2 comments/ 36581 views/ 4 favorites Castaways of New Purgatory Ch. 01 By: RamonaE Karen Solomon stumbled through the shin-high surf, squinting against the brutal sun. She shook her head to clear it and felt the damp ends of her hair slap against her bare shoulders. The rising tide had awakened her, and she spit sand from her lips; why had she been sleeping on a beach? She looked down at the sand working its way between her toes, and then realized when she saw her bare breasts that not only was she lost and disoriented, but she was also naked. Completely naked. Her heart began to pound. What the fuck? The beach stretched off in both directions until its trailing ends vanished into the thick palm trees. A breeze tickled the sweat rolling down her back. Seagulls hovered in the wind, but when she looked back at the ocean she saw its flat, uninterrupted horizon. No boats, no smoke, no airplane traces in the sky. The only footprints were her own, trailing from imprint of her body disappearing with each wash of surf. How had she gotten here? The beach ran unbroken to the edge of a tropical jungle. Immense palm trees bent low, and around them grew smaller plants and tangled vines. She heard nothing over the noise of the surf, but there were no signs indicating trails, or the direction to any resort. Where the hell was she? She took several long breaths to calm herself. She had to pick a direction, so she chose the right, east according to the sun, and began to jog through the sand. Her unsupported breasts rippled with each step, making her wince, and the sand tugged at her with every step. Finally she stopped, hands on her knees, gasping. Running in this heat and humidity across thick sand was exhausting, and now she was thirsty. She should've searched first for fresh water. Karen stood up and again shook her head, trying to organize her still-muddied thoughts. Her last clear memory was of confronting Monsignor Gillespie about what she'd discovered. What had she told him? "Your church has been systematically eliminating any women who pose any idealistic threat, especially at your universities. I have the proof, and now all I want to know is where the hell are they? Where is Sister Agnes Cheever?" The monsignor, smooth as ever, offered her some wine and promised an explanation. She'd accepted the drink, secure in the knowledge that the information she'd discovered was safe, and that the Church wouldn't dare do anything to her. She was a respected private investigator, known to the Boston district attorney and friends with many high-ranking police officers. The drink had tasted funny, she remembered, and she grew nauseous and looked around for a chair . . .then nothing. And now she stood stark naked on a deserted beach. No, the monsignor's office wasn't the last thing she remembered. She recalled a room...on a ship. It had not been a passenger cabin, but a dark narrow space, smelling of mildew and bilge, with only an old, damp mattress on the hard metal floor. She'd been naked there, too, just like here. She shivered as she recalled how sexually aroused she'd been, and how agonizingly long it had lasted. Days? Weeks? The ship's rumbling engines had acted as white noise, and Karen slept in ragged fits. With no windows and only the dimmest of light, she had no idea of the passage of time. She alternately sprawled, arms and legs wide, or curled tight, arms wrapped around her knees. The mattress smelled of sweat and other things she didn't want to think about; the air, when she awoke enough to be aware of it, was hot, damp and reeked of mechanical odors. Her dreams were frustratingly sensual. In them she was being caressed, fondled, undressed, covered with soap and oil and saliva, and responded eagerly to each ministration. Frustratingly, her subconscious failed to follow through, so even though she imagined strong, handsome men poised over her, penises erect and positioned to penetrate her, she could never experience the moment she so achingly wanted. Instead she lay on her belly, her right hand pinned beneath her, wantonly stroking and pinching her delicate clitoris until another climax rushed up from inside her, spread through her body and left her limp. It was something she seldom did in her normal life, but the sensual haze in her mind made it now seem like the only thing that mattered. And nothing seemed to make it abate, not orgasm after orgasm, and if they'd wanted to rape her she would've welcomed them eagerly, fallen onto her back and spread her legs for anyone willing to fill her aching body. But no one came to her. She'd pleaded and begged, then raged and demanded, and finally screamed her helpless fury at the greasy metal walls. Why would no one fuck her? Why