Chapter 1

The Governor was never too careful about head counts on the island, what did it matter? There was nowhere to go; the island was split by a mountainous range into two sovereign states, but apart from the other half of the island which nobody seemed to know or care about, there was a thousand miles of Pacific to traverse before anything like civilisation could be found. There was no urgency about a census from the ruling government several thousand miles away either; men came, few left as most were troublesome 'lifers' - no death sentence existed, regardless of how heinous a crime had been committed- most ended up in the penal colony graveyard after ten or twenty years of sun, sand, and purposely poor diet. The fact was that men just 'disappeared' with an alarming regularity which was only recognised by other inmates; this was not registered by the authorities, out of sight, out of mind was sufficient enough for the government, the men were fed just enough to keep them alive; less mouths to feed was seen as a bonus. All this 'convenience' was accepted by the prisoners, but the truth was another matter.

The men were tattooed on their scrotums with their penal number; this had long been the tradition here. Men had been known to cut away or disfigure parts of the body where tattooing had previously been tried, to hide their identity on the few openly recognised escape attempts; the Governor who had instigated this had figured, and quite rightly so, that the one place a male would be reluctant to cut or disfigure, would be his balls. As 'escapes' were rare, the number was usually only required when an inmate died of disease or old age, so needn't be in a spot which was readily viewable.

Rico rubbed his sore sack as he laid facing the vast blue ocean and waving canopy of palm trees from the new intake hospice; on being released from the darkness of the prison ship's hold, he could not quite believe what he saw. Having been jailed for life for a crime he did not discuss with anyone, he had been a chronic escapee; he had spent six months of his three years so far served, on the run from various prisons. The authorities were keen to ensure this did not happen again, so here he was. The whole set-up seemed like some crazy holiday paradise, and when his balls settled down again, he was determined to see just how far he could go, there being no obvious walls or boundary fences from what he had seen so far. For now, he nursed his sore sack which had been tattooed with his new identity; 570-H. Rico guessed the 'H' was for 'homicide'; he was correct.

The next day, Rico and the five other new men were taken to the Governor's office; his cock perked when he saw the Governor was a not-unattractive middle aged woman. His cock stiffened as she strutted with authority before the men; it had been eighteen months - the last time he'd escaped for any length of time- since he'd smelt the delicious whiff of a cunt, and he wondered what hers would smell like, it was difficult to focus on what she was saying.

"I've no need to remind you of course, that attempts at escape are futile; you men have been brought here because just such an instance has never occurred and never will. The route across the hills and mountains to our only neighbour's territory is very treacherous, and the chances of finding any sizeable fishing boat there would be very remote; there may be many small islands in between, but civilization is a good thousand miles off." Governor Harriet Hawking smirked to herself as she turned away from the men; she knew her speech would sow the seed of a challenge within many of them; what waited for them beyond the hilly border would be far from the leisurely comfort of the colony.

Rico kept an imprint of Harriet Hawking's figure in his mind and masturbated vigorously as soon has he had the opportunity; he grunted with pleasure and shot a generous wad of semen as he imagined her cunt, open, aroused and richly scented. Three of the other men, also deprived of any close contact with women, did likewise. One of them, Bruno Wilkes, shot his load in ecstasy as he imagined slitting her throat after trussing and beating her; his tattoo was 161-R, Wilkes was a convicted rapist. Another, Lucas Reeves, gratefully shot his load as he imagined licking her feet after she had whipped him before an imaginary board of female officials; this incurable streak for domination by females would ensure he lived a little longer than some of the others, but he nor the others knew what lay ahead. Reeves tattoo was 358-S; he was a sexual offender, caught too often peddling pornographic wares and making no tax contribution, he unknowingly became embroiled in a conspiracy plot with a politician's wife; compromising pictures of her caning him while her bound husband watched, ensured the political downfall of the politician, and Reeves' trip to the island.

As the days went by, Rico became familiar with certain faces which then disappeared. Each day there were new arrivals, yet the place was never overcrowded. Jarvis, an old boy with a stiff leg he had acquired in a shoot-out with cops when he was nineteen- three of the cops being his reason for being there- spoke frankly with Rico about the colony's situation. Jarvis had not known of a funeral at the cemetery for about four months, yet the turnover of prisoners who were there, and then not there, amounted to hundreds. It was not just the odd individual or band of men going missing every six months or so; it was more like one in ten on a weekly basis. Jarvis mused.

"Either there's a 'Shangri-las' the other side of those hills, or a thousand mile bridge that the Governor doesn't know about, because one thing's for sure; nobody ever comes back."

Later on, under cover of darkness, Rico was out walking close to the Governor's house which in keeping with the rest of the colony, was open and unguarded. His cock rose as Harriet appeared on the veranda in the warm night air, dressed in black chiffon, her shapely body easily viewed. She was speaking with a woman who had been seen by some of the men, arriving in a small boat which could not have come far, but which no-one thought too much about; the female form itself a distraction to any reasoning thoughts on an island where the men were kept hungry, yet something in their diets seemed to keep them easily aroused. Rico helped himself to another satisfying wank in the bushes below; she certainly was the most attractive Governor he'd seen, but she would not keep him a prisoner; tomorrow he and six new friends would set out for the hills. He heard the women laugh as the one from the boat emptied out a rucksack with what looked like small leather samples. Rico's desire to escape meant he didn't give the items a second thought.

Harriet's neatly shaven cunt, so wildly imagined and honoured by many pints of semen shot in tribute to its imaginary image, buzzed with pleasure as she crossed numbers from a board, and moistened on the occasions she crossed through certain numbers easily recognised. Her female visitor left during the darkness, to be ready to set sail at dawn.

Also just after dawn, seven inmates having had their meagre breakfast, casually strolled eastward with what little supplies they could carry. Rico glanced back on occasion; half expecting the few guards there were available, to come after them; none did. As he glanced back, Harriet smiled through a large pair of binoculars with some satisfaction, and a very slight pang of regret, as she saw the figures in the far distance get ever smaller; she would have liked to have had Rico as a trustee; he would have made a nice pet. She smirked as she noted one of their number was Wilkes the rapist; he would not stay alive for very long.

Chapter 2 »