Chapter 2: Aprico Island Reform School

The next day, Sylvia woke up at 7 AM, the sound of the island’s early morning bustling outside her window. The air was thick with humidity, and the sun was already casting a bright, harsh light over everything. She got dressed quickly, slipping into a simple shirt and kaki pants, and began her walk to Aprico Island Reform School, her new workplace. This wasn’t an exciting new job; it was a job born of desperate survival. Failure wasn’t an option. Quitting wasn’t an option. Missing work wasn’t an option. Being fired from this job would be a death sentence, almost literally, for a foreign woman left behind and forgotten on an island where foreigners had no legal protection. Sylvia knew that running out of money and ending up on the streets would be catastrophic.

As she walked, the gravel crunched under her feet, and the smell of the ocean mingled with the earthy scent of the morning dew. The School was a drab, single-story building surrounded by a high fence, with barbed wire lining the top. It loomed in front of her as she approached, an imposing structure that seemed to swallow up the light.

Principal Kuwme had told her that the School currently housed only sixteen students, all young men in their late teens. They were there for a variety of crimes—crimes too severe to be ignored but not severe enough for harsher prison sentence. This was a place for reformation, for giving these young men a second chance.

Sylvia’s nerves were frayed. This was probably the last job on earth she would have chosen, but again, she had no choice. As she walked into the building, the cold, institutional smell hit her: a mix of disinfectant and mustiness. Principal Kuwme greeted her at the entrance, his face as stern as ever. “Follow me,” he said curtly, leading her down a narrow hallway that echoed with their footsteps.

They entered a classroom, and sixteen pairs of eyes turned to look at her. The young men were seated at wooden desks, their expressions ranging from indifferent to curious. Principal Kuwme stepped to the front of the room. “This is your new teacher, Mrs. Sylvia Elsworth.” Then, he told Sylvia to introduce herself to the students.

Sylvia stood in front of them, feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She forced a smile, trying to appear confident. “Hello, everyone. As Mr. Kuwme said, my name is Sylvia Elsworth. I’m 32 years old and I’m here to teach you English and a few other subjects.” She emphasized her age, hoping to subconsciously distance herself from her students. “You can call me Mrs. Sylvia, as my last name is a bit hard to pronounce.” Then, to further distance herself from these young men, she added her marital status, “Yes, I’m Mrs. I am married. Actually, I’m a widow.” By describing herself as old as possible, she subconsciously hoped these young men with criminal records would see her not as a woman available to them but as an older, more mature, parental figure.

She paused, looking at their faces, trying to gauge their reactions. “I hope we can learn a lot from each other.”

The Principal Kuwme nodded to her and left the room, the door closing with a definitive click behind him. The silence in the room was thick, almost suffocating. Sylvia took a deep breath and picked up a piece of chalk, turning to the blackboard. “Alright,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “Let’s start with some basic English. Who can tell me what this word means?” She wrote the word “apple” on the board and turned back to face the class, her heart pounding in her chest.

One of the young men, a tall boy with a buzz cut, raised his hand. “It’s a fruit,” he said, his voice bored but clear.

“Yes, that’s right,” Sylvia said, giving him an encouraging smile. “Very good. An apple is a fruit. Let’s talk about some other fruits...”

As the lesson progressed, Sylvia found herself gradually relaxing. The students were attentive, albeit a bit reluctant, and she started to feel a bit more at ease. However, the weight of her situation never left her. This job, this classroom, these young men—they were now her lifeline. She had to make this work. There was no other option.

Out of the blue, one of the students called out loudly, “Can you spin around so we can see? You got a nice figure, Mrs. Sylvia.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded suddenly, and in a panic, she turned around slowly, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. The room erupted in whispers and snickers, and only then did she realize her mistake. Her submissive nature had taken over, and she had obeyed the request like a command when she should have reprimanded him for asking.

“That’s enough,” she said, her voice wavering but attempting to sound firm. “This is a classroom, I’m your teacher, and we will maintain respect here.”