make her feel this way, and then not take her? But her captors, whoever they were, simply left her to her own devices to deal with it. She vividly remembered lying on her back, slamming her bare feet against the bulkhead and arching her back as she climaxed harder than she could ever recall. She didn't even know she was capable of feeling anything like that. It certainly prevented any thoughts of escape, and finally she passed out from exhaustion. And woke up here. Naked. Alone. Stranded. She began to tremble. She had never felt more vulnerable. And maddeningly, she realized that under her fear, she was still horny. What had they done to her? Then a new voice said, "Do you speak English?" (to be continued) Castaways of New Purgatory Ch. 02 (IN THE LAST CHAPTER: Boston private eye Karen Solomon is kidnapped, stripped naked, drugged with an aphrodisiac, and kept by herself on a ship, where she helplessly masturbates. She awakens, still naked, on a tropical island. At first she believes she's alone, then she hears a voice.) Karen whirled, her right hand reflexively covering her pubic area, her left stretching across her chest to hide her nipples. It took a moment for her sun-blinded eyes to find the source of the voice in the heavy shadows beneath the palms. A young woman emerged from the trees. Like Karen, she was also completely naked. Her skin was deeply tanned, and she gleamed with sweat, which made her look almost as if she were made of shining wood. Her nipples were darker brown , with leathery aureolas. Her body hair was thick and untended, from the black hair on her lower legs to the thick ebony curls between her thighs. Long dark tufts peeked out from her underarms. The hair on her head was a mare's nest of tangles, with leaves and twigs stuck in places. She looked wild, but she'd spoken English. "Who are you?" Karen demanded, but her voice sounded shaky and pathetic. Despite everything, the woman had a serene, peaceful quality. "I'm Sister Agnes," she said, as if they'd met on a city street somewhere. "I know how confused you must be. Let me help you." "Agnes Cheever?" Karen asked. "Sister Agnes Cheever of St. Mary's in Boston?" The girl nodded. Karen began to laugh at the absurdity. "You won't believe this, but your parents hired me to find you." The girl's serene expression darkened. "You mean they don't believe I'm dead?" Karen shook her head, still giggling like a madwoman. "No, they don't. I'm Karen Solomon. I'm a private detective they hired to find you. They believed you'd been kidnapped, which was right. They thought it had to be white slavers or something. They never guessed your own Church had done it." Agnes' lip trembled, and for a moment she seemed about to cry. Then she recovered her composure. "I'm sad for that. It would be better if they believed I was dead." She looked down and, without meeting Karen's eyes, asked, "How long have I been missing?" "You disappeared two years ago." She nodded. "Then my little ad hoc calendar is fairly accurate." Karen licked her dry lips. The sun on her shoulders seemed to have physical weight, and sweat stung her eyes. "Where the hell are we, Agnes?" Agnes looked up, eyes shiny with tears, but managed a smile. "I have no idea. It's an island, I know that. Somewhere in the tropics, as you can no doubt tell. Let's get you out of this sun, you'll be red as a lobster before long." She stepped close and gently pulled Karen's left hand away. Until she did so, Karen had not realized she was, in fact, squeezing that breast and enjoying the sensation of her palm flat against her nipple. Agnes threaded her own fingers through Karen's and guided her toward the shadows beneath the trees. Karen studied the other woman's bare body. Every muscle was starkly visible, not developed as if she'd been working out, but the way someone looked when they lost all their body fat. Her breasts were small but full, and her behind rippled with each step. Smears of dirt and sweat covered her, though, and a small cloud of gnats rose from her tangled hair. They passed a tree marked with a cross cut crudely into the bark, and ahead Karen saw another one. Judging from the clear dirt beneath their bare feet, the trail was well-traveled, and in a short time they reached their destination: a lean-to made of branches, leaves and vines over the mouth of a small cave. To one side, a deep, dark pool of water bubbled up from a spring. This was all in the shade of a huge rock outcropping that rose higher than the treetops. It was cooler in the shade, but the humidity was still overwhelming. Agnes stood to one side and gestured into the shelter. Karen crouched and entered. She sat on a floor made of soft moss, and Agnes crawled in behind