Tag Archives: Joshua Ryan

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 06

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 6: An Environment Planned for Your Security

We walked back along the slab, and he pointed to something I hadn’t noticed on my quick walk to the loading area.

“Here,” he said, turning toward a strip of shade cast by one of the buildings, “is the pillory.”

That’s what it was, all right—a pillory, looking just like they do in pictures: a wooden upright and a wooden crosspiece, fitted with three round holes, one for your head and two for your hands.  You put them in, the top of the crosspiece is lowered onto them, and now you’re locked in the holes.  You have to stand there, maybe forever.

“Amazing!” I said.  “And after the first one, two more!”

“Yes, we have three pillories.  In the beginning, slappies have a great need for punishment.  And any serious problem usually arises out of a combination among them.  One of them gets an idea; then the others get it.  So before any trouble starts, we punish the troublemakers.”

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 05

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 5: You Must Take the Tour

A taxi took me to the headquarters of the State Labour Program.  It was a couple of miles from the hotel, and on St. Bevons, a couple of miles makes a lot of difference.  The street was wide but almost deserted.  A few old frame houses straggled along, but most of the frontage was warehouses or wholesale places—Stor-It-Here, Pure Products, Empress of India Auto Parts . . . .  Because it was St. Bevons, everything was wreathed with tropical foliage, even the razor wire fences around the parking lots.  But you could see why this part of town wasn’t on the tourist itinerary.

The cheerfulest place was actually the SLP building.  Nothing to brag about, but they did make an effort to fix it up in a “colonial” style, and the foliage facing the street was well maintained.  Even the little strip of grass in front looked like it was trimmed by hand, every day.  As soon as my shadow approached the glass doors, a slappie jumped out and held one wide for me, bowing.  A man at a desk—a real man, not a slappie—stood to welcome me, asked if I were Mr. Lansing, and said that Major Timmons was awaiting me.  Within a minute I was comfortably seated at a table in the Major’s spacious office, watching the morning light play across his ebony features.

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 04

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 4: Travelers Are Often Moody

I rose early and hit the breakfast room, a cream-and-gilt confection where the morning light shone softly on the cut flowers at my table, and slappies bowed and asked permission to butter my muffin.  After observing them all at my leisure I decided that the hottest one was a smiling young black with “Omar” on his shirt and shorts and one of those silver necklaces—which all of them seemed to be wearing — glinting from behind his collar, a nice adornment for a shapely neck.  When I was ready to leave I snapped my fingers in his direction, and in seconds he was at my table, bowing.

“I want a tour of the island,” I said.  And I want you to give it to me!  But I didn’t say that.  I knew they wouldn’t let a hotel servant out for that purpose, or pretense.  Although maybe, if I offered enough money . . . .    But no–I remembered Roger’s advice.  “And I want it now,” I said.

“Yess sirr,” he answered, in the island intonation.  “If you will please to relax here a moment, sir, I will convey your wishes sir.”

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 03

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 3: Exceeding the Ideal

The flight was beautiful — the turquoise sea studded with emerald islands, then the purple thrust of St. Bevons, relic of an extinct volcano, with a city relaxing on its flank.

The Wellington International Airport is small but friendly.  In an American airport, you have to fend for yourself.  At Wellington, a gang of attendants in brown uniforms lines up in the luggage department, waiting to take your bags and carry them to Ground Transportation.  The first one in line grabbed my belongings–one bag in the left hand, one in the right, the third tucked under his arm–and before I knew it he was stowing it all in the trunk of a cab.

The guy was young and fresh-faced and very cute, with a strand of yellow hair poking out from under his little brown cap.  Too bad our encounter was so rushed!  I reached in my pocket for an outsized tip when the cab driver, an elderly black man with a rum-thick accent, intervened.  “No wurries, sirr.  You doan tip thee slappie boys.”

Slappie boys!  So this little corn-fed Midwesterner with the brown shorts and the brown short-sleeved shirt and the glint of a silver necklace underneath his collar—he was a slappie!  Obviously, St. Bevons had several ranks of hierarchy, and they weren’t arranged in order of race.  But fuck!  How hot can this be!

