Chapter 14

Over the next few weeks, I almost enjoyed my time on the island. Mr Foster was back to his old self towards me - kind and considerate - and I spent most nights sharing a bed with him. He couldn't seem to get enough of his new 'toys' as I began to think of my silicon enhanced breasts and the sex we enjoyed together was 'normal', not 'kinky'.

And, of course, I had the daily fun of changing the dressing on Haga's injured left hand. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked me one morning between winces.

"Yes, I am actually," I replied honestly. "As you once told me, I don't like you, Haga, and seeing you in discomfort like this does please me. I've also seen how you mistreat women so I'm considering this to be partial pay-back time."

"Just remember, whore, that one day I'll be fit again and you'll be out of favour with the boss - then we'll see who has the last laugh!"

Pulling on the bandage that I was applying to his hand a little more than was strictly required and being rewarded with Haga flinching and swearing instinctively, I told him to watch his mouth and that I was no whore. "They all live down in the dormitory so don't get me confused with them again."

"That's not what I heard," he bit back. "I heard you serviced the boss on a weekly basis for almost a year at fifty quid a pop before he escaped! That makes you a whore in my book!"

I tried to think of a suitable reply but couldn't.

"Cat got your tongue, whore?" he crowed.

My only reward was his yelp as I rather unprofessionally got my revenge by tugging roughly at the bandages before tying them off.

The only down part about this period was that Mr Foster insisted that I remain topless while hanging round the pool. This was a bit of a change for me for while most of the girls were always in that state of undress (some even dispensed with the bottom half of their costumes too) I'd almost inevitably kept my top on because I couldn't match the others in the bust size race... but now I outclassed every other girl there but I still wanted to keep my top on because I was ashamed of the obvious unnaturalness of my bosom. But the boss insisted and I had to comply. Swimming on my back was especially embarrassing as I couldn't hide what had been done to me for, as I floated there, my breasts broke the surface of the water by several inches and looked rather like miniature islands or a pair of albino shark's fins!

Anyway, it was during one of these poolside interludes that some excitement interrupted our normally boring life for, as I squatted down on my haunches while checking the boss's pulse as he relaxed on a lounger, a cry went up and fingers were pointed out to sea. Looking up all I could see was a small, but obviously speedy motorboat, bobbing on the waves just outside the island's protecting ring of coral. From off to the left came the sound of different set of powerful motors and our security launch closed in rapidly onto the trespasser who opened his throttles, executed a neat half circle before powering off towards the horizon at a speed that even our launch couldn't match.

Head of security, Mr Cunningham, came running up to the boss, a walkie-talkie radio in his hand. "Don't know who, Mr Foster," he reported, "but they were taking photos with telescopic lenses."

Clearly pissed off, the boss stood up and stormed away towards the house only stopping to shout an instruction over his shoulder. "Get a faster boat!"

We didn't have to wait too long to find out who the intruders had been for within eight hours Mr Foster's associates back in England sent over a facsimile of an article that had just appeared in the early editions of the Sun newspaper. The story had appeared on page four and took up almost all the spread; under at headline that proudly boasted that their reporters had finally tracked down the escaped 'Crime Lord', Gavin Foster, the article went on to précis Mr Foster's career, give details of what he had finally been convinced of and then a synopsis of his 'daring escape from hospital, aided by the love-sick nurse, Carol Smith'. Needless to say, the paper then went on to chastise the forces of law and order for failing to recapture the criminal and to bring his gang and his moll to justice. Several photographs of our island were scattered about the page and, in the bottom right hand corner was a small sub-story in its own box under the headline 'The Incredible Expanding Nurse'. Next to a picture of me topless and holding Mr Foster's wrist (which was actually me checking his pulse but, coupled with the caption that the paper gave it, suggested something far more 'romantic') was another, older picture in black and white take from the security tape at the hospital following on from my 'incident' there which showed me strapped naked to the trolley as it was wheeled into the crowed waiting room. The Sun, in the usual lurid and sensationalistic language that the tabloid rags delight in, then pointed out how my boobs had grown in the time between when the two pictures had been taken...