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Hell Week at Slut Island by Wayne Mitchell

EXTRACT FOR
Hell Week at Slut Island 
(Wayne Mitchell)


Hell Week at Slut Island

HELL WEEK AT SLUT ISLAND

 

Wayne Mitchell

 

Chapter One

The First Test

 

Rheana Robinson and Devona Parks stood with a small group of other women and two rather effeminate men on a long pier at the end of Grinnell Street in Key West, Florida. They had been close friends in high school and roommates in college. After college, they continued to share an apartment for a year or two until Rheana started moving up the ladder of success and moved away to become a high-level manager in a women’s apparel company. Devona, meanwhile, was not quite so successful. In fact, she still had the same job that she held part-time during college. The only difference was that she was now full-time.

Through the years, Devona and Rheana drifted further and further apart. Then, about a month or so ago, Devona, out of desperation, reached out to Rheana. In a tear-filled hours-long telephone conversation, Devona told the only true friend she ever had that she was at the end of her rope. Her life sucked and she really needed to change it... but didn’t know how.

After eventually calming Devona down, Rheana asked her if she would be willing to go on an adventure of a lifetime that would help her find her true self. After some back and forth, Devona admitted that she couldn’t possibly go because she was basically broke and even in danger of losing her apartment. Rheana said, “Then it is a good thing you have a rich friend... a very rich friend.”

Devona agreed to the adventure as long as Rheana was paying. Rheana sent Devona airline tickets to Miami. They met there for several days of catching up with each other’s lives. Then they rode in a tour limo down Highway One to Key West and their final destination at the pier near the end of Grinnell Street.

This particular pier was normally reserved for the tour boat that took people out to Fort Jefferson on the Dry Tortugas. But about four times a year– always on a Sunday– a large party-boat-style catamaran would dock shortly after the tour boat had left for the day.

For reasons that would soon become apparent to Rheana and Devona, when S.I.Mujeres appeared in the harbor blowing its whistle-horn, word spread rapidly among the more permanent residents of the Key. By the time the first of the women had arrived at the end of the pier, there were already people sitting in their boats nearby, or on adjacent docks, or even on the outside deck of the Conch Republic Restaurant, waiting for the show to begin. Another thing the women on the pier didn’t yet realize was that they would be the show.

The S.I.Mujeres blew another long blast on its high-pitched, almost musical horn, and then used its on-board diesels to turn in a tight circle in the open area next to the dock so that it was pointed bows-out toward the sea beyond the wall which encircled the wharf area. That whistle-horn, and the name of the boat it announced, was very familiar to many on the piers and in the shops surrounding the main docks. Some thought S.I.Mujeres was a person’s name. Others, who did not notice the period after the first S, thought it was Si Mujeres– “Yes, Women,” in Spanish. But members of The Mansion Club and others in the know translated it correctly as “Slut Island Women.”

A dark-skinned man dressed in black pants and a white shirt with fancy epaulets on the shoulders stepped up onto the pier as other members of the crew made fast the mooring lines at the bow and stern. He stood in front of the small crowd of women and clapped his hands sharply twice. “Please form three columns behind these three sluts,” he said firmly as he pointed to Rheana, Devona, and one other woman and then positioned them in front of himself.

“First,” he said in a more normal voice, “is there anyone among you...” He paused as he very deliberately pointed at each one of them and mumbled softly to himself. “Is there anyone among you fifteen who did not arrive here today to be taken out to the Slot Islands for a week of... experiential self-exploration?”

None of the women or men in the lines responded.

He looked up and down the rows carefully examining each of them. “OK, then,” he said gruffly, “now that I am sure I am not going to offend any tourists who accidentally got into line with you, how many of you are here to be taken out to Slut Island for Hell Week so you can be sure in your own minds– or possibly your Master’s mind– that you are truly a slut... or perhaps a submissive slut... or even a submissive pain slut?”