The young man who had spoken, a lanky teenager with a smirk on his face, leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself. Sylvia felt a wave of humiliation wash over her, but she knew she couldn’t show any more weakness.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her nerves. “If anyone has a question about the lesson, please raise your hand,” she continued, trying to regain control of the situation. “Don’t forget, we’re here to learn.”

The atmosphere in the room was tense, a mix of amusement and curiosity. Sylvia forced herself to focus on the lesson, pushing aside the lingering embarrassment. She couldn’t afford any more mistakes. This job was her lifeline, and she had to make it work, no matter how difficult or humiliating it might be.

“Alright, let’s continue,” she said, turning back to the blackboard, her hand trembling slightly as she picked up the chalk again. “Who can tell me another fruit in English?”

The same boy who had answered earlier raised his hand again, and Sylvia nodded to him. “Banana,” he said, his tone more respectful this time.

“Yes, very good,” Sylvia replied, giving him a small, grateful smile. “A banana is another fruit. Let’s move on to some vegetables now.”

Then she heard another boy in the front row with a menacing look say, “Mrs. Sylvia, can you shake your titties, no I mean, chest for us?”

The rest of the students burst into laughter, their amusement echoing through the classroom. Sylvia tried to assert herself with a stern “No,” but to her horror, the same student slowly pulled out a machete from under his desk and placed it on the surface with a chilling thud. Her heart pounded wildly, and she felt a trickle of pee escape in her vagina. She couldn’t believe what was happening—not only was she being asked to shake her breasts in front of the classroom by her own student, but now she was facing a deadly threat right in front of her. The machete glinted ominously, leaving no doubt about the seriousness of the situation.

Fear gripped Sylvia, making her feel paralyzed and helpless. The sight of the machete had done its job; she was terrified.

Her hands trembling uncontrollably in fear and shame, she began to shake her breasts up and down, her large bosom jiggling prominently under her tight T-shirt. The room filled with lewd comments and jeers from the students, each one amplifying her sense of humiliation. Her face turned beet red, and she closed her eyes in a futile attempt to block out the degrading scene she was being forced to perform. She could feel the sweat trickling down her back, mingling with the tears of shame that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Sylvia’s body betrayed her, shaking visibly not just from the motion but from the fear coursing through her veins. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, powerless to stop the mortifying act. The room’s laughter grew louder, blending with the sound of her own heart beating in her ears. Every shake, every jiggle of her breasts felt like a dagger to her dignity, and the cold sweat on her skin only added to the feeling of disgrace. The humiliation was beyond anything she had ever experienced, and the oppressive atmosphere of the classroom seemed to close in on her, suffocating her with shame.

The room erupted in laughter. “Now side to side,” the menacing student demanded.

Sylvia, utterly terrified, obeyed. She shook her breasts side to side, feeling them move inside her t-shirt. The laughter grew louder. She continued until she heard him say, “Okay, good enough. Thank you, Mrs. Sylvia.”

She slowly opened her eyes to see sixteen sets of eyes staring at her, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She forced herself to focus on the textbook, her mind racing. The room quieted down, but the weight of what had just happened pressed heavily on her.

Trying to steady her voice, she said, “Let’s get back to the lesson,” her tone shaky but determined. She couldn’t afford to break down now. This job was her only lifeline, and she had to endure, no matter how degrading the situation became.

“Who can tell me the next vegetable in English?” she asked, praying that the lesson would proceed without further incident.

A boy in the back timidly raised his hand and answered, “Carrot.”

“That’s correct,” Sylvia replied, giving him a small nod of encouragement. She forced a smile, trying to regain some semblance of control. “Let’s move on.”

As she continued the lesson, she kept her eyes on the textbook, avoiding the gazes of the students. The humiliation and fear lingered, but she knew she had to push through. She had to survive, to make it through each day, no matter the cost.

Then, another student, again from the front row, said, “Mrs. Sylvia, do you know how to twerk? I assume you do, all Americans do. Why don’t you turn around and show us how you twerk?”

Sylvia’s heart raced as she stammered, “P-please stop, you can’t ask me do that. I’m your teacher, you see...”

Her words were abruptly cut short as he pulled out an axe and placed it on his desk. He leaned forward, eyes gleaming with malice. “I can cut off your arm, you know. You foreigners have no legal protection anymore. Or maybe I can cut off your clothes so you can twerk naked. Your choice.”

