This work is copyright 2000-2006 by Xaltatun of Acheron (A Pseudonym). It may be posted on the Internet to any free forum. It may be reformatted to match the forum's look and feel, and the forum editor may make minor spelling and grammer corrections. Otherwise it must be posted in its entirety, including these notices. It may not be sold, or included in any compilation that is sold, or posted on any forum that requires a fee for access, without my written permission. My permission will require payment, terms to be negotiated. For purposes of this notice, sites guarded by Adult Check or similar packages are considered pay sites. Posting on any site must include this copyright notice.
Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.
Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I'm not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren't. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Don't make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.
Now on to the story...
Chapter 2. They Arrive and are Greeted.
Chapter 3. Thump. Thump. Thump.
The ocean-going yacht cut through the gently rolling waves, throwing up a healthy wake that slowly spread behind it. A pod of dolphins had joined it a few minutes earlier, and were enjoying themselves surfing the bow wave.
Two men and a woman stood in the bow, watching an island slowly rise from the sea. The woman’s short, lemon-yellow dress had plastered itself against her legs and flared out behind in the breeze, matched by her loose blond hair. The two men standing to either side towered over her, even though she was most definitely not on the petite side.
“I hope,” she muttered for the thousandth time, “they really do have the key when we get there.”
“They’d better,” Hector, who stood to her right, answered. “Or I’m going to let Big Mo have a piece of my mind when we get back.”
“A piece of what mind?” Ag jeered from the left. “You don’t think we’re getting out of this alive, do you? Mo should have been pissed what we do with his girlfriend, he’s all over himself smiles giving us a vacation. Together.”
“Nobody gets out alive,” Hector retorted over Helen’s head. “That’s one of the rules of Life. It’s how much fun you have first that counts.”
“So he sends the Lemon Tart with us, and locks her up tight.”
“No tighter than he locked us up,” Hector answered.
“Tell me about it. I’ve half a mind to try picking the lock and hope he was bluffing about the bomb.”
“One more day,” Helen muttered.
“Oh?”
“Another day of this, and I’ll be ready to use a hairpin and hope it does go off.”
“Tell me about it.”
Helen obediently opened her mouth and then said “Gaaak!” as Hector’s beefy hand closed around the obdurate steel that encircled her trim waist. “One word and I’ll see if this crumples.”
The three people from the boat grimly trudged up the path, Ag taking the lead while Hector followed Helen as he guided the motorized luggage cart around and over obstacles.
“You’d think they’d at least send someone,” he muttered for the dozenth time as he twisted the cart a bit to get the wheels out of a hole.
“Looking for me?” an amused soprano voice said from behind them.
The three weary travelers spun around to look for the voice, and then stopped to stare, stunned at the picture that presented itself.
The speaker, for that’s who they presumed she was, stood there with her arms crossed under her breasts and an amused smile on her face. She was a tallish blonde, about 5’10”, dressed in faded denim jeans and a plaid work shirt. A tool belt around her trim waist and work boots completed the ensemble.
The rest of the party made her stand out as a picture of normality.
Two women sat on their heels next to each other. They wore short dresses of a fairly heavy brown cloth that hung from one shoulder. They wore thick black collars, tool belts and work boots. However, their heads were encased in tight leather hoods. Sparkling multi-faceted lenses covered their eyes and their mouths seemed to be sewn shut.
Two nearly naked men stood on all fours, one on either side of the small party in the alcove in the rock. They both had dog’s tails, and otherwise wore the thick black collars and nothing else.
Finally, a very tall woman stood next to the rock wall. She wore a harness with a saddle in the small of her back, a bridle, and a bit with the reins looped loosely through a ring in the rock. Her arms were crossed behind herself. She seemed to have a tail and hooves where her feet should be.
Besides the harness, she was decorated with several plumes of feathers rising from the top of her bridle, while flowers and ribbons wound through her mane and tail. Little bells hung from her ears and nose ring, while a set of small chimes hung from rings set in her breasts.
She looked at the party in what was apparently lively interest, although the bit made it hard to interpret her expression.
“Surprised?” the woman in the center of the tableau asked, clearly not expecting a coherent answer.
“What?” Helen managed to find her tongue first.
“You were saying something about being met? Best straight line I’ve heard in a while. Welcome to Circe’s Island, and I hope you enjoy being part of her menagerie, because that’s where you’re going.”
“Circe?” Ag asked as Hector said: “Menagerie?” and Helen managed an evocative “Huh?”