The group looked back at him unsure of how to answer. A few mumbled “Yes;” a few half-heartedly raised their hands; and one or two stood rigidly at attention.

“Well,” he said, looking down slightly at the dock and shaking his head, “it looks as if I should have given you some additional instruction before I asked that question.”

He smiled broadly at them. His pearly white teeth contrasted highly against his dark, sea-tanned skin. “But that was a test,” he said, still smiling. “If any of you had very forcefully yelled out ‘Yes!’ to that question, I... and my associates,” pointing to two crewmen holding clipboards... “would have immediately struck you off the submissive list... and possibly even the slut list.”

He positioned himself so that he was now standing directly in front of Devona. Scanning the group as he spoke, he said loudly, “I will ask you that question again, but I do not want you to raise your hand or say ‘yes’ or even come to a slave’s attention position as a few of you did. If your answer to that question is ‘Yes,’ I want you to remove all of your clothing and fold it into a neat pile at your feet. Then I want you to stand there awaiting further instructions. If you understand that, say ‘Yes, Cap’n Pete.’”

He then held his hand behind one ear as if straining to hear their response. A ragged chorus of “Yes, Cap’n Pete”– or something close to that– echoed through the harbor.

“OK,” he said sharply, again clapping his hands together, “I guess I again need some additional explanation before I ask the question. My name is Peter James. I am Captain of the S.I.Mujeres. You can call me Cap’n Pete... or you can call me Cap’n... but DO NOT call me Pete or Mister James or CapTAIN anything. That will get you deee-merits. Your week at Slut Island will be scored with merit points and demerit points. If you reach certain levels of merit, you will be rewarded. If you fall below certain levels, you will be punished.” His voice did not change at all in volume or pace, but somehow became much more harsh as he said, “That is the way it is. That is the way this week shall be.”

He then folded his arms in front of his chest and looked at each slut individually. Most of the sluts were starting to fidget and shift nervously by the time he finally said loudly, “So now, sluts, remembering how I told you to answer this question, how many of you are here to be taken out to Slut Island for Hell Week?”

Devona turned to Rheana and said in a trembling voice, “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“You said you needed to make a change in your life,” Rheana replied in a chiding voice. “This is effectively your idea.”

“But I will be naked outside,” Devona whined. “I don’t think I can do that.”

Rheana’s answer was a laugh as she pulled her blouse up over her head. “You, who always changed in the parking lot at the beach? You, who had sex out on our balcony with three different boyfriends and twice in the park with one of them? You, who would strip down completely under a blanket at the televised football games and then let it drop when you were up on the Jumbotron? You– that you– is afraid to take your clothes off in public?”

“But there are people with cameras.” Devona whined back.

“Honey,” Rheana replied with a laugh, “if I did a facial recognition search for you on the internet, I might not find you. But if I did that same search using your twat, I would have at least five hundred pictures of you with your legs spread for the camera.”

“I guess I’m just scared,” Devona said, dropping her shoulders.

Before Rheana could reply, a woman’s voice suddenly screamed out, “I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

They both turned toward the voice and saw a woman jogging slowly back up the dock sobbing. She was barefoot and had already removed her blouse so she was running just in shorts and a sports bra of some sort. “I thought I really was a slut. I really did,” she said between sobs. “But I can’t do this. I’m not that much of a slut.”

“She probably is,” Devona said almost angrily. “She just isn’t willing to admit it.”

With that, she rapidly pulled her blouse over her head and reached back to release her bra. In a few minutes, all of her clothing was neatly piled in front of her on the dock. The two crewmen who had been standing around with the clipboards now walked among the lines of naked sluts.

“You are?” one said, pointing to Devona, and she answered, “Devona Parks.”

He slid her clothing into a clear plastic bag and put a sticker on it which said, “Slut Devona Parks.” He then dropped the bag into a small, two-wheeled cart which he was pulling along behind him.