her. In the close, still air, Karen could smell the other woman's sweaty, unwashed body. "The water in the spring is safe to drink," Agnes said. "Be careful of your exposure to the sun until your tan catches up." She put one nut-brown arm against Karen's pale one for comparison. "It'll take you awhile." "I don't plan to be here long enough to get a tan," Karen said. "First I need to find some clothes, and then get back to civilization." Agnes smiled. "Believe it or not, that's what all of them say at first." It took Karen a moment to comprehend the meaning of the words. "Who are 'all of them'?" "The other castaways. Politicians, writers, academics. Some lawyers and police officers. At least one military officer." Karen blushed at the thought that these men might see her naked. And the thought also sent an unexpected, undeniable surge of arousal through her that left her nipples hard and tingled between her legs. What the hell was wrong with her? "If there's that many men here--" "There are no men here, Karen. Only women. All those people I mentioned are female. All marooned here naked, like you and me." Karen felt panic welling in her chest, displacing the horniness. "Why?" she asked as a whisper. Karen brushed a strand of sweat-damp hair from Karen's face. "They posed a threat to the Church. The male power structure could not accept any serious challenges to their authority, but at the same time, there was a serious edict against killing. It *is* one of the commandments, after all. So this," she gestured around her, "is the alternative. A place to get troublesome women out of the way. Out of the world." Karen began to tremble. This was madness, it couldn't be true...could it? Agnes scooted closer and put her hand on Karen's shoulder. The sense of skin on skin made Karen shudder, and vivid memories of her time on the ship rushed back with a vengeance. She tried to speak but no words would come out. Agnes looked into her eyes. "I understand," she said compassionately. "Understand what?" Karen managed to croak. Her breasts suddenly felt heavy and tender, and she was hypersensitive between her legs. The urge to touch herself, as she'd done for days on her trip here, was almost more than she could resist. Agnes's hand trailed down Karen's upper arm. "The drugs they gave you on the ship are still affecting you. I understand, because they gave the same one to me. I lay in that same room, on that same grimy mattress, doing the same things you did. I couldn't resist it; no woman could. They know that." Karen felt tears well in her eyes. "I wanted to fight it," she said in a shuddering whisper. "I wanted to try to escape. But I just couldn't stop...." "And that's its purpose, to keep us occupied," Agnes said. She moved a hand to Karen's cheek and wiped away a tear. "It does wear off, but it can take time. Days, if you fight it. But if you indulge it...." She lowered her hand and rested her fingertips feather-light on the upper curve of Karen's breast. "It burns away much faster." Karen looked into the nun's calm, comforting eyes. Agnes ran the pad of her thumb over Karen's now-rock-hard nipple. "This isn't...I shouldn't...I have to get moving," Karen said, her head spinning. She felt herself grow wet again, and her belly tingled the way it did just before.... "Have to find help, clothes, something...." "You're free to go, of course. But I think you should really consider how your body feels right now. It won't get less...uncomfortable for several days, if we don't burn it out of your system." She leaned closer, and Karen could smell the nun's heavy, vaguely fruit-scented breath. "But I'm offering to help you get through this immediate torment more quickly than you can on your own." To emphasize this, Agnes very gently put her thumb and forefinger around Karen's nipple and squeezed. "Oh, god," Karen said in a shuddering whisper. Her breasts felt heavier than ever, their unsupported weight pulling her down into the other woman's hand. Karen had never felt so female in her life. "I know," Agnes said sadly. "I felt the same way when I arrived." Karen closed her eyes and leaned close, her breasts now brushing against Agnes's. The touch of another's skin, the thing that she'd ached for so much on the ship, was irresistible. "I'm not a lesbian, Agnes," she said, her cheek against the nun's. "I've never...." "Nor am I." She kissed Karen lightly, almost chastely, on the lips. "Like you, I'm a castaway. A prisoner here. But I am still, as a daughter of Christ, obligated to help those less fortunate." Karen, her eyes still closed, tried to continue the kiss, opening her mouth and extending her tongue, but she found only air. Agnes had turned away. "No kisses," Agnes said. "This