“You do know about Circe,” their greeter asked sweetly.
“Never heard of her,” Hector replied.
“Talk about modern education. Troy. Homer. Odysseus. The Odyssey.”
“Uh. Wasn’t there a war?”
“Right. Guy named Odysseus got lost on the way home, and had a lot of adventures. On one of them he met a witch named Circe, who turned men into animals.
“I’m one of Circe’s overseers. She’s got a wicked sense of humor, and I’ve never quite had the nerve to ask if she’s the original Circe or just liked the name. She’s certainly got the attitude; there’s quite a menagerie here.”
“Menagerie?” Helen managed to get out, despite not being able to take her eyes off of the ponygirl.
“Darlene here is a pony. Once she got it through her head that when I say trot, she trots, and to obey the bit rather than trying to anticipate it, she started enjoying it, didn’t you pet?”
Darlene gave a soft whinny in response, her eyes dancing.
“Then we’ve got our herd dogs. They don’t bite, but they’ve got a built-in infrasonic beamer that’s quite enough to induce a desire to be herded wherever they want you to go.”
The three travelers backed up a step, and almost fell over the herd dog that had quietly padded up behind them.
“And of course we’ve got our two worker bees.” She waved at the two seated girls, who waved back before turning their insectoid regard back on the huddled mass.
“Bees?” Hector asked, wanting to appear intelligent.
“I gather she thought about extra legs or wings, but she settled for making them act like a social insect’s worker caste. They live in the Beehive, and we mostly don’t bother telling them apart. You’ll see why I brought these two along in a minute.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Helen had managed to pry her fascinated stare away from Darlene.
“Prepare you. Strip.”
“Huh?” Helen’s hands came up to protect her breasts.
The woman shrugged. “You two. Strip her.”
“What?” Hector asked, outraged, as Ag simply looked back like she was out of her mind. The herd dogs opened their mouths, showing nicely kept sets of teeth. The two men suddenly screamed.
“I told you to strip her. Don’t bother saving the clothes, she’s not going to have any use for them. Rip them right off.”
Ag looked back at her with his teeth set in a hard line while Helen reached for the zip on the back of her dress with a resigned look. Then she gave a startled yelp as the woman pointed a finger at her.
“Don’t take it off yourself. You lost your chance to do it the easy way. Now, you two, strip her or do I have to get really strict?”
Ag simply kept looking at her with murder in his eyes as Hector sighed and reached for Helen. “Hold still,” he told her as he took the cloth in one hand while bracing against her chest with the other. A moment later the overmatched cloth gave out with an outraged ripping sound.
“There. Satisfied?” He turned and snarled.
“For now,” their tormentor answered. “Steel undies. Like the man said, but it’s not really the most popular fashion. Turn around.”
Helen turned around slowly as the woman raised her finger again. Suddenly the lock on the back of the metal bra strap popped open, and the entire device fell to the ground, showing the red lines where it had dug into her skin.
“Turn halfway around and piss.”
“What?” the almost naked woman exclaimed. Then she shrugged, turned so she wasn’t quite facing any of them, and got an abstracted look on her face. A moment later a jet of yellow liquid spurted out of the front of the chastity belt and arched almost up to the level of her breasts before falling to the ground.
“Cute,” her tormentor said. “It must have been really embarrassing, eh?”
“If I ever get my hands on Mo for that trick,” she practically snarled. “It wasn’t just having to use the men’s urinal, it was not being able to hit it!”
“Well, you won’t have to worry about that much longer. Turn around.”
Helen turned with a sigh. The blonde raised her finger again, and the lock at the back of Helen’s chastity belt snapped open. Helen straighted up in surprise and then gave a wiggle, letting the demonic device fall to the ground.
“God,” she said, turning around, “you don’t know how that makes me feel.”
“Horny?” the blonde answered as her ponygirl snorted.
“Uh, yes,” Helen replied, blushing.
“Well, if you want to get off, go over to those two trees, bend over so your head is between them and you’re braced against them, spread your legs and enjoy being well screwed.”
Helen blushed again at the explicit instructions, but then walked over to the trees, looked at them and then bent over, placing her shoulders against the trunk and her arms around them.
The blonde gestured to the herd dogs. One of them trotted over to the waiting woman, sniffed and licked her, and then mounted her. She gave a bleat of surprise, and then grunted as the man thrust into her.