Sylvia felt the room spin. The threat was real and palpable. She could feel her heart pounding so hard it hurt. Her mind raced for a solution, but there was none. She was trapped. The laughter and jeers from the other students echoed in her ears, adding to her growing sense of panic and despair.

She said, “I ... I don’t know how to twerk.” It was the truth. She had never twerked in her life.

The student sneered. “You’ve seen it though, haven’t you? Don’t tell me you haven’t. Don’t lie to me.”

Sylvia nodded hesitantly. “I have, on TV.”

“Okay then, twerk just like that. Let’s see how you do.”

Sylvia realized she really didn’t have a choice. She could feel the eyes of all sixteen young men on her, the air thick with anticipation and menace. The axe gleamed menacingly on the desk in front of the student, a stark reminder of the gravity of her situation.

Her mind raced as she tried to remember the movements she had seen on TV. With a deep breath, she turned around, feeling her face flush with shame. Slowly, she bent her knees and placed her hands on her thighs, trying to mimic the motions she had seen. Her body moved awkwardly, the unfamiliar movements making her feel even more exposed and humiliated.

The room erupted in laughter and jeers. Sylvia felt every gaze, every mocking word, as if they were physical blows. Her body trembled with each awkward shake and bounce, the humiliation overwhelming her. She forced herself to keep going, her face burning with shame, her large round buttocks, clad in khaki pants, jiggling up and down, up and down. Tears welled up in her eyes, her face red with embarrassment.

“Harder, shake more!” another student shouted. Sylvia obeyed in shameful obedience, shaking as hard as she could, her movements more exaggerated, her humiliation deeper. The room filled with more laughter, the sound echoing in her ears like a cruel mockery.

“You’re a terrible twerker,” the first student sneered. “We’ll need to teach you later. If you agree to a private lesson, I’ll let you stop. Do you agree?”

Sylvia, desperate for the torment to end, nodded, not fully comprehending what she was agreeing to. “Yes,” she said softly, her voice barely audible.

“I can’t hear you, Mrs. Sylvia,” he taunted.

“Y-yes,” she spoke louder, her voice trembling.

More laughter erupted from the group. “Okay, you can stop now,” the student finally said.

Sylvia stopped immediately, straightening up slowly, her body still shaking from the ordeal. She turned to face the class, avoiding eye contact with everyone, her face still red and tear-streaked. She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, the reality of her situation sinking in even deeper.

“L ... let’s get back to the lesson,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. She focused on the textbook in front of her, but her mind was clouded with fear and humiliation.

One of the students sneered, “By the way, don’t you realize we all speak English? We’ve been speaking English for the last 200 years since colonization. What kind of English are you trying to teach us? We need English literature. God, I can’t believe you foreigners think we’re all stupid.”

Sylvia’s face burned with a fresh wave of humiliation. She realized her mistake and wondered if this was why they had been so mean to her. She had inadvertently insulted them by teaching basic English. Her voice quivered as she stammered, “I’m so sorry ... I didn’t realize ... I apologize.”

She turned to the teacher’s desk at the front left corner of the room, frantically searching through the textbooks. Her hands shook as she flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the titles until she found one labeled “English Literature.”

“I found it,” she said, holding up the book. Her voice was small, her gaze avoiding the students’ eyes. “We’ll go over some English literature.”

The room fell into a tense silence as she opened the textbook, her fingers trembling as she turned the pages. The students watched her, their expressions a mix of amusement and disdain.

“Today, we’ll start with Shakespeare,” she said, trying to regain some composure. Her voice wavered, but she pressed on, determined to correct her mistake.

As she began to read from the book, she felt their eyes boring into her. Every word felt like a struggle, her voice faltering with each line. She could hear the murmurs, the barely suppressed laughter, but she forced herself to continue. She had to get through this, no matter how difficult it was.

Sylvia’s mind raced, trying to find a way to connect with them, to make them see that she was trying her best. She knew she had to earn their respect, to show them she wasn’t just another foreigner looking down on them. But for now, she had to endure, to survive this moment and the many that would follow.