is not about love. It's about kindness. Now...lie back. The moss is soft." Agnes guided Karen down, onto her back. As she promised, the moss was soft against her spine and shoulders. Agnes stretched out beside her, and Karen's body ached with response to the sensation of another's flesh reclined against her own. Their mutually sweaty limbs slid against each other, and Karen felt the crush of Agnes's thick pubic hair against her hip. Agnes rested a hand on Karen's heaving stomach, sliding it in the sweat that covered her. "I need to warn you. Your responses may be...extreme. The drugs render your most sensitive areas even more sensitive, and as a result...you will experience things more strongly than you ever thought possible. Do you understand this?" Karen could barely choke out the word, "Yes." She felt Agnes move down, then slowly guide her feet apart. *Oh, my God,* Karen thought, *she can't, I haven't bathed, she mustn't, I'm not this way, I can't--* Agnes knelt between Karen's legs. She leaned forward and her rough hands cupped Karen's vulva. The detective tossed her head, tried to protest, but the sensation was too vivid, her body's need too strong. She reached her right hand down toward her raging vagina, the way she'd done on the ship, but Agnes easily brushed it away. "You poor dear," Agnes said, and then Karen's whole body spasmed at the first light, flicking touch of the nun's tongue on her labia. Karen had never experienced cunnilingus from another woman, not even when her college roommate suggested it one drunken evening. It was like being stroked with a wet feather, one that knew just when to press hard and when to withdraw. She made sounds that were delicious to her own ears, whimpers and moans of arousal and completion, desire and orgasm, that left her throat raw and jagged. She squeezed her own breasts roughly, and pinched her nipples with a viciousness that made her growl. Once she rose to look down the length of her body and watched Agnes's head bob between her widely-spread legs. With her crown of dark, tangled hair, she looked like some wild, tribal priestess initiating a neophyte in the mysteries of women. Beyond, the nun's bare ass rose in the air. It was perfect, Karen realized, taut and round like an apple, even shiny like a fresh fruit. Then a large insect of some kind landed on it. Without breaking her rhythm, Agnes reached back and swatted it away. The smack of hand on flesh made Karen come. She had never been so wet, she realized. She was soaked, molten, and when she came she felt her juices surge forward, like a porn actress in one of those disgusting "squirting" videos one of her old boyfriends like. Yet there was no stopping or controlling it. She felt open enough to take a baseball bat. When Karen could again focus, Agnes' was watching her. The lower part of her face was hidden by Karen's own groin and neatly-trimmed pubic hair. The nun rose slightly, her lips and chin wet with Karen's juices. "Are you feeling better?" "Oh, god, yes," Karen said, rising on her elbows. The air was heavy and damp, just like her body. Her naked body. Like Agnes's naked body. "Now, please, let me--" "No," Agnes said firmly. She kissed the inside of one of Karen's thighs. "I need nothing from you, my friend. I only want you to be free of the influence of their obscene drugs." And before Karen could reply, Agnes bent and sucked on her clitoris. "Oh, my god!" Karen cried, and her hands dug into the soft moss. She couldn't come this hard, not after all that time on the ship, not after everything the little nun's tongue had already put her through. But she did, moaning incoherently and arching her back as an orgasm greater than anything she'd ever experienced roared through her. She passed out then, although her body continued to shudder even in her sleep. Agnes wiped her chin and knelt between her legs, watching the pale, sweaty form. She arranged Karen's legs for sleep, then went to the spring outside, drank and washed her face. It was close to sundown, which meant a night of vicious insects that vastly preferred the flesh of the new arrivals to those of long-term residents like Agnes. But there was no avoiding it. Agnes bowed her head and thanked God for another day of life, even here, even now. And within the shelter, Karen moaned in her sleep. (To be continued) Castaways of New Purgatory Ch. 03 *I'm being fucked,* Karen dreamed. *He's taking me from behind. My ass is in the air and my cheek is resting on my folded arms. His cock is perfectly fitted to me, and I can't bear the intensity of it. Each stroke tightens the tension another click. Screw your horniness to the sticking place, I think, recalling a line from Macbeth. I can't imagine being any hornier than I am now.