Ag looked at the scene, and then whirled, lunging for the woman who was their tormentor. He screamed, sank to his knees and then fell over, out cold.
“What?” Hector said, surprised.
“Strip,” was the response.
Hector looked at the two herd dogs, his comatose companion and listened to Helen moaning in lust, and unbuckled his belt.
“At least you know how to take orders. Turn around.” A moment later his chastity belt fell to the ground, and his penis celebrated the event by saluting the sky.
“You must be glad to see me,” the blonde said amusedly as Hector blushed. “Strip your companion so I can unlock the belt.”
A couple of minutes later Ag lay naked on the ground, the discarded chastity belt to the side. She gestured at the two worker bees, who got up and dumped the various bits and pieces of discarded clothing and chastity belts into a bag. “The luggage goes to the recycling rooms,” she told them. The leather balls that enclosed their heads nodded as they continued the cleanup.
“Here,” she tossed a black circlet to Hector. “Put it on that idiot’s neck.” When he finished, she tossed him another one. “This goes on your neck.” He looked at her, shrugged and put it on. “It doesn’t feel any different.”
“It will. Here.” She tossed him a third. “They’re about done with her. Put this on her neck and make sure both of you get off.”
“What are you going to do with him?” Helen asked about fifteen minutes later when the two of them had managed to rejoin the party. Helen was doing her best to look together, when it was rather obvious that she was still staggering slightly and leaning against Hector for more than the manly closeness.
“A couple of the herd dogs will herd him to the forest, where he’ll be turned loose to fend for himself.”
“That’s?” Hector asked, still unable to frame a coherent question.
“It doesn’t sound like a whole lot compared to what you’ve seen already, right? True, Circe isn’t going to do anything to him. The collar will protect him from vermin, snakes and similar unpleasantness. He’ll probably live quite a while if he doesn’t do something really stupid like fall while trying to swing from limb to limb on a vine while beating his chest.
“Of course, there are a couple of little drawbacks in his paradise, besides some boundaries he can’t cross to get out. In about two weeks, he’ll no longer be able to speak, and he won’t have the fine muscle control for anything but the most primitive tools. And if he wants to have sex, he’ll have to join one of the troops of primates and battle it out with the other males for dominance.
“Circe seems to think that if he wants to behave like a gorilla, he can live like one. Besides, she gets a lot of money from selling the videos.”
Helen almost lost her hold on Hector giggling at the scene this presented. “We always did call him the big ape,” she finally got out.
“Circe does have a rather strange sense of humor,” the blonde with their future in her hands agreed.
“What’s going to happen to us?” Helen persisted.
“You’ll find that out when it happens. However...” she paused a bit, “since you two need a bit more time to recover, I suppose I can do the Evil Overlord bit and tell you some of what’s going on. Just don’t expect to be rescued if you keep me talking long enough!
“So. You’ve already seen three of the kinds of animals in the menagerie, and there’s a fourth still out at your feet. Our herd dogs have had their hips modified so they can’t stand, and they’ve got paws instead of hands and feet. Their front paws are still fairly usable as hands, but they’re not going to do any delicate work with them.
“The ponies are taller, a lot stronger through the hips and legs, have hooves instead of feet and have had their spines and torsos modified so they can be ridden both two legged and four legged. They’re also a lot more efficient at pulling carts and stuff.
“She didn’t do anything to the worker bees; like the primates out in the wilds it’s all in the collars and, in their case, the hoods that keep them pretty much anonymous, even from themselves.
“Let’s see. Talking. There are specific rules about who you can talk to, when and about what. As long as you learn the rules and abide by them, the collars won’t condition them into you; you’ll retain the ability to ignore the rules if you absolutely need to.
“Um. Sex. Animals are utterly shameless, and that includes sex. If you want to get laid, just find a willing partner and go to it. The more you forget all the rules you used to live by and just let yourself do whatever comes naturally, or whatever you’ve been trained to do, the better you’ll do here and the more you’ll like it.
“Females. All females, without exception, are milked twice a day, and all females lay a clutch of eggs in the morning.”
“We what?”
“Lay a clutch of eggs in the morning. I told you Circe had a bizarre sense of humor. I think that’s her way of giving everyone the bird. You’ll get used to it; when you feel them want to come, just squat over a box of straw and they’ll pop out your vagina. You don’t need to cluck like a hen, although a lot of the cattle do.”
“Cattle?”
