Pleasure Island—Ch. 10
Kristen was looking for a way to get seriously drunk. Not that she would admit it to herself.
Of course, there were problems with this plan. After all, it didn’t solve anything. It usually caused problems in fact, and most definitely would not make her situation better here. After all, getting drunk involves drinking, and drinking was definitely not on the list of safe activities on this island.
Not if you didn’t want to end up a sex slave.
Kristen had watched the girl in the briefing room. The girl had just stood up, walked over to the drink coolers, and drank, accepting the fate planned for her.
Kristen could not imagine having the strength to do that.
A lot of people wouldn’t see it that way, but Kristen was sure it was strength. Strength to stand up, strength to accept that it was inevitable, strength to face the crowd.
Kristen could never have faced the crowd.
As for facing the inevitable... She would accept it, when she had to. She always accepted what she couldn’t change, and she saw no way she could change this.
But for now, she wanted to forget what she had heard and seen in the briefing.
Kristen had left the briefing room soon after the girls who drank did. There had been arguments going on about how to get off the island. Some of the ideas were good, some were plainly preposterous. Kristen didn’t want to get into the arguments; she was sure all their ideas had been thought of anyway.
That, and her natural disinclination for crowds.
That had actually been part of why she applied for this job on the island: to get away from the crowds. She was going to college next year, and she wanted a job that wasn’t in front of people all the time. McDonalds was fine, but it exhausted Kristen to face all those people all the time.
So, there was this job. An exclusive resort, just starting, in the middle of the Caribbean. That meant there would be few clients (after all, no-one would know about it yet), and she could stay in the semi-background.
She could come, help, get to know a few of her fellow workers, maybe make a few friends, and at the same time make some good money. All in a place where most would only dream of going. Not a bad deal at all. Maybe she could even turn it into a full-time career, after she got out of college. Doing what, she wasn’t sure, but there had to be something.
Now it looked like she would stay longer than she had expected. But Kristen didn’t want to think about that.
She had not gone back for her bag. She was looking for a place to just enjoy the island, the surroundings. A place to forget.
Basically she was wandering the halls.
One door looked inviting. It was open, the doors propped that way with the appearance of this being their intended state. Inside it was dark, or at least dim, with several comfy chairs visible.
It looked like a good place to rest her feet.
There were simple, round chairs, but were upholstered in deep, soft, leather. Very comfortable. Kristen found a seat off to the side, and ignored the stage and pole in the center of the room.
She took off her shoes, put her feet up, and closed her eyes. This was definitely comfortable. A place to relax. She couldn’t quite fall asleep in the chairs, but it was close.
What was she to do? Escape felt impossible, capture, inevitable. She didn’t want to face that.
She also didn’t want to face the fact that capture felt enticing.
Kristen did wonder what it would feel like. Would she know it was happening? Would it hurt? The girl in the briefing room had seemed to like it, but maybe she was being made to fake it?
Would she like what she became?
The idea of being sexy, a center of attention, did draw her. Always had. She saw the girls who had all the boys wrapped around their fingers. It looked fun.
Not that she couldn’t do that if she wanted to. She knew for a fact that she was just as good looking as they were. She just didn’t know how to handle the attention, so she avoided it, wearing large, baggy clothes where they wore small, sometimes tight clothes.
It was enough so she didn’t get the attention. Yet, Kristen envied those who could keep and hold that attention, walked in it every day. Who could use it like she never could.
Kristen had tried it, once or twice, at a school function, or a dance. The instant attention was fun, but she couldn’t then get rid of it, or get rid of those who thought they had a claim because of it...
It had never taken more than a single event for her to go back into hiding.
Kristen opened her eyes, and looked at the stage she had avoided thinking about. There she could be the center of attention. There she would never have to worry about what she wanted. There she wouldn’t have to hide. Would not want to.
Is that who she wanted to be?
Did she have a choice?
Kristen got up to look at the stage. It was made of dark wood, polished to a mirror surface interrupted only by the occasional barely evident plastic dot, which shone light upward to match the lights from the ceiling. The pole appeared to be silver, not steel. It was beautiful, entrancing.
She couldn’t look at it.
She turned her head to look for something, anything, else to look at in this sea of chairs and tables.
The only other thing in the room was a bar.
Kristen walked over to see what they had. Out of curiosity.
She had gotten drunk once or twice. Never saw the appeal, really. Throwing up and headaches just weren’t her thing. About the only thing she liked about it was the excuse to not think about her actions, and to not have to remember it all in the morning.
Right now she didn’t want to think about what she was doing.
She poured herself a shot of the strongest stuff she could find, then walked back to the stage. She adamantly was not thinking about what she was doing.
She looked up at the stage, said “Bottoms up,” and threw back the drink. It stung going down, but she could feel the familiar alcohol buzz hit immediately.
No turning back now.