Luckily, the rest of the school day passed without incident. Sylvia taught math, science, and history with a mix of trepidation and determination. The institution’s hours ended at noon, bringing her a small measure of relief. Her responsibility after the students left was to clean and prepare for the next day’s classes.

As she scrubbed the classroom, she let out a long sigh. The repetitive motions of cleaning provided a brief escape from her anxiety. She wiped down desks, cleaned the blackboard, and swept the floor, each task offering a sense of accomplishment and a temporary reprieve from her worries.

Once the room was spotless, Sylvia sat at her desk and began reviewing the subjects she wasn’t familiar with. She flipped through the textbooks, her eyes scanning the pages with a mix of concentration and desperation. Today, she had only managed to read through the materials, but she was determined to improve her understanding for the next day’s lessons.

Despite her efforts to focus on the textbooks, her mind kept drifting back to the morning’s traumatic events. She couldn’t shake the memory of having to shake her breasts and twerk her buttocks in front of the class. The fear she felt when faced with the machete and axe, the menacing expressions, the lustful and threatening stares—they haunted her thoughts. The dark, intense eyes and the gleaming teeth of her students felt like a lingering threat.

Sylvia knew she had to return to the classroom the next day, but the thought filled her with dread. The physical humiliation and the underlying danger left her feeling exposed and vulnerable. She wished desperately that she had another option, but the reality was she had none. This job, despite its horrors, was her only means of survival on this island.

As Sylvia packed up her things and prepared to leave, she took a deep breath, trying to steady her frayed nerves. The day had been long and exhausting, and she hoped for a quiet end to it. Just as she was about to leave the classroom, the door creaked open, and three of her students walked in.

Her heart skipped a beat as she recognized them: Matumbo, Gambe, and Marimba. She had taken great care to learn their names, hoping that by showing interest in their personal lives, they might warm up to her. Matumbo was the one who had brandished the machete earlier, Gambe had the axe, and Marimba had sat in the front row, watching with a smirk.

Sylvia forced a smile and greeted them, her voice trembling. “H ... hi, Matumbo, Gambe, Marimba. What can I do for you?”

Their grins were anything but reassuring. Matumbo and Gambe held their weapons with a casual menace, the machete and axe glinting ominously in the dim light. Marimba, wielding a wooden rod, leaned against the wall with an air of authority.

“Hello, Mrs. Sylvia,” Matumbo said, his voice dripping with mock politeness. His eyes gleamed with a cruel satisfaction.

Gambe grunted in agreement, his fingers drumming idly on the axe handle. “We thought we’d drop by and have a little chat,” he said, his tone suggesting anything but friendly conversation.

Sylvia’s stomach twisted with fear. The sight of the weapons and their sinister expressions made her heart pound violently. Her hands trembled as she tried to maintain a composed exterior.

“What’s the matter, Mrs. Sylvia? You look a bit scared,” Marimba said, his voice smooth but menacing. He twirled the wooden rod in his hand, making it clear that he was not afraid to use it.

“I—I’m just tired from the day,” Sylvia said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Is there something specific you need to discuss?”

Matumbo took a step closer, the machete catching the light and casting a cold, sharp gleam. “Oh, we’re just here to discuss some ... things. You know, about the class.”

Sylvia’s breath hitched. She could feel her legs going weak, and she fought the urge to flee. The menacing trio’s presence was overwhelming. She tried to keep her voice steady as she asked, “Wha ... what things?”

Gambe leaned forward, his eyes boring into hers. “Well, we were thinking about the ‘private lessons’ you agreed to.”

Sylvia’s mind raced, panic surging through her. She had hoped to avoid any more humiliations, but now it seemed like her worst fears were coming to life. She felt the cold sweat trickling down her back as she tried to think of a way to diffuse the situation.

“I—I don’t have any money for the lesson,” Sylvia said, desperately grasping at a flimsy excuse.

Marimba chuckled darkly. “Oh, we’re not interested in money, Mrs. Sylvia. We’re interested in making sure you ... keep your promise. And if you don’t, well, we might have to find another way to encourage you. We hate promise-breakers here in Aprico Island.”