* *The tingling starts, the first sensation that will lead to the rush of orgasm, of climax, of coming. It's terrifying in its intensity, and moreso because I have no idea who's giving it to me. When I try to look back, a firm hand grabs the back of my head and presses it down. I can't see him, and he's completely silent. The only sounds are my own whimpering.* *He pumps into me faster now. The wet, squelching sound is both shameful and exhilarating. I wonder at my own wetness, my own capacity, because now his cock seems enormous, plumbing depths of my body I never knew existed. I wonder in a panic if he's wearing a condom, but then I don't care, I want the hot sense of his cum spurting into me, or even better, splattering on my sweaty, bare ass as he pulls out at the last minute, leaving me aching and empty. I realize it's the sensation of being ABOUT to come that I crave, not the orgasm, and I want him to pull out, but he's not, and I'm about to come, and--* Karen woke up with a cry. She stared up through the leaves of the shelter at the stars, visible through the tops of the palms. She was soaked with sweat, and the smell filled her nostrils. She rose on her elbows and looked down the length of her naked body. Agnes slept curled at her feet, slowly unfurling after being awakened by Karen's cry. Then, without a word, she gently crawled between Karen's legs and bent her tongue again to its work. Karen cried out at the first touch against her swollen, tender labia. The motion was slow, methodical, designed to conserve the nun's strength and allow her to continue for as long as possible. It was the motion of someone used to doing this. Karen gasped as the orgasm built within her. Her clitoris and vulva began to tingle in anticipation, in real life not dream-time. "Oh, God," she whispered, and lowered herself back to the ground, "oh, Jesus, no, no more...." Then her spine arched and she clawed at the ground. She must've cried out, she always did when she came, but the blood rushing in her head blocked out the sound. As the rush subsided, she felt the crushed handfuls of wet earth slip from her fingers. She sucked in lungfuls of heavy, humid air. When she could breath normally again, she raised her head. Agnes looked at her sympathetically, the nun's cheek resting against her thigh. Her mouth and chin shone with Karen's juices in the faint starlight. Karen reached down and brushed hair from Agnes' face. She felt a wave of tenderness and compassion for the girl. "Let me do you," Karen said, trying to rise. "You've been so good to me, let me...." Agnes shook her head and smiled. "No, I'm a nun, sworn to celibacy." Karen fell back with a weak laugh. "What you're doing to me isn't celibacy, Sister." "No, it's ministering to those in need. Giving you pleasure helps you overcome the evil that was done to you. Were I to let you do the same for me, though, I would be breaking my vow." Karen draped an arm over her eyes. "Do you greet all the new arrivals this way?" "If they need it," Agnes answered seriously. "Most do." She kissed the soft flesh at the top of Karen's triangle of pubic hair. "Do you need more?" Karen licked her lips. She was certainly sated, having experienced -- or rather, endured -- more orgasms than she'd ever imagined possible. Yet the drug's side effects seemed to have ended. The polite thing would be to stop, thank the nun for her, ah, help and begin looking for a way to escape. But she didn't feel polite, and after all that had happened, this felt like the safest place around. It had nothing to do with sex, really, or finding another woman attractive. It was a matter of comfort when she felt most helpless and vulnerable. "One more," she whispered, lay back and closed her eyes. "Please, baby, one more." She moaned as the nun's tongue found her clit again, and a finger reached inside her to expertly stroke her g-spot. She let her legs fall wide, and draped one calf over the nun's back. She rubbed her heel up and down Agnes' spine in rhythm with her tongue strokes. This time the orgasm built deliciously slowly, swelling within her so that she hovered on the edge for what seemed like forever. When she finally came it was almost agony, and she wantonly grabbed the back of Agnes head, forcing the delightful mouth hard against her. Agnes responded by driving her tongue deep inside her, cupping Karen's buttocks and lifting her like a slice of watermelon. Karen was asleep before the last shudders left her. Karen was awakened by a female voice pleading, "Please!" She opened her eyes. It was still dark, but the moon had risen, and silver bars of light played over the floor of the lean-to and her own bare skin. She heard the