After everyone’s clothing had been collected, Cap’n Pete again stood before them and said loudly, “That was major test one. We– and you– now know that you really want to come out to Slut Island.”

He smiled broadly and clasped his hands together as if cracking his knuckles before saying, “The next test is brought to you by The Mansion Club’s legal department. As you board the Mujeres you will stand in front of a video camera and you will say, ‘My name is... whatever. I am here of my own free will. I desire to participate in what is called Hell Week on Slut Island so I may find out if I am truly a slut. If at any time during this week, I no longer wish to participate in Hell Week, all I need do is say ‘Tuls, Tuls, Tuls’ and I will immediately be removed from the program and returned to the mainland on the first convenient transportation.’”

He laughed. “I know that is kind of long to remember, but don’t worry. There is a big sign behind the camera with all of the words... except your name. That is just a blank line, but since the sentence starts ‘My name is’ I think you will know what to put in the blank.”

He gave a quick smile and added, “And if you think you won’t remember ‘Tuls Tuls Tuls’ later, it is just slut backwards said three times.” He paused to look quickly over the rows of sluts. “And if something is happening that you can’t do or is past your limits, the same words, ‘Tuls, Tuls, Tuls,’ will stop everything so we can renegotiate your limits.

He paused again, this time slightly longer, and then said loudly, “Is that understood?”

There was a moment of silence until he put his hand behind his ear. Then everyone thundered back, more or less in unison, “Yes, Cap’n Pete.”

One of the crewmen directed the sluts to board the Mujeres. The woman to Devona’s left was first. Her name was Tiffany Brooks. She was a very small woman who probably had to shop in the petite section or even in the children’s clothes area. She had very light brown hair above and nothing below. Her small tits bobbed and trembled slightly as she went through the legal disclaimer.

Devona was next. After she stood in front of the camera and made her little speech, she was directed to stand along the port side of the boat. From there she could see the remaining sluts in line on the dock. She found herself checking out the hair between their legs. More than half of them were totally hairless down there. For all the rest, the carpeting matched the drapes.

She looked down at her own mismatch. She was very sensitive about the color of her pubic hair, but shaving resulted in scrapes, burns, stubble bumps, and ingrown hairs. It wasn’t the hair, itself, that caused her discomfort. It was the color. It didn’t match the hair on her head and just didn’t seem to belong with the color of her skin.

Devona’s mother was very dark-complexed... as in Mediterranean, olive-hued dark. Her father was Danish-Nordic pale with reddish brown hair and a very bright, very red beard. Devona had her mother’s skin and her father’s hair... only a little darker. The hair on her head was a deep, wavy brown which perfectly framed her face. The hair that covered her sex, however, was a dark, orangish, red. When they were roommates in college, Rheana often teased her about it, saying, “You need to hook up soon, your twat is on fire again.”

Surprisingly, that seemed to be almost true. Back then, Devona often ran around the apartment naked, and when she was really horny, it looked like her pubic hair became a brighter red. She was sure that was just because it became more moist, but it wasn’t something she could ask her doctor about or easily look up on the internet.

Rheana, who now stood next to her, was part of the half who were bare where it counts. There were no shaver burns or stubble marks on her, however, because she did not shave down there. In fact, she didn’t shave anywhere. Instead, while still in college, she had undergone hours and hours of laser treatments so that everything below her neck was completely hairless. The laser treatments are more difficult for a natural blond like her, and it takes more of them, but it was worth every penny her father paid for it. She could wear the smallest bikini and be sure that nothing would show that she didn’t want to display.

She had even tried bleaching her butt hole for a while, but one of their college roommates told her that she really didn’t need it. In fact, the roomy said that if she kept that up, she would start glowing in the dark. Rheana didn’t believe her until Devona convinced her to pose for a full moon photograph. She lay back on the bed and grabbed behind her knees to pull her legs fully up and cause her ass cheeks to separate.

