Chapter 44: "She'll Sell You."

Thinking back at how they'd traveled from the main island to Atol proper, Pamela felt the salty wind tugging at her hair again, whipping it around her face. She'd gathered it, tying it into a blond bun. The sea was choppy, but that didn't impress the dark boy at the helm. Sinewy muscles played under his threadbare tank top shirt as he held the wheel with two fingers. The main island sank below the edge of the ocean, their destiny not yet in sight.

The entire world seemed immerged in water under an empty sky. Its expanse tugged at her heart, stretching it to encompass an ever-fleeing horizon. My God, she thought, hold me down or I'll fly away.

After landing on the airport of the main island, Angique informed them that it would be about an hour's trip to Atol in a fast boat. She'd already booked it, but she didn't go with them. Angique said she had business on the main island where they would rejoin her a few days later. A dark, handsome boy took the two of them and their luggage to the boat and to the tiny island. The scary hound never left the girl's side.

On the island the wooden beach house was the only building and they would be its only inhabitants. It stood in an outcropping of palm trees and shrubbery at its elevated center, where the house was built on a platform. It rested on high piles, driven into white sands that stretched in every direction until stopped by the sea. A foamy necklace of surf surrounded the island where the ocean collapsed on a ring of coral.

After delivering their baggage, the boy returned to his boat. The girl followed him. She touched his arm to make him stop; then she talked to him. He nodded after a nervous glance in Pam's direction. To her astonishment the girl knelt in front of him and fished his young cock from his khaki shorts. She studied it on the palms of her hands; then she took it in her mouth and sucked it to completion. After cleaning the cock with her tongue she put it back, zipping up his fly and rising to her feet to kiss him. She stood on tiptoes, her arms around his neck — bare tits pushing into his chest. When the boy roared the boat to life and left the island, she stood on the wet sands, waving, smiling.

"Why did you do that?" Pamela'd asked.

"Angique told me," she said, picking up her flip-flops and walking to the house.

The house's pantry was stacked with anything they might need. There also was gas, electricity and fresh water. Atol was the ultimate desert island — quiet and isolated. It quickly reduced Pam's big city stress, as did Alicia's sweet attentions. Within hours happiness was a commodity; within a day she couldn't imagine having arrived only the day before.

"How did you meet Angique?"

"Long story."

They floated on the clear water, their airbeds rocked gently by the wavelets.

"Tell me anyway?"

Silence.

"What about your graphic business?"

"Gone."

"Gone?"

"House too; car, everything."

Pamela gasped.

"You sold everything to be with ... to be... ?"

The girl lifted her face off the pink plastic; the sun's reflections played on her face. She looked at Pam, but her eyes weren't focused.

"Not important," she then said. She turned her head the other way, showing Pamela her backside.

"Sorry if I'm nosey," Pam resumed after a while. The girl turned her face back.

"Don't be sorry for me; no need," she said. Then she smiled. "Could I get you anything? Drink, food? Me?" She slid off her bed, bobbing in the water. Her black hair sparkled as she gathered it with her hands; her skin shone like polished wood. Pamela maneuvered so her face was close to the girl.

"Why won't you tell?" she asked. The brown eyes focused.

"No need," the girl said. "Angique gave me to you for pleasure, not for the story of my life — or what used to be my life." She turned and dragged the pink bed to the shore. The wet hair slithered down her back like a fat, black snake.

"So you must pleasure me?"

Lunch had been delicious. The girl had fixed a salade niçoise with home-baked focaccia, fresh fruit and chilled pinot gris. They sat on the platform, a huge white sail blotting out the sun. It flapped in the breeze, making the poles it was fixed to creak like the masts of an ancient ship. The girl sat at Pam's feet, caressing the dog; he panted from the heat. She looked up and nodded.

"You know I have to," she said.

"That sounds like a chore," Pamela remarked, chuckling.

"No chore," the girl answered. "No nothing. It is just what I do, who I am. It pleases me to please Angique — and this is her pleasure."

Pamela mused in silence, her hand on the girl's hair. Then a thought occurred to her.

"She is testing you," she said, sitting straight. "She uses me to test you!" The girl just shrugged.

"Oh my God!" Pamela exclaimed.

She was in bed, windows open. There were sounds of the surf and the nightly creatures — a soft breathing too of the girl on the floor beside the bed. Pamela had repeatedly begged Alicia to sleep with her on the bed, but she couldn't be seduced. Every night after making love, she'd slid off the bed, curled up on the thin mat and gone to sleep.

Pamela couldn't sleep. She'd slept like a log for two nights; the first one from sheer orgasm-induced exhaustion; the second night from spending all day in the sun and the sea ... and from sheer orgasm-induced exhaustion. Today had not been different, but her epiphany after lunch had distracted her. A test; the woman used her as a guinea pig to test the girl's loyalty. She ought to be enraged, but she wasn't — she was puzzled. Paying for two flights and visits to New York, including costly lunches and drinks; a private jet; a week on this island — all those expenses for just a test?

She also had a hard time believing the girl. Alicia herself had told her how she'd fallen for Pam when they first met — it had been a full-blown crush and not from a wide-eyed teenager either; Alicia had been in love with her. Why wouldn't she still be? Why suddenly give these robot-like responses: 'It pleases me when it pleases my Mistress?' Bull.

When she woke up next, she saw a pale yellow streak along the horizon. She'd obviously fallen asleep at last. The mat on the floor was empty. Like the days before, the girl must have quietly crept out to do her morning-chores. In about an hour she would wake Pamela with a kiss on her brow — sweet and soft. Then there would be fresh orange juice and a piece of pineapple; Greek yoghurt with strawberries and honey; toasted bread and jam and tea. And while she ate, the girl would kneel at her feet, massaging them — the insteps, the arches and up to the ankles and calves. She would smile and shake her head 'no' whenever Pam would want to share some of her breakfast. She'd already eaten, she'd say. Then she would bow her head and reach for Pam's feet, licking between her toes, sucking on them like baby-cocks.