burbling of the spring outside, the noise of insects and what sounded like monkeys. Then Agnes' voice, ever patient, ever kind, said, "Kellie, it's not possible. I explained it to you then, and I've done so again now. It was a way of helping you adjust. It would be mere wanton sex now." "But I need it," another female voice whined. It was a young voice, younger than Agnes, with a slight Southern accent. Slowly Karen rolled onto her stomach so she could look out. Agnes stood by the water. Facing her was a tall, slender blond girl, as naked as Karen and Agnes, holding a bouquet of flowers at her side. Her pale skin glowed white in the moonlight. She was also crying, the sparkling tears plain on her cheeks. "You're all I've got, you're the only one who's been kind to me," the girl pleaded. She pitifully offered Agnes the flowers. Agnes touched the girl's face gently. "I'm so sorry, Kellie. I can understand how you feel. But I can't help you with it." "But I don't want anyone else," the girl said, with a loud mucous-y snort. "I love you." "That will pass," Agnes said. "Now please, there's a new arrival sleeping in my shelter, and I don't want to disturb her." "Oh, did you fuck her like you did me?" Kellie spat. "I ministered to someone in need," Agnes said. "As I did with you." Agnes' even, rather ephemeral tone was beginning to creep Karen out. Her own body was wracked with soreness, and she felt sticky and unclean. She wanted a hot shower and a stiff drink. She crawled out of the shelter and stood, her legs wobbly. "What's going on?" Karen asked, reflecting how strange it was for three naked women to be standing around chatting in the moonlight. "You'll fuck her but not me?" Kellie demanded of Agnes, and hurled the pitiful bouquet at the nun. One small flower stuck to the sweaty curve of her breast. "Why are you here?" Karen asked the girl. "What did you do to the Church?" "What?" Kellie snapped. "Are you talking to me? Fuck off." Karen summoned as much of her natural authority as she could under the circumstances. "I asked you a simple question, young lady," she said forcefully. "Why are you on this island?" "I had an affair with a priest, okay?" she snapped defiantly. "He was my freshman college advisor. I tried to break it off, but he wanted to talk to me one last time. I had glass of wine, and then boom! Here I am, naked as a jaybird and so lonely it's killing me." Her voice cracked on the last phrase. "Please don't hold this against her," Agnes said to Karen. She brushed Kellie's hair behind her shoulder, and the younger girl seized her palm and began to kiss it. Agnes gently pulled her hand away. "I'm so lonely," Kellie whimpered. "All I can think about is what we did together." She tried to put her arms around Agnes, but the young nun blocked them. Then Kellie fell to her knees and managed to kiss the area around Agnes' navel several times before she was again rebuffed. "I have to get off this island," Karen whispered to no one in particular. (to be continued) Castaways of New Purgatory Ch. 04 The air was so warm and humid that, for a moment as she awoke, Karen Solomon truly thought a heavy, soaking-wet blanket lay across her. She tried to shift under it, but the sensation didn't change. Her skin was slick with sweat, and her hair a tangled rat's nest. Suddenly she snapped awake and remembered where she was. She sprawled on her belly, on the mossy floor of Agnes's shelter. She raised her head, looked around, and her situation came roaring back to her. I'm alone. I'm naked. I'm lost. I've been-- The memory of days on the ship, alone and helplessly masturbating, returned. She recalled Agnes's ministrations as well, filling her with a rush of shame and humiliation greater than she'd ever experienced. She'd let another woman go down on her, a woman she didn't even know. Without even realizing it she began to sob, the big wracking kind that shuddered through her whole body. She'd never been so scared in all her life. Not only had she been kidnapped and stripped nude, she'd been raped--no, she'd raped herself. They'd made her horny, irresistibly so, and then done nothing about it. The only relief had come from herself. And Agnes. She crawled backward out of the shelter, shamefully aware that her bare ass emerged first, raised high in the air like some female animal presenting itself. She quickly stood and covered herself, looking around for the nun. "Agnes?" she said, her voice ragged. There was no answer. The immediate area was a paradise, at least visually. The trees, vines and other greenery hung heavy and full. Birds cawed and trilled. A few yards away, a rocky hill rose, and down its slope came a small stream that made a ten-foot waterfall into a pool. The