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 02

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By Joshua Ryan

Chapter 2: One’s Company

Roger let me know that he’d made not only the room arrangements but also an appointment for us with Major Timmons of the St. Bevons State Labour Program.  “I confess that I have had the tour already, but I will enjoy meeting him again, and I am sure that you will enjoy it too.  We will meet him at his office at 9:00 a.m. on the second day after your arrival.  As for our own meeting, may I suggest 7 p.m., local time, on the day you arrive?  I will make our dinner reservations for that hour in the restaurant of the King George Hotel.  I think you will find the Oak Room more than passable.  We can meet in the lobby.”

“Thank you—but how will we recognize each other?  Should I carry a copy of ‘BDSM for Fun and Profit’?”

“Oh yes, that is a question.  For purposes of recognition, my dear sir, I humbly request a photo of yourself.  You will note that I am not yet requesting an exchange of names.  After all, what, to the world, is a photograph without a name?”

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Island Paradise – Part 1: Chapter 01

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Island Paradise

In Two Parts

By Joshua Ryan

 

This is a story about adults, and for adults only.  It is entirely a work of fiction.

PART 1

Chapter 1: Greetings from Your Vacation Planner

I’d never heard of the place before Roger mentioned it.  Roger was my online friend.  We’d been chatting about BDSM stuff; that’s how I met him, on a BDSM site.  That night. we were getting into prisons and chain gangs.

“But if you are seriously interested in the study of penal servitude,” he said, “I would recommend that you examine St. Bevons.  It has, allow me to suggest, appropriate ideas on the subject of penal labor.”

That’s the way Roger wrote.   I hadn’t been chatting with him very long, but I’d learned a few things about him.  He came from an Indian family that had settled in the West Indies, and he’d been sent to school in England.  It wasn’t natural for him to use contractions or not to spell an idea all the way out.  “If you are seriously interested in the study of penal servitude . . . . ”  I could imagine the way he pronounced the phrase: in-ter-EST-ed, PEE-nall, SERR-vi-tude.  He never discussed his profession except to say that it involved “international investments, that sort of thing.”  When I replied, “That’s what I did too, before I’d made enough money to quit,” he didn’t rise to the bait.  He wouldn’t say much more about himself—although his reference to “staying in Switzerland for a while—business again” and his comment that “the hot men in Paris always seem to cluster around the Ritz, especially if they have no money” let me know what social class I was dealing with.

“What’s St. Bevons?” I asked.

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Best Buddies – Part 02

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By convict 975468

GREG

Right from the start I seemed to notice the look that Dave had when he won the toss.  He looked like he would have preferred to lose.  So I decided to test it – I wanted to see if that look was real.  Two or three times I told him that the coin said heads, when it was actually tails.  Yep, there was that disappointment that he tried to hide.  I have to admit, the more I was a slave the less I enjoyed it, no matter what the rules were.  So I was disappointed too.  But it would be interesting to see how real this could get for Dave, or slave dave, as I was starting to think of him.

I was looking for ideas, and I even went online and discussed it with a couple of guys I’d been following, such as Toolman, who seemed to know a lot about the subject.  He gave me some pointers.  While chatting, I got an enormous hardon.  So at least I knew where my interests lay.

After I thought about it for a while, I decided to get Dave to agree that the master could change the rules.  If he liked it so, maybe he needed slavery full time.  He turned out to like it so much that he suggested that business about the contract!

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Best Buddies – Part 01

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By convict 975468

GREG

Dave and I have been friends since high school.  We went away to college but would get together on holidays, so we never lost touch.  After college, we came home, and after a few months decided to become roommates.  We are both gay, but we never got it on with each other, which was OK – we just seemed to be attracted to different types of guys.

Then we hit the jackpot – literally!  We won the lottery – millions.  We were very excited – partied for a week.  Then the trouble started.  Everyone – I mean everyone – wanted our money.  Friends and relatives became so much more friendly – being gay was OK now.  What was worse was the endless solicitations.  Lawyers, accountants, investment advisors, just to name a few. No one would leave us alone.  We had to do something.

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