, and a small shed painted in a white and orange checkerboard pattern streaked with rust, which I assumed housed the batteries and controls. All of that was enclosed within a rusty fence topped with coils of razor wire.

There would be no way to access and sabotage the light. There was no emergency distress transponder, and even though McGonnigle had said such a thing was a long shot, he'd sounded so optimistic. I had been so hopeful that at that moment I just wanted to cry.

That was when I noticed something mounted on the fence next to the gate. A small metal box, and on the cover was a silhouette of a telephone handset, painted in a faded orange. Oh yeah, transponder or emergency phone, either one would do. I painfully got to my feet and limped over to the fence.

There was no phone inside the box, only a large red button. There were some instructions on a plaque inside the cover, written in several languages though none of them were English. The paragraph that looked like it might be written in Spanish started with the word Emergencia. Yes, this had to be the emergency distress call, so I pressed the large red button.

It made a loud click and stayed down, then gave off a faint red glow every few seconds. The lighthouse beacon above was still flashing as usual. I supposed there was nothing to do now but wait.

Sitting down on a large metal chest that was next to the gate, I began the painful process of trying to pull off one of my boots. That was when I noticed a large red cross of faded and peeling paint on the front of the chest. Probably first aid or emergency supplies. I'd been too preoccupied with the emergency transponder to notice it.

The boots could wait, and I tried to open the rusty metal latches, but it was no use. Then I remembered the spoon I had brought, and I removed it from a pocket of my coat and used it to pry open the latches.

A while later I relaxed in the sun and let it warm my body as I leaned against what looked like the stone foundation of the original lighthouse. The overcoat and my improvised poncho were spread out on nearby rocks to dry. It had taken considerable effort to remove the tight boots from my feet, and they were blistered as badly as I'd feared.

However, there had been first aid supplies in the chest by the gate, and I had rubbed my feet as well as a few other cuts on my body with what smelled like an antiseptic and wrapped them in clean white gauze.

I tore open the wrapper of another energy bar and took a bite. There was a large supply of them in the chest, and although they were a bit stale I swear I could feel my strength coming back by the minute.

Then I took a large swig of water from a jug. There were several of these in the chest as well. The water smelled faintly of chlorine, as if to keep it sanitized for long term storage. Every now and then I would glance at the open box where the emergency transponder button was. It was still blinking red. There was a small array of antennas on the metal shed at the base of the lighthouse. I suppose one of them was beaming out the distress call.

By nightfall, the coat and blanket had dried. I found a place along the old foundation to huddle out of the wind, and tried to get some sleep. The lighthouse beacon flashed reliably above, and the transponder button continued blinking red.

I imagined the day's events at the citadel after my escape was noticed. There would be the clatter of high heeled boots throughout all the corridors and chambers as they searched for me.

McGonnigle, who told me of the possible escape route, he would have noticed the break in the guards' normal routine. The commotion, he would have to assume I'd made a break for it, and he would be thrilled.

Once the citadel was searched top to bottom, the ladies would no doubt search the grounds and patrol the rocky shore of the island. Looking for me to be alive and hiding somewhere, or perhaps my dead body on the shore, either washed up from drowning, foolishly trying to swim away, or bloody and mangled from falling when trying to climb down the cliffs.

I doubted they would bother to search the other islands, which were nothing but inhospitable rocks. They wouldn't even conceive that a man could make it to the lighthouse.

Late at night I woke and I crawled a short distance away to relieve myself. Then as I crawled back to hunker down against the remains of the stone wall, I had a sinking feeling. The women at the citadel had been expecting some honored guests. Wealthy men who came to their island for a short time to be imprisoned and tortured by the leather clad women in their spike heeled boots. Would they arrive by boat, or perhaps by a large helicopter? My fear was that the pilot of their boat or chopper would receive the distress signal. It might be reported to the women at the citadel.



Lying awake in panic, I tried to rationalize that the men coming to the island, the guests, this was their private business, and they would have no interest in any sort of rescue operation drawing unnecessary attention to them. They would simply instruct their pilots to ignore the signal. Besides, I had pressed the button early in the morning. Some other party must have intercepted the signal and be putting together a rescue crew. They might possibly show up tomorrow.

Several days passed. My body was getting badly sunburned and I tried to stay in what little shade I could find. I was starting to get low on water and had improvised a rain catchment system using the overcoat to funnel water from brief morning rains into one of the empty water jugs. The water tasted nasty, and I suspected it was the dried salt water from when I was smashed by the waves on my trek here. It would take a strong rain to rinse that out.

I had also taken to rationing the energy bars. My feet were healing pretty well and I felt amazingly strong. Perhaps later in the day I would go down the stairs to the base of the cliff and look for some fish or other creatures that got trapped behind some rocks when the tide went out.

Although the red button for what I thought was an emergency distress signal was still flashing, I wasn't sure it was doing anything else. I had no way of knowing how far the nearest mainland or inhabited island was that might send out someone to investigate.

There had been plenty of time to figure out a plan to sabotage the lighthouse. I had tried smashing the padlock on the gate with a large rock and had no luck. However, the bolts on the gate hinges were rusty and could be broken, after hours of pounding with a rock until my hands were raw. I knew that eventually I could get in, climb the light tower like a ladder and cover the beacon with the overcoat.

Late in the day I heard the low blast of an air horn from a boat, and it sounded close by. A rescue party had arrived at last! The air horn sounded a few more times and when I made it to the top of the stairs I saw a wide stubby boat slowly coming in towards the dock. It looked like a tug or small fishing boat without any nets, and I assumed it was the lighthouse tender coming in to check the emergency transponder.

Someone was standing in the shadows under the overhang of the wheelhouse roof, wearing a long dark coat and it looked as though they were scanning the top of the cliffs with a pair of binoculars.

I saw them give a hand signal and someone came out the side door of the wheelhouse to take the binoculars. Although I couldn't see their face clearly, I recognized their gleaming silver clothing and long blonde hair. Looking up at me through the binoculars was Loredana.

Thanks for reading.