sound reminded her that she badly needed to pee, so she stepped over behind a tree and squatted. When she emerged, she froze in her tracks. She was no longer alone. Seven women stood looking at her. Like her, all were totally naked, except for tattoos. The sight brought her up short. She'd seen other women naked, of course, and even two or three at a time in locker rooms. But never a group of them. And the way they gazed at her made her instantly self-conscious. Four of them were white, two black, and one Asian. They gleamed with sweat, just as she did. The strangest impression was one of *hair,* since all had thick, untrimmed pubic hair and wild manes either tangled and askew, or hacked off short with some crude instrument. Their bare, unsupported breasts swung as they shifted position. Karen's stomach knotted at the reality of this, that here were a bunch of nude women who'd clearly been stuck here for a while. She tried not to hyperventilate. The one in the center held a stick taller than she was, like a staff. She said, "You're new." "I'm Karen Solomon," she said after clearing her dry throat. "I'm from Boston. I just...got here, I guess." "I'm Teresa. Did the little nun mention me?" "No." "Well, I run the island. And I expect newcomers to understand that." Karen's analytical brain kicked in. There wasn't much to go on: without the cues of clothing, makeup, hairstyle, or location, it was hard to tell anything about a person. But this woman's bearing, the way she stood with her shoulders back and breasts out, spoke of the military. Her body was thick and muscular, the kind of muscles you only get from hard physical training. She had a tattoo Karen couldn't quite make out at the join of her hip and thigh. To buy time, Karen said, "I'm a little disoriented by this whole experience. How long have you been here?" The other women laughed, the way a gang of teenage girls laughs at the misfit they intended to bully. One of them was at least sixty years old, judging from her white hair and sagging skin, but she seemed totally at ease with her nudity. She had one arm around the shoulders of a black women, whose age was impossible to tell. The Asian, smallest of the group, crouched and watched with cool amusement. "Me?" the woman Teresa said. "Years now. I'm not sure anymore. And it doesn't matter: I wouldn't leave if they came to rescue me. This is my island." "I hope you won't mind if I try to find a way to leave," Karen said with a nervous laugh. She felt her nudity more than at any point in her ordeal. Teresa said, "Well, before you can do anything, you have to pay tribute to the island's chief. Namely, me." Karen's mouth, already dry, felt like sandpaper. "What does that involve? An oath or something?" Teresa grinned malevolently. She'd obviously given this speech many times, and enjoyed seeing the effect it had on people. She took a step forward from the group. "Simple. You either let me have you...or the stick." She lowered her staff so that Karen could see that the top end was rounded and phallic-like. It was also intimidatingly thick, and made Karen gasp. The thought of taking that.... The other women giggled. "Your tribute is your orgasm," Teresa said. "Once you come for either me, or the staff, you're part of the island. It's your choice." "I'm not going to do that," Karen said. She felt her face burn with anger. "That's obscene. We're all victims here, we should be working together to figure out an escape, not...not raping each other." "That's not for you to say," Teresa said. "Those are the rules. Make your choice, or I'll choose for you." She smiled again, cruelly, evilly. "The staff is a lot more fun to watch." The other women laughed. Karen forced herself to stand up straight. She knew some martial arts, and was capable of putting up a vicious fight. But she'd never fought anyone naked, and that thought intimidated her. What would she grab? How would she get a grip on another naked woman's slippery, sweaty skin? She tried to sound confident and reasonable. "Look, this is ridiculous. I'm not going to let you rape me, either with that stick or any other...way. Really. If this is your territory, I'll move on. Okay?" The woman Teresa laughed. Then she nodded. Three women grabbed Karen from behind. Two of them grabbed an arm, and the third wrapped both arms around Karen's legs and lifted her off the ground. She was slammed onto her back, and the other women swarmed around, pinning her. In moments she was immobile, her wrists pinned above her head and her ankles held far apart. She'd never felt so vulnerable in her life. She looked up as Teresa, breasts swaying and a knowing smile on her lips, approached to stand between her spread knees. She extended