It was obvious from the photo that further bleaching was not needed. Her moon was barely darker than the rest of the skin on her legs and ass. Devona posted the image on line with the tag “To Bleach or Not To Bleach?” That post resulted in hundreds of reply posts showing full moons from very pale to definitely in need of some bleach. It also resulted in Rheana having to wear “light day pads” for a couple of weeks because she was constantly wet between the legs from thinking about all of the people who were staring at her asshole and twat. It was then that she first realized that she was a slut.

“Alright sluts,” a voice cried out, “it’s time to get settled in for your voyage to Slut Island!”

Cap’n Pete was now standing at the front of the deck area. On most boats, you would say bow, but the catamaran actually had two bows with a large, perfectly square deck above and between them. There were six rows of strange T-shaped objects attached to the deck with three Ts in each row.

“I want you sluts to get into the same positions you were in while standing on the dock,” Cap’n Pete yelled out and all of the sluts moved hurriedly to where he was standing and stood behind the T that corresponded to their position on the dock. The back row of Ts remained empty and there was one empty T in the third row. That was evidently where the almost slut stood who didn’t want to strip down in public.

“These are very interesting devices,” Cap’n Pete said as he patted Devona’s T. You will notice that there are handles on the end of the top bar. Those are for you to hold on to on our way to Slut Island. Since that can be a five or six hour trip and it might be bouncy, you will need help to keep hold of the handles.”

As he spoke, several crewmen walked between the Ts wrapping the sluts hands firmly in place with leather thongs. After all of the sluts were secured, Cap’n Pete continued. “Key West doesn’t care if you are naked, but the Coast Guard does care whether or not we obey their rules, so let me explain how this works.”

Lifting up on Rheana’s T, he continued, “This stand slides very easily out of the deck. If it goes into the water, a flotation device will auto-inflate. He lifted the T high in the air, stretching Rheana’s arms high enough in the air to force her onto her tiptoes. “I don’t think you can accidentally pull this out of the deck while we are in route, but if something happens to the S.I.Mujeres you take this with you and float with it until rescue arrives.”

He paused and looked intently at each slut before barking out, “Is that understood?”

The “Yes, Cap’n Pete,” was loud and very nearly in unison.

A crewman ran up to him and handed him an officer’s hat which he forced down on his bush of black, curly hair. “OK, sluts,” he said loudly, “let’s make it look good for the tourists.”

He then ordered smartly, “Cast off all lines. Quarter forward.”

The shrill whistle-horn blew and the S.I.Mujeres jostled slightly as it moved forward and rounded the end of the dock. It continued moving slowly toward the opening which led from the sheltered harbor area into the Gulf. The sea was relatively calm, and the fourteen sluts stood tall and proud behind their Ts. They all looked at the crowds and smiled as they floated past.

“That wasn’t too bad,” Devona said, sort of quietly, to Rheana.

Rheana, who had been out on the open water in a small boat before replied, “We aren’t there yet.”

A few minutes later Devona found out what Rheana meant. With the sail fully up and both auxiliary diesels running wide open, the splash and spray from the bows, which stuck out several feet in front of the deck, was crashing continuously over the large square deck and drenching the fourteen sluts bound to the T posts.

Once or twice, one of the sluts lost her– or his– footing and fell to the deck. In one case they would have most likely been swept off the deck and into the sea had they not been firmly bound to the T handles. Deck hands rushed up to them and got them back up on their feet, but then left them on their own to again fight the bounce and splash.

After about three hours, the sluts could see a small island coming closer. “We’re almost there,” one of the sluts in the middle rows shouted out.

“That’s Fort Jefferson,” Tiffany shouted back. “I’ve been there. It’s on the Dry Tortugas. We’re only a little over half way.”

There was a collective groan from most of the sluts. Then Rheana said softly to Devona, “Perk up. We’re getting in range of cameras from the shore.”