A test? Pam had searched the house for camera's and microphones. Of course she'd found nothing.

She threw back the sheet and slid off the bed, wriggling her toes into her slippers. The morning air was chilly, so she donned her cotton robe before opening the louver doors that gave out on the terrace. The opening was just a slit; she tried to be as quiet as she could. The sun was up, giving the clear skies a pale pinkish hue. High winds rustled in the palm leaves. She heard seabirds cry — gulls, maybe. And then she saw it.

Close to the railing of the platform a huge dog's silhouette stood out against the sky. It was crouching, its body like a bow arching above a woman he held between his paws. She was fragile and naked, her skin pale against his dark gray pelt. She knelt on knees and elbows, her black hair shaking with the humping of the monster.

"Oh God," Pamela gasped, inadvertently pulling her robe tighter. The hound was fucking Alicia and it was the girl who gave off the birds' cries.

As she looked on, paralyzed by the shock, the humping got more frantic, until it suddenly stopped. Spasms ran through the dog's haunches as he spurted his essence into the girl. Then they lay silent, exhausted — joined in an excruciatingly tender embrace.

Pamela withdrew herself from the door's gap. She felt dizzy; her heart pounded against her ribcage.

"Honey, this tea is delicious. Thank you!"

All morning Pamela had tried to be her normal self around Alicia. The girl brought her breakfast as usual. Then they had gone swimming and just laying lazily in the sun until it got too hot. Everything had been like yesterday and yet everything was different. The girl had played with the dog just like before, but in the eyes of Pam all innocence had gone.

Now it was afternoon and they sat under the palm trees, in the shadow of the house, drinking freshly steeped mint tea. Ever since the shocking sight in the early morning, Pamela had studied the girl. It was hard not to see the humiliating images again and again. They threw up a wall between her and Alicia, causing disgust and irritation. Could she ever make love to this girl again, knowing... ? Could she ever kiss her plundered little pussy again?

There was also indignation. Pamela felt dissed by the girl, even if she was as attentive and sweet as ever. She felt as if Alicia secretly disregarded her; even mocked her with her virile, über-macho lover. She suspected being excluded and that hit her with a surprisingly intense jealousy. It also fed into long forgotten insecurities, irritating her no end.

"Thank you!" she repeated louder, leaning into Alicia. Again the girl ignored the 'thank you, ' just like she'd ignored every token of Pamela's gratitude since they'd arrived. It had confused her; now it offended her.

"I thanked you, Alicia. Did you hear?" she said once again, trying not to have an edge to her voice.

"No need," the girl at last said, smiling. It was a phrase she used entirely too often, Pam thought. She tried to fathom the girl's annoying indifference.

"Maybe there is no need," she said. "But you would please me if you appreciated my gratitude, honey." The girl looked up. A hint of confusion entered her gaze. Her hands rose and her fingers fidgeted with the piercing in her nipple. She often did that, Pam thought, when she seemed uncertain.

"Don't I please you?" the girl whispered, blushing. Pamela reached for her, cupping her shoulders.

"Oh, you do, honey!" she exclaimed. "You please me very much. But why can't we talk? Like friends? I thought we were friends?" The girl's eyes fell. She mumbled something. Then she looked up, pain in her eyes.

"This is so hard," she said. "You don't understand. I am not here for you; I am here to obey an order Angique gave me. I'm not sure, but being friends with you might lead to betrayal of her trust in me."

The words were like a bucket of iced water. In New York they had kissed and made tender love; they had laughed together, cuddled and hugged, sharing plans and ambitions. Had it meant nothing? Had she changed? Or had she been this ... this pleasure machine all along — sent by Angique? The sight of the girl being fucked by a dog flashed before her eyes again.

"So you are just a whore pleasing a customer?" Pamela asked, regretting the word as soon as it slipped out. But the girl didn't seem to care. She shrugged, making her deeply tanned titties dance.

"Names are not important," she said. "I'll be a slave soon. Slaves can be anything that pleases their owners. I can be a whore for Angique, or for anyone she points out to me; I can be a slut ... or a cook, a maid or a travel companion. I guess I can even play being a friend?"

Pamela just stared, feeling shocked. She felt as if the girl drifted away from her, disappearing into a separate world — a world devoid of feelings, where she and her would be complete strangers. To her surprise it hurt. She took the girl's chin in her hand, making her look into her eyes.

"So what are you to me, Alicia?" she asked, her voice soft. "What's left of us? Is there an 'us' at all?" The girl's lashes blinked.

"I am not Alicia," she said. The non-answer felt like a rebuke. It stung Pamela. She sank back in her rattan chair, pulling away her hand. How could this girl be so sweet and submissive and yet so arrogantly distant? An angry thought came up.

"I could tell Angique you failed to please me, when she comes back. Then what?" Rustling palm leaves emphasized the silence following her words. The girl's brown eyes stayed on Pam's; they didn't waver.

"Failing to please you would be failing her," she said. "I'd be punished."

The answer flooded Pamela's mind with flashes of violence — the riding crop she saw at the plane, hitting soft flesh. It left her shocked, yet shamefully curious.

"Punished? How?" she asked. The girl shrugged yet again.

"That is for her to decide." The utter fatalism touched Pamela like a cold finger. The dog again invaded her mind — and Alicia's eyes when she begged Pam to have her breasts flogged.

"You don't seem to fear punishment?" she asked. The girl shook her head no.

"Punishment is not important," she said, making a throwaway gesture. Then she looked up. There were no tears, but her eyes shone with moisture.