the stick and touched its phallus-shaped head to Karen's heaving belly. The musky smell of the women overwhelmed her as they knelt around her, snickering and whispering. "Please," Karen whispered. "Don't do this. Please." Teresa said, "Get the man ready, girls." She extended the stick around the little circle, and each woman licked it, slicking it up with saliva. Karen stared at the smooth wooden end, now dripping, imagining her fragile body taking it. She couldn't, it was too big, how deep would it go, what would it feel like.... And then she realized, she was getting wet at the thought. She felt her face burn red, and knew that the same unmistakable flush was spreading to her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. Her stomach fluttered with arousal. *No,* she told herself, *not like this, don't make me want this....* Teresa's smile grew even wider. She said, "Make sure she's in the mood." Without warning, two of the women bent over her and put their lips around her nipples. The sensation was so intense Karen couldn't hold back an involuntary cry. She'd never had both her nipples sucked at once, and the firm, delicate hands that lifted and cupped them were new as well. She jerked once in the grip of her captors, unable to repress it. Her back and bare ass ground into the sand. My God, how could this be happening to her? Then she felt the hard nub of the staff touch the skin of her inner thigh and slowly trail down. "Hnnnngghh!" she cried, writhing against the hands holding her. "No! NO!" The wooden knob, slippery with the spit of the strange women, nestled against her vulva. She stared up, past the heads of the women suckling her, at Teresa's smug, hateful face. Through clenched teeth she said, "I will kill you for this, bitch. If you do this, I swear, I'll *kill* you!" "I don't think so," Teresa said. "I think you'll beg me for it again. This is the only cock on this island, sweetheart." Karen strained with all her might to draw her knees together, to close her legs, to twist away, to escape the inexorable presence of the wooden phallus. But the women holding her were too strong, and there were too many of them. "Meet the man of the house, baby," Teresa said, and pushed the staff inside her. She went rigid, eyes wide, teeth clenched. The stick was solid, and pushed its way through her slick folds with ease. She *was* ready for it, she realized, shamed and humiliated by her own response. "Oh!" she gasped as the wooden head penetrated deeper than any man had ever gone, stopping before it became painful. Then it began to withdraw, but only part of the way, before sliding home again, inexorable and irresistible. The two women abandoned her breasts. She barely noticed, as every sensation from her center overwhelmed all else. The stick had tiny hard knobs that stimulated her inside, and one particular protrusion, rounded but prominent, unerringly found her g-spot on its way in and out. "Unnh!" she cried as it passed over her clit. She felt so helpless, so vulnerable. "Like it, bitch?" Teresa said with a grin. "Of course you do. You straight whores love this stuff." Karen wanted to move with the phallus, but with her arms and legs pinned she couldn't, and there was no way she'd ask. A woman's face suddenly appeared over hers: greasy locks of hair dangled down, the ends brushing Karen's cheeks. She couldn't make out the woman's face in the harsh shadow, but she could smell her breath, rank and oddly fruity. The scent of sweat and female musk overwhelmed her as well; my God, these women were getting *turned on* by her rape. Then the woman pressed her lips against Karen's and forced her tongue into her mouth. Karen grunted and tried to turn away, but at the same time, this human touch--even if it was from one of her rapists--made the sensations from the wooden dildo inside her even hotter. The phallus began to slide more quickly as her own juices eased its passage. The woman broke the kiss, smiled down at Karen and said, "I can't wait to get you alone later." The heated fog broke, and the immediacy of her situation hit her. "No!" she screamed, and fought to get loose. "No, stop it, *stop it!*" The woman over her smiled again, and moved her hand to Karen's groin. Her thumb pressed on Karen's clit. Karen's eyes opened wide. She was about to have an orgasm. *Oh, God, oh, no, I'm going to come, I mustn't, not this way, have to fight it, have to--" "AHHHHH!" she cried, her back arching as she came. The phallus stopped moving, letting her ride out her climax. Then, when she had settled back onto the sand and lay gasping, Teresa pulled the object from inside her. "Welcome to New Purgatory," Teresa said with a leer. "Now take her, girls." (To be continued)