At first, Devona just stared daggers at her friend, but then she saw that they were, in fact, getting closer to Fort Jefferson and there were several tourists standing atop the red brick walls pointing cameras in their direction. She immediately stood up straight and pulled her shoulders fully back, lifting her breasts to their best display position. Other sluts noticed and soon all but two or three of the sluts were once again standing tall and proud as they passed close to the walls of the fort.

As they moved out into the open sea, Devona relaxed and let her body return to a more natural pose. As she did so, she noticed that the two crewmen who seemed to always have a clipboard in their hands, were busy scribbling on something.

“What do you think they’re writing?” she asked Rheana

“Who?” Rheana responded and Devona nodded toward the two crewmen who were now walking around the front of the sluts.

“They keep writing on their clipboards,” Devona whispered.

Rheana laughed lightly and said, “They are probably watching to see if we really act like sluts.”

“What do you mean?” Devona replied and Rheana immediately said, “Boat coming up alongside us.”

Devona instantly moved so she was square to the T and pulled back her shoulders so she was standing tall and proud with her nipples pointed slightly toward the sky.

“That!” Rheana said with a laugh.

Devona just gave her an angry stare until Rheana also squared to the T and pulled back her shoulders. “I guess we’re sister sluts,” she said with a grin.

Devona returned her smile and said, “There really is a boat catching up to us. I can hear the radio when the captain talks with them. They will be passing by in a couple of minutes.

“Which side will they be on?” Rheana asked quickly.

“Starboard...” Devona replied, “... whatever that means.”

Rheana looked around as if she were unsure and then took a deep breath and called out loudly. “Boat approaching the stern on the starboard side.”

Several of the sluts straightened up and started looking around for the boat.

“For those of you who don’t sail regularly,” Rheana continued, “that means it’s behind us on our right side.”

Eleven of the thirteen sluts stiffened their bodies, pulled back their shoulders, and turned a smiling face to the right. Two of the sluts remained hunched over looking miserable as the large supply boat passed the catamaran on its starboard side. The two crewmen again scribbled hurriedly on their clipboards.

Three more boats passed them during the second half of the voyage. Devona was starting to get very tired, and Rheana, at one point, slid down against the post of her T-frame and sat there on the deck with her legs splayed around the post and her hands held above her head. A crewman immediately came over and asked her if she was OK or if she needed medical attention. She told them she was just tired and needed to rest her legs to keep them from cramping. The crewman gave her four minutes, which he timed on a watch which was hanging around his neck. When the allotted time was complete, he and another crewmember helped Rheana to her feet.

After he was sure Rheana was OK, the crewman stepped aside and Cap’n Pete once again stood before them. “Slut Island Women,” he said loudly, “this cruise has been a series of tests for each of you. How you have handled those tests is recorded in your file.”

He then straightened himself up to his full height and continued, “What comes next reflects not only on you individually, but also on all of the sluts of Hell Week.” He coughed and said, “It also, I might add, reflects on the S.I.Mujeres, its crew, and me, its captain.” After a short pause he finished with, “We are going to circle all four of the Slot Islands before coming back around and going into the protected harbor under island number thee.” He clapped his hands together and ground his palms against each other as he shouted out, “So let’s show them how a bunch of true sluts comes into Slut Island harbor!”

As he turned to leave, all of the sluts came to full attention with their faces– and their smiles– pointed toward the strange structures which seemed to rise out of the sea. They remained at attention until the S.I.Mujeres sailed beneath island number three.

There was a large open area with a floating dock sticking out slightly into the open water. The catamaran turned inside the protected area and then very slowly nudged its way out until it was at the very tip of the long dock. The back half of the boat was in shadow, but the front– and the sluts– were in the bright sun. Crewmen threw lines fore and aft to workers on the dock who lashed them to docking cleats and pulled them tight. Once they were docked, the captain’s voice came over the ship’s speakers, “Sluts, you may relax.”