Chapter 2
“Did our odd Mr. Dawson screw you this time?” he asked.
“No. I think he’s just into voyeurism.”
“I don’t know how he holds back. I have to fuck your hot hole practically every day.”
“Yes, sir.” Being submissive for Mr. Worth made me hard even if we were just having a conversation.
Roly-poly Mr. Gentry, Mr. Worth’s partner, came bustling in with a beverage in hand. “Are you staying hydrated, young man?” he asked. “I worry about our hot blond bottom spending so much time in the sun. Now be good and drink up.” His behavior may have been effeminate, but all the times he’d gotten me alone, he’d proved himself to be a hard-pounding top. Just like Mr. Worth.
What Mr. Gentry gave me—cold water, nutrients, amino acids and yohimbe extract—had been designed by a scientist to allow the drinker to stay fit (though I still had to work out a little at the resort facilities). A side-effect of the yohimbe was perpetual, constant horniness. At least, that’s what they told me was causing it.
“Next up for you is Mr. Conkran again,” Mr. Worth said. “He’d like to do a rape scene.”
“A what? How?” I said.
Mr. Worth rose and handed me a trash grabber and a bag. “Just start cleaning the beach by the east lagoon. He’ll happen upon you. You tell him ‘no,’ but make sure he gets you anyway.”
“I don’t know about this. If I start saying no when I mean yes, then how will people understand when I really do mean no?”
Mr. Worth raised his eyebrows at me while kneading my rump. “But you won’t ever say no. Come on, Coulter, you can act. From what I’ve heard the one class you received an A in was Theater.”
“Yes, sir,” I said.
The island of Palmyra would have been beautiful if not for the litter. Even though it had been largely uninhabited until Mr. Worth and Mr. Gentry bought it, trash lay everywhere along the shore. I’d been picking up milk cartons, soda bottles, pieces of sun-bleached cardboard, and thick, sinuous ropes of seaweed for a while when Mr. Conkran approached from the mossy glade of coconut palms behind me. It was way too hot for typical BDSM gear, so the gigantic Mr. Conkran made do with studded leather gauntlets and tight black shorts. I could see his huge erection protruding from twenty feet away.
The entire resort gossiped over the intense plowing he’d given me a week ago in front of vacationers and staff alike as I lay passive on the main house’s pool table. Guests were told that sex in public areas is against the rules, but Mr. Worth had allowed Mr. Conkran to indulge himself. Everyone seemed to have loved watching. Now I have my legs put in the air in public all the time. It’s humiliating, but I’m always hard when it happens.
“You know,” Mr. Conkran said, his arms folded over his massive hairy chest, “there’s nothing to do on this island except fuck.”
I pretended to be nervous. “Oh, I-I’m sure there are plenty of other things. There’s the restaurant. There’s…there’s bird watching.”
“Seen one seagull, seen them all,” he said, waving dismissively at a large bird in the distance.
“I think that’s an albatross,” I said, deliberately bending over to pick up an empty carton instead of using the trash grabber.
When I turned around, I noticed how Mr. Conkran’s stare burned with lust. “Whatever. You’ll never get the beaches clean. You know why?”
“Why?”
“Because, naked ass boy, northern and southern currents cross here, and trash from all over the Pacific washes up. So you’ll never have a good beach to offer your guests. There aren’t any tennis courts, the pool is tiny, there’s no disco, and it’s always raining. All there is to do is fuck.”
I edged away from him while bending again to pick up some candy wrappers. “I’m sure someone has a deck of cards.”
He followed me. He reached over and grabbed my rear, shoving his index finger in deep. “And here’s the perfect ass for fucking! Smooth, round, and firm.”
I tried to push his hand away. “I’m not some piece of meat!” I struggled to free myself but he held tight. Now he captured my dick with his other hand.
“Mine for the fucking,” he said with a growl as he grabbed lengths of the ropy seaweed, all thicker than a garden hose. He dragged me back to the moss and forced me down on my back. He began tying my legs to two coconut palms. I pretended to fight for my freedom, realizing that if my attempt had been real, I still couldn’t escape from Mr. Conkran.