Slave Island Page 13

  The handsome industrialist knelt down, holding his daughter's hand tightly. Betty smiled trustingly at her father as Lord Henry began to intone the ritual. "Do you, John Granville agree to release your daughter Betty into servitude? Will you allow her to be fucked, buggered, mouth fucked, however and whenever her master pleases, in accordance with our law that no pleasure shall be forbidden those in power?"

  "I will," John Granville said clearly.

  "And you, Betty Granville, do you take Magala Khan as your proper master from this moment forth, to suck, lick asshole, French-kiss, fuck, and be buggered by, so that aught he shall wish for his pleasure you will perform, with no mental reservations of any kind?"

  "I do," came Betty's clear sweet voice.

  "I then pronounce you a slave under the laws of , " Lord Henry proclaimed. "Take her to Magala Khan, her new master, and present her to him for the appropriate ritual of ownership."

  "Come, darling." John Granville took her by the hand and helped her rise from the loge, then led her through the arena and to the left, where the towering platform rose above thirteen sinister steps.

  "We've got to go through with it," he whispered on their way up. "Do you see how Magala Khan devours you with his eyes? He will not be gentle. But you must trust me, dear. It is the only way."

  "Of course I will-Gee, it's almost fun, sort of," Betty said, trying for a chipper tone of voice.

  "That's my brave darling.. .come, let's climb," he murmured. Upward they went, stopping just short of the structure's ceiling. There, in the wide pavilion atop the steps, was an elegantly appointed bed.

  Nearby stood Magala Khan, his skin anointed with fragrant oils so that each muscle stood out, gleaming and taut, before the eyes of the the panting audience. He was utterly naked except for a thin silk cord tied around his trim waist.

  Khan looked dispassionately at John Granville, who was still clutching Betty's hand."Release her to me now," he commanded.

  Granville stepped back and released her; then, after bowing slightly, turned his back on the proceedings, stuck his hands in his pockets, and began to softly whistle "Banks of the Wabash."

  "Let's have him strip her naked right off," Velma called.

  "My friend has made a request," Philbrock called thorough the microphone.

  "Why, then, I will honor it," said Khan.

  Taking Betty's garment in both hands, he stripped it from her in one fluid motion, then scooped her up into his arms and laid her on the bed. He stretched out beside her, grabbed her luscious bottom with one hand, and set his mouth to hers. Betty, her long lashes fluttering, her eyes closed, wrapped her arms around him. After a moment of this paradise he drew back, feasting his eyes on her fine young breasts, and on the thick dark-golden fleece covering her virgin mount.

  For weeks, he had watched as Betty walked about on , beholden to no one but her father. Khan, so used to complete and total mastery over all he surveyed, had felt his senses enflamed by the sight of the lovely, freely-questing young woman. His hunger had sprung up as never before, and his eyes were oddly bright as he gazed down at her.

  Pressing her knees widely apart, the better to admire the tender, glistening folds of her virginal cunt, he bent forward and placed the head of his throbbing, straining member just inside her lips, then gently moved it up and down, repeatedly, feeling the pleasure surge within him as it slid across her increasingly moist sex. Betty was now writhing and moaning, and made little bucking movements with her hips.

  "Oh master," she gasped, "do with me what you will! I give myself entirely into the service of your pleasure! Oh, please, please, do what you will with me, nowT

  Suddenly there came a rumbling sound, and entire structure swayed.

  "An earthquake! It's an earthquake!" John Granville shouted to his daughter as he swiftly ran over to seize her arm. Magala Khan, his eyes tightly closed in bliss, seemed not to notice this interruption. Neither, really, did Betty. The rumbling grew apace. it's an earthquake, I tell you!" he continued, still shaking Betty's arm, "and a bad one, too! I distinctly saw the earth move!"

  He had at last succeeded in getting Betty's attention. Her eyes flew open. "Already?" she asked, in evident confusion.

  The rumbling grew still louder, and the pavilion and its staircase tilted, then re-balanced itself. There were cries of terror from the loges, they could see Lord Henry Philbrock on his feet giving orders, while Elvire tried to quiet the panic of those around her.

  The pavilion swayed again, more violently this time. John Granville took advantage of the confusion to forcibly pull Betty out from under Magala Khan, aided in this by Khan's overall slipperiness.

  "My God, it's an earthquake, Betty!" Granville yelled. "This island is volcanic. It was created in an eruption, and it will end in one. We've got to get to the ocean and find a raft, a boat, anything!"