Kristen waited for the nanobots to do their work. Waited for some sign that they were doing something; a new idea in her head, a compulsion, anything.
She found nothing.
“Maybe if I go on stage first...” She was murmuring to herself, but she found the steps and walked onto the stage.
The edge lit with lights, and the mirror finish seemed to glow from a thousand pinpricks. Looking down, her tennis shoes were definitely out of place.
Kristen sat down, removing her shoes and socks, and leaving them off the edge of the stage.
God, the stage felt good under her feet.
She walked up to the stage’s centerpiece, feeling its smooth skin. Definitely real silver. She ran her hand up it, savoring the feel of it through her fingers.
Leaving her hand on it, she turned to face the room, leaning her back against the silver, letting herself slide down it as she looked over the room.
Kristen felt that she had been in too many empty rooms. This was just one more.
But people would come, wouldn’t they? They would come to the island. Then she knew this room wouldn’t be empty. None of the rooms would.
Kristen slid back up the pole, then stepped away, keeping her right hand still on it.
This whole room would be filled. Everywhere, every seat. She walked in a circle, examining the room, fingertips anchoring the center to the feel of silver.
What would that be like? To have everyone looking at her? Staring at her? Kristen could almost imagine it.
She looked down at herself, seeing only billows of cloth. What would they be seeing? She wanted to know.
She took off her sweatshirt, throwing it to the far corner of the room.
Kristen leaned into the pole, looking down at her reflection in the glowing floor, brown hair falling over her shoulders. She knew she was worth looking at.
Funny, her hair had never fallen in her face before.
Her jeans hid her legs. Still leaning on her support, she loosened the waist and lowered them, working them over her hips before letting them fall, and kicking them away.
She sat to examine her legs, still holding the pole.
They were beautiful, strong and firm. Her last shave had lasted longer than she thought: they were still smooth.
The silver against her front felt good. She slid back to standing, feeling the silver run between her breasts, down her stomach, across places she didn’t mention.
God, what if someone was watching?
She turned, back to the pole like it was a wall, hoping for a still empty room.
Her bra clasp was digging in her back, pressed against the silver. Kristen undid it without moving the rest of her body; just her hands behind her back.
That felt better. She ran the sore spot against the cool metal.
The minimizing bra was even less comfortable unclasped. Kristen took it off, still rubbing her back on the pole.
Kristen had always worn a bra, ever since she had started filling in. Some girls were proud of large breasts, but Kristen’s had always just brought attention she couldn’t handle. She wore a bra to hide them. Now, with nothing to hide, she felt free.
She closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of metal at her back, and wind at her front. It felt so good, so right.
Kristen remembered the nights she had dreamed of being something she wasn’t, something she couldn’t be. Something wanton, uninhibited.
As always in these dreams her hands slipped under her panties, fingers working across an already slick clit.
The pole at her back synchronized its up and down movement with that of her fingers, and one hand came to work her freed breasts.
The panties were getting in the way. She removed them.
Eyes sill closed, she turned to feel the pole at her front, and quickly found it a far better toy then her fingers down below.
In her dreams it had never felt like this.
For an endless moment, she stood there, working herself off on the silver metal, lights shining off her body, eyes closed to the world. Her legs wrapped around the pole as she held it ever tighter to herself.
It took her by surprise, when she finally came, bucking the pole between her legs and breasts, hanging on as if her life depended on it.
She heard clapping.
Kristen opened her eyes, in muted shock at what she had just done, looking over the lights for the source of the sound.
There, sitting at a table in the second row, was the woman from the briefing room. The one who had drunk.
“Not bad, Kristen. Not bad at all. A little sparse, and it was over all to quick, but not bad for a first attempt.” The woman said, stopping her clapping.
“But I... I didn’t mean too...” Kristen protested, not sure what she was trying to say.
“No one forced you, did they? You walked up there on your own. And you enjoyed it too.”
“The nanobots...” Kristen started.
The other women cut her off. “Yes, of course the nanobots helped. They made sure you would do what you wanted, planted a few ideas. But the idea was yours, your dream, wasn’t it?” She was approaching Kristen now, or was Kristen approaching her? Kristen couldn’t tell.
“But I would never...”
“Not on your own. True. But you liked it. Didn’t you?” The woman’s eyes left Kristen’s face, and went to a lower part of Kristen’s anatomy. One that was still dripping how much it had liked it.
Kristen was amazed she didn’t blush. “Yes, but...”
“Admit it. You liked it.”
“I liked it.”
“It was better then you dreamed.”
“It was better than I dreamed.”
“How would you like to do it again, this time with an audience?”
“I...” She hesitated only a moment, listening to her body and mind. She’d like that very much.
“I could dream of nothing better,” Kristen breathed, accepting her new inevitability.
The woman in leather smiled at the naked Kristen. “Good. Then, why don’t you give me a lap dance?”
Kristen smiled. “I’d love to.”