The Prey

“Wash your hair and body. No dawdling,” Dawn snapped. She stared hard at Mara until Mara reached for the shampoo bottle, squeezed some onto her palm and began to wash her hair.

Dawn stood by a counter next to the massage table, stirring something in a small pot over a heating element. “Here’s the situation, darling. Pirate Island caters to extremely wealthy men and the occasional woman who like to buy decadent, dark thrills. As far as our guests know, you girls are here voluntarily, and in fact, that does end up being the case more often than you’d think. Our girls are highly-trained sex workers—think high-class New York call girl, the kind that commands a few thousand a night. Here on Pirate Island anything goes. Absolutely anything, short of permanently damaging the goods.”

She gave a small laugh, adding, “What happens on Pirate Island, stays on Pirate Island, and most of these guys have way too much to lose if they breathe a word of what goes on here, even if they wanted to. Dan Wallace makes sure of that.”

She looked from what she was doing to Mara. “Finish up in there. Dry off and lie down on your back on the table.” When Mara didn’t immediately react, Dawn’s tone sharpened. “Speed it up, darling. I don’t want to have to punish you on your first day.” She picked up a long, thin cane from the counter and whipped it menacingly in the air.

More frightened than ever, Mara quickly rinsed her hair and stood, reaching for a nearby towel. Eying the evil-looking cane, Mara contemplated the possibility of physically overpowering Dawn. Mara was younger and probably stronger, and certainly more desperate. But Ronaldo waited down the hall, and Mara would never make it past him. Leadenly she made her way to the massage table and forced herself to lie down.

“You ever have a Brazilian wax?” Dawn asked as she began to snip Mara’s pubic hair with barber scissors.

Mara shuddered at the touch of the cold metal moving against her skin. She fantasized about grabbing the scissors and stabbing the woman, but instead just lay there, shaking.

“I asked you a question,” Dawn snapped.

“No,” Mara replied, her muscles rigid with fearful anticipation.

“That’s no, ma’am, young lady. Where are your manners?”

“No, ma’am,” Mara forced herself to reply.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat it. This is going to hurt like hell.” Dawn lifted a liquor bottle from the counter, poured some into a glass and held it out to Mara. Here, have some cognac. It’ll take the edge off.”

Mara lifted herself on her elbows and accepted the brandy. She sipped, coughed a little, and sipped some more. Her empty stomach twisted, growling audibly as the brandy entered her system. She took another sip and then gulped the strong, sweet liquor.

Dawn apparently heard her empty belly, too. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

“This morning.” Mara thought of the cookies and soda on the plane, and how happy and excited she’d been as she was flown toward the island.

“You must be hungry.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dawn took the empty glass from her. “Good. Hunger is an effective motivator. Good girls get fed. Bad girls don’t.” She pressed Mara’s shoulder to indicate she should lie back down. Mara, lightheaded from the alcohol, complied.

“Knees up, feet flat on the table, legs spread wide,” Dawn instructed. Not daring to refuse, Mara obeyed, her face hot with embarrassment as she exposed herself in this way.

Dawn brushed warm, melted wax over Mara’s skin where her thigh met her groin and then pressed a soft strip of cloth over it with strong, sure fingers. Then—

“Ouch!” Mara cried as the cloth was ripped away.

“It gets worse,” Dawn said, “so be prepared. If you stay still and behave, I won’t cane you. If you can keep from screaming, I’ll give you more brandy, and maybe something to eat. I’ll be all done in about ten minutes, so just close your eyes and take it, if you know what’s good for you. This is advice you’ll want to heed at all times while on this island.”

Another warm stroke of wax was applied, this time to her other thigh, followed by Dawn’s fingers pressing and holding the cotton strip in place, and then another stinging rip of pain. More prepared this time, Mara managed to stifle her cry into a gasp. As the strips were yanked from her pubic area, Mara couldn’t stop the yelps of pain. She had no idea there were so many nerve endings over her pubic bone, and every single one of them was screaming.

When the wax was spread and then ripped from her vulva, she began to cry, the pain too much to handle, any buzz from the brandy burned away in her agony.

When the waxing ordeal was finally over, Dawn placed a warm, damp cloth over Mara’s reddened, tender mons. “There,” she announced. “It’s done, and you were a very good girl, overall. If it’s any consolation, the first time hurts the worst, because you’re pulling out the hairs by their root bulbs. Next time will be easier, and the time after that easier still. Meanwhile”—she lifted the brandy bottle and poured another finger of liquor into it—“I’m feeling generous, so you can have another drink. Once I put on the salve, I’ll get you an energy bar.”