The threat was clear, and Sylvia’s fear intensified. Her body trembled uncontrollably as she tried to think of what to do next. She was trapped, with no one to help her and no way to escape the dire situation she found herself in.

Sylvia’s voice wavered, barely audible as she tried to reason with her tormentors. “Please, don’t do this. I—I am your teacher...”

Her plea was abruptly silenced by a sharp, stinging slap across her face. The force of Gambe’s blow left her reeling, her vision blurring as the room spun around her. The sharp pain radiated from her cheek, a hot, pulsing sensation that made her gasp. Her hand instinctively flew to her face, but before she could steady herself, a powerful soccer kick slammed into her midsection. The impact drove the air from her lungs, leaving her doubled over, gasping for breath.

The pain was blinding. Sylvia struggled to regain her composure, but another brutal blow—a hand yanking her hair—pulled her upright with a rough, jerking motion. The sharp tug on her scalp made her cry out, tears streaming down her face as she was forced to stand before them. She couldn’t believe that these lean, wiry teenagers could exert such force, lifting her as if she were a mere doll. The disparity between her helplessness and their strength was chilling.

“Get up, Mrs. Sylvia,” Gambe’s voice was a cold command, his tone devoid of sympathy. Sylvia’s legs quaked beneath her, her body trembling uncontrollably as she tried to stand. Her heart pounded furiously in her chest, and her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

Her eyes darted between the three boys—Matumbo, Gambe, and Marimba—who loomed over her, their expressions a mix of malice and sadistic pleasure. Matumbo, holding the machete, grinned cruelly. Gambe, with his axe, smirked, while Marimba, clutching a wooden rod, watched with a predatory gaze.

Sylvia’s entire body was a bundle of nerves, her face flushed with a deep red hue. She tried to muster the strength to speak, her voice trembling as she begged, “P—please, just teach me ... I’ll learn the private lesson. I-I’ll do whatever you want. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

Her words tumbled out in a desperate rush, her throat constricted with fear. She could barely form coherent sentences, her mind clouded by the terror of what might come next. The boy with the machete, Matumbo, chuckled darkly as he watched her with cold, calculating eyes.

“Looks like she’s finally understood,” Matumbo said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Let’s see if she really means it.”

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest, each beat resonating with a mix of fear and disbelief. Matumbo’s voice cut through the air like a knife, his command cold and unwavering. “Take off your clothes. All of them!”

She hesitated, her mind racing. The very thought of stripping in front of these boys was horrifying, but the fear of what they might do if she refused was even more terrifying. Her hesitation was met with swift, brutal action. Marimba stepped forward, gripping the wooden rod tightly in his hand. Without warning, he brought it down hard on her buttocks.

The pain was excruciating. Sylvia screamed, her cry echoing off the classroom walls. Tears streamed down her face as she instinctively reached back to rub the stinging flesh. But Marimba was relentless. He swung again, this time aiming the other side. The rod landed on her crotch with a sickening thud.

Sylvia’s scream was louder this time, a raw, primal sound of agony. She doubled over, clutching herself, her body wracked with pain. The world blurred through her tears, her vision swimming with the intensity of her suffering.

Gambe was there in an instant, his hand tangling in her hair. He yanked her upright, forcing her to face her tormentors. Her scalp burned where his fingers gripped, but the pain was nothing compared to the terror that gripped her heart.

Marimba was already preparing for the next blow. He swung the rod with all his might, the wood whistling through the air before it connected with Sylvia’s large breasts. The impact was devastating. She screamed again, a high-pitched wail that seemed to go on forever. Her arms flew up to shield her chest, the pain radiating through her body like fire.

“I’ll take off my clothes! Please, stop hurting me!” Sylvia sobbed, her voice a desperate plea. She could barely form the words, her breath hitching with each sob. “Please...”

Gambe released her hair, letting her collapse to the floor. She was shaking uncontrollably, her body covered in a cold sweat. Slowly, painfully, she began to undress.