  Hastily they descended the thirteen steps, just as a jagged crack appeared in the ceiling. Betty, naked save for her sandals, held tightly to his hand as he raced for the nearest exit. All was confusion, save only for the sound of Philbrock shouting orders over the roar of the earthquake and the crowd. Betty managed to snatch up a standard-issue red silk tunic from a pile of them as she ran past it.

  Granville and his daughter found themselves at last in the hallway of the huge building. Chandeliers were swaying, and there was the crash of breaking breakables, and human cries and screams, all around them.

  "This way," he panted, as he led her through an open doorway and into what turned out to be the apartment of Marjorie Sayers. There, in the exotic velvet-draped salon, he found an open casement window looking out to the hill beyond. "Hurry, darling!" he shouted as he led her to the window, stooping to pick up a heavy velvet dressing-gown from the floor.

  They were barely out of the building when another terrifying rumble sounded and the ground swayed under their feet. The radio tower collapsed with a shattering crash. Betty, with Marjorie Sayers' dressing gown thrown about her shoulders, was running beside him like a young gazelle. "Don't look back! . . .I think the harbor for the yachts is off this way," he gasped.

  After running through a thick clump of palm trees, they reached the hidden cove. Sure enough, a dozen yachts were anchored there, butting gently against each other in the suddenly-choppy water like a pen full of nervous cattle. "We'll take the nearest one and pray I can start it. honey," he told her. "Come, we can wade out a bit, then swim the last few strokes to the boat!"

  A few moments later they clambered aboard a small but luckily high-powered yacht, the luxurious property of a nightclub owner in Manila who bought slaves for the exclusive brothel he owned and had journeyed to buy three new girls.

  "Yes, I can start it-thank God!" John Granville shouted from where he was hot-wiring its engine. The machinery began to purr. "Heave up the anchor and cast off, Betty," he called. The golden-haired girl was already tugging at the rope over the stern.

  "There! Now here we go, bound for Honolulu," she cried.

  The yacht gathered speed, turning eastward from the cove.

  "Look," Betty cried, aghast.

  John turned. There was a haze over the atoll, and the tallest points of its buildings, which should have been visible, could no longer be seen. Then the broad surface of the ocean seemed to heave upwards.. . impossibly high.. .as though its entire surface were swiftly tilting up to stand on end. He stared, his mouth hanging open. The moment seemed to go on forever. Then Betty screamed, and time ran forward again.

  "Tsunami!" he yelled. "A tidal wave! Betty, for the love of God, hold on tight!"

  The huge wave carried the yacht upward, it seemed, to somewhere around the orbit of the moon, and then they slid down again, hanging on for dear life as wave after lesser wave crashed around them.

  Betty took it all like a trooper, but later, when the worst of it was past, a fit of crying overtook her. "Oh, Daddy, Daddy," she gasped, burying her tear-stained face against his chest. "It-it's dreadful-like a
horrible nightmare-all those people, the cruel ones and the helpless ones both-and the buildings and-and -everything!-How? And why?"

  "Why the earthquake, you mean?" he asked. "The Pacific has them; it's just that simple. Almighty God, Who frequently lets sparrows fall, doesn't unleash volcanic activity just to punish the wicked, either."

  "No," she said. "I mean, I understand that. But why was it there at all?"

  John Granville shook his head as he kept the boat on course. "Ambition and lust, the two most powerful motives in the world, created it. A perfect world, where the strong could rule the weak. And yet, in a sense, we're going back to such a world."

  "Daddy?"

  He looked down compassionately into her lovely blue eyes.

  "We don't ever dare tell anyone about it, do we?" Betty asked, almost in a whisper.

  For the last time he looked back. He saw nothing.. Then he turned back to Betty and replied, "No, darling. At least, not everyone, not the ones who wouldn't understand, or the ones who would be inspired to try to imitate it. But it was real, it happened, even though it was like a strange and terrible dream from which we're awakening.. . .Speaking of which, why don't you go below and get some rest?"

  She kissed him on the cheek, then, and went down the ladder. But when she reached her cabin, she stood a long moment, seeming to stare at something on the far horizon. Her soft hand stroked her cunt, where he, Magala Khan, had possessed.. .had almost possessed her. True, they might or might not tell. But she knew that she would never, never forget.. .

  THE END