The Prey

The alarm stopped. She heard the scraping sound of the deadbolt on the other side of her bedroom door and the door opened. Dawn, dressed in a silky gold top over white pants, appeared in the doorway. “Up, up, up,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow you’d better be standing at attention when I open the door, not lolling about in bed. We have a schedule to keep. The new guests arrive today! Come on. Get up.”

Reluctantly, Mara climbed out of the bed and stood, wrapping her arms protectively around her torso.

“No, no, no!” Dawn stepped into the room, reaching Mara in a few strides. “Stop covering yourself. That body doesn’t belong to you, not anymore.” She slapped at Mara’s arms. “Arms behind your back, chest thrust out, feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t you know what at attention means, you stupid girl?”

Flustered, embarrassed and annoyed, Mara assumed the position, stiffening when Dawn tweaked her right nipple, gasping as she gave it a sharp twist. “Good nipples. Very responsive,” Dawn said. She gazed critically at Mara’s waxed mons. “No redness or irritation. Excellent.” Stepping back, she added, “Toilet, teeth. Calisthenics in ten minutes. The girls will show you where to go. Then shower and breakfast.” Dawn swept from the room, her gold, high-heeled sandals clicking against the stone tiles.

Her bladder urging her on, Mara left her bedroom and went down to the bathroom. Most of the other girls were already in there, some in front of the sinks, some on the toilets, no one speaking. Mara used the toilet, washed her face and brushed her teeth.

By the time she was done, the bathroom had emptied, other than Scarlett and herself. Scarlett, dressed in shorts, a tank top and sneakers, urged, “Come on. You don’t want to be late. Curtis doesn’t need much excuse to whip your ass.”

Disquieted by this threat, Mara hurried after Scarlett. They exited the building into an enclosed courtyard. The other girls stood in a semicircle in front of a man. In his early thirties, he had dark hair and eyes, and resembled Dan Wallace and DJ, though it wasn’t clear if he was another son or perhaps a cousin. He wore nylon shorts and a tight T-shirt over a body-builder’s frame, a whistle on a lanyard around his thick neck. He held a single-tail whip in his right hand against his thigh.

His eyes moved appraisingly up and down Mara’s naked body. “You, newbie,” he said in a gruff voice. “What’s your name?”

“Mara.”

“Mara,” he repeated. “I’m Curtis. Think of me as your drill sergeant and your personal trainer all in one ripped package.” He held up his arms like a weight lifter at a competition and flexed his bulging biceps. “Just one of the many perks we offer here on Pirate Island.” He chuckled. “For now just follow our routine. We’ll develop your personal training regime later in the week.” His eyes moved over the girls. “Okay, let’s warm up with jumping jacks. Go.” He blew the whistle.

The girls started jumping, arms and legs scissoring, faces blank. Unlike Mara, the rest of the girls were wearing clothes, though none wore bras beneath their thin T-shirts, and their breasts bounced and jiggled as they moved.

Mara stood frozen for several seconds until the man’s gaze rested heavily on her. “What are you standing there for?” Curtis barked. “Get your ass in gear or I’ll give you twenty.” He lifted the whip, flicking his wrist so it whistled threateningly in the air.

Mara, feeling ridiculous in her nudity, began to do jumping jacks, an exercise she’d always hated and hadn’t done since gym class in high school. The ground was hard beneath her bare feet and she envied the other girls their sneakers.

After an interminable time, the coach blew his whistle, and the girls stopped their frenetic jumping. Next came pushups, sit-ups and a quick run around the perimeter of the courtyard as the sun rose higher into the sky.

Finally, panting and sweaty, Mara followed the others back inside. She had to wait her turn at the showers and, though she would have loved to stand under the hot spray for hours—forever—she didn’t dare.

“Don’t worry about fixing yourself up,” the girl who had been introduced as Whitney said as Mara looked in the toiletry packet she’d received the night before for a hairbrush. “We’ll be dressed, made up and styled for the presentation.”

“She won’t,” Esmé said as she slipped into a clingy Spandex dress. Standing beside Mara at the mirror, she said to Mara’s reflection, “You’ll only be watching today. Well, not just watching…” A flash of sympathy moved over the girl’s face, the sentence left incomplete.

Mara, whose heart had kicked up an unpleasant notch, demanded, “What? What do you mean not just watching? What else is going to happen?”

“Don’t scare her.” Mara turned to a new voice, recognizing the girl named Raeanne. “I’m sure she’s plenty scared all on her own, without y’all making her nervous in advance.” They all nodded, turning away from her.