Every movement was a struggle, each piece of clothing a painful reminder of her humiliation. Sylvia’s fingers trembled as she fumbled with the buttons of her shirt, each one feeling like a heavy weight. She could barely see through the blur of her tears, but she forced herself to keep going. When her shirt finally slipped from her shoulders, she moved to her bra, unclasping it with shaking hands. It fell to the ground, exposing her large, bruised breasts. The cool air felt like needles on her skin.

Next, she reached for her pants, her hands unsteady. She slid them down her legs, her movements slow and hesitant. Her underwear followed, leaving her completely exposed. Her face burned with shame, her cheeks flushed a deep red. She crouched down instinctively, trying to shield herself from their gazes.

“Stand up,” Matumbo ordered, his voice cold and commanding.

Sylvia’s heart pounded in her chest as she slowly rose to her feet. She tried her best to cover her breasts with one arm, but they were too large, her hand barely covering her nipples. With her other hand, she shielded her pubic mound, her legs pressed tightly together. She felt utterly exposed and vulnerable, her shy nature making the situation even more unbearable.

Matumbo, Gambe, and Marimba watched her with predatory eyes, their expressions a mix of lust and cruelty. Sylvia’s mind raced, the reality of her situation sinking in. She couldn’t believe she was standing naked in front of these boys, unable to fully cover herself, forced to obey their every command.

Marimba stepped closer, his wooden rod tapping against his leg. He circled her slowly, his gaze lingering on every part of her exposed body. “You’re such a shy woman, aren’t you?” he sneered. “Can’t even stand still without trying to cover up.”

Sylvia’s body quaked with fear, her eyes darting around the room, looking for any escape. But there was none. She was completely at their mercy.

Gambe moved behind her, his breath hot on her neck. He placed his hands on her shoulders, his grip firm and unyielding. “You’re going to do exactly what we say,” he whispered in her ear, his voice sending chills down her spine. “And if you don’t, we won’t hesitate to remind you of who you are. You’re our bitch.”

Sylvia nodded, still sobbing quietly as her throat constricted with fear. Gambe’s expression was twisted in a cruel smile as he reminded her that she had agreed to a private lesson. “And today, I will teach you how to twerk,” he said. “The key is the head movement, so we’ll start by anchoring your head in the right position. Matumbo, would you kindly assist her with this during the lesson?”

Gambe brought Sylvia to Matumbo, who was standing on a chair. He positioned her in front of Matumbo, their heights aligned, her head to his belly. Matumbo unzipped his pants, revealing his long and dark penis that emitted a strong smell of sweat. It stood erect right below Sylvia’s face. She looked down at it and the sight of this teenager’s large black penis made her eyes to widen in shock and fear. She could see the pulsing veins and glistening tip as her vision blurred with tears. The sight of Matumbo’s large, erect penis so close to her face seemed almost surreal, yet there it was, inches away from her lips.

“Now, suck it!” With a cruel sneer, Gambe ordered her to perform the degrading act. He roughly pushed her shoulder down and forced her to bend over slightly, bringing her face dangerously close to Matumbo’s erect penis. She recoiled in disgust, but he held her firmly in place.”

Sylvia hesitated, her lips trembling as she was about to plead for mercy. But before she could utter a word, a swift smack from the wooden rod landed on her buttocks. She screamed, bending over in pain, and Matumbo’s penis slapped against her cheek, drawing laughter from all three boys.

She had no choice. Trembling, she opened her mouth and took Matumbo’s penis in, the salty, pungent taste filling her mouth. She gagged, trying not to vomit, her body shuddering with each forced movement.

Gambe’s deep voice continued to give out orders, commanding Sylvia with a pointed finger. “Now, Mrs. Sylvia, please play with your nipples,” he demanded, his eyes fixated on her large breasts as they hung as she now was bending slightly to suck Matumbo’s penis.

Despite her reluctance and shame, Sylvia followed Gambe’s instructions and brought her hands up to cup her own breasts. The weight of them in her palms felt heavy and humiliating, reminding her of how exposed and vulnerable she was in this moment. She hesitantly began to pinch and tease her own nipples, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her. Meanwhile, Gambe and Marimba couldn’t deny the beauty of her perfectly shaped breasts - large and full, yet still so flawlessly formed. Standing next to this beautiful white woman, they couldn’t help but be transfixed by her body’s perfection.