“You’ll see them once you begin walking. There are several herds of cattle. The cattle are like the herd dogs; they’ve been modified so they have to go on all four hooves, no hands.
“That’s the good stuff, it goes downhill rapidly from there. There’s the pigsty, the hen house, the spud farm and the formal garden. Inside the Hovel there’s the nursery, the weight room, the whorehouse and, of course, the furniture.
“Huh, what? That went by awfully fast.”
“It did, didn’t it. In the pigsty they’re kept on all fours in little slips where they can’t move; they’re let out several times a day to gorge themselves. When they get real fat, then they’re put into another pen where they’re on a strict diet and exercise until they slim down. Then they go back to the feeding troughs.
“The hen house is for females that cackle too much. Gossips. They’re put into these cages where their arms and legs are shackled to the sides so they can’t move. Their heads come up through a hole in the top. They’re trained to maintain blood flow and muscle tone using isometrics and electric shocks. The attendants come through to feed them, clean them off, milk them and collect the eggs. The cages are in a rack where they can be shuttled back and forth, kind of like that kid’s game with the empty square. Once it settles down, they’re encouraged to talk to the hens on either side. Of course, they don’t have anything to talk about, but that doesn’t stop them. There are periodic exams on what’s hot, with punishment for doing poorly and some time with a fucking machine if they do well.
“The spud farm is the same thing for males that are couch potatoes, except that their heads are restrained so they can’t take their eyes off the television set. They get a continuous diet of sports shows, with breaks to discuss them with whoever they find themselves next to, and occasional quizzes. They get jacked off mechanically if they do well enough, and punished if they don’t.
“The formal garden is just that: it’s a garden that the worker bees keep up, and it’s quite lovely. The real hard cases get planted there. They’re put into a covering that keeps the insects away and they’re buried with just their heads above ground. The workers put their hair up on a trellis and wind it with flowering vines. Of course, they’re watered and fed, and the life support keeps them quite healthy. The females have little milkers and egg collectors buried with them.
“The Hovel is this huge, sprawling building; the name has got to be Circe’s sense of humor. The Nursery is where we keep the big babies and the smothering mothers. The Weight Room is where we keep the jocks, and the whorehouse is for the satyrs and nymphomaniacs. Having fun with any of it is actively discouraged.
“Which leaves the furniture. It’s trained to stay in one position for at least ten hours, including when it’s being sat on, used as a table or otherwise utilized. They do two eight hour furniture shifts a day, separated by two four hour reconditioning shifts when they’re cleaned, exercised and fed.
“It sounds like Circe is running her own annex of Hell,” Helen said.
“Oh, you noticed,” the blonde smiled, showing her fangs. Helen stared, wondering how she’d missed them earlier.
“But what did we do to deserve this?”
“Clothes horse,” she pointed to Helen. “And with that name, your destination is obvious.”
“Huh?”
“Hector was a pup. You’re recovered. Time to get moving.” She put a foot into the stirrup depending from Darlene’s saddle and swung aboard. The remaining herd dog opened his mouth and growled; the naked man and woman began the long trudge up the road to their destiny.
After a while the path started to wind past fence-enclosed meadows, and they saw more of the leather-headed workers doing various things.
“What’s that?” Helen said, startled out of her misery by the sight.
“One of the cattle,” their captor said from her steed behind them.
“But, the hair!”
“Oh, that. Circe decided that long hair on the head was a bother to keep up, especially since they can’t very well do it themselves with their front hooves, so she moved it to their back. It takes about three months to grow to about two feet. Then the workers shear them and they start over. Real long hair still fetches a decent price.”
More time passed as the weary, sweaty and dust-covered pair kept trudging down the apparently endless path, watching the meadows that seemed to be mostly occupied by Circe’s cattle and ponies. Workers buzzed to and fro, doing things or simply moving to some unseen impulse.
Eventually the herd dog moved them onto a side path, where they found themselves in a barnyard.
“New entrants, eh?” a weatherbeaten man whose eyes showed too much pain and suffering to contemplate asked their warden.
“Stables,” she motioned to Helen. “Kennel,” she pointed at Hector.
Section End.
Helen has arrived, and has at least gotten rid of the steel bikini. Find out how she likes being a ponygirl in the next (and last) installment of Circe’s Island!
If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans, and it gives him some motivation to keep writing this stuff. Of course, if you're a publisher and you'd like to buy some of these stories, please let him know. The starving author in the garret makes a great story, but it sucks in real life.