Voices drift from unseen rooms as we continue through, headed to what I presume are my rooms. Deep rumbles of male desire anchor lighter, feminine sounds of sexual foreplay. It sounds innocuous and normal for a den of sin and desire, but I harden myself against all of it and brace myself for the battle to come.
We turn the corner and I feel as if I’m transported into a Sultan’s palace. Women, many far too young to be legal, lounge in a rotten paradise. Flowers of every color and variety spill out of exquisite flower beds, and fountains spray water into the air. Surprisingly, the mist cools rather than adds to the sweltering humidity.
Silks of every color waft gently on the lightest breeze, flowing in mesmerizing waves as they drape down from overhead.
Adorned in gauzy scraps of fabric, which reveal more than they hide, girls of all shapes and sizes mill around the space. Some of them recline on chaise lounges. Others carry serving platters and meander around the room. A few dance to the sultry beat of music piped in through speakers hidden in the walls. A few men are present. Stripped out of confining suits, they lounge and admire the women, but they do not touch.
“Welcome to the Oasis, Mr. S. Once you have freshened up from your journey, feel free to retire here. Whatever you need will be provided; our host has only one rule.”
“And what is that?”
“You may look, but you may not touch. The girls are here for your enjoyment, but any…” He clears his throat. “Carnal delights are reserved for later in the week. And, of course, there’s the night of the banquet and the auction that follows.”
Once again, this is a resort designed to entertain depravity, trading innocent lives for more money to fuel the disgusting indulgence of our host. Knox spins in a slow circle, taking everything in and capturing photographs of the room, and its occupants, for Mitzy’s team.
We may have been stripped of our cellphones, laptops, and tablets, which are forbidden, but that doesn’t mean we’re not armed to the hilt with all manner of surveillance. Every step since we entered this place is recorded and transmitted to Mitzy’s team. Over the first few days, Knox and I will map everything out to the best of our ability.
The women within these walls did not come here willingly. And while the men are not allowed to touch, the women are obviously encouraged to do so. Small hands travel over men’s shoulders, rub up and down their arms. The girls lean in close. Their legs brush against the men’s thighs, a constant susurration of sensual movement with the illusion of desire.
The girls look willing, but their eyes are vacant. A shiver rolls down my spine. The first girl blinks and all I see is despair and loss of hope. Another girl turns toward me, and gut-wrenching emptiness stares back despite the alluring smile on her lips.
These are the women broken beyond hope, tame and fitting to greet the guests.
An admirer of the fairer sex, I adore women in all their forms. Give me legs that go on for miles, voluptuous tits to lose myself in, small tits to worship and adore, hell, give me anything with tits, and I’m entranced.
Whether skinny, curvy, tall, or petite, the graceful lines of the female form intrigue me. No matter the shape, size, or ethnicity, put me in the arms of a willing woman, and I find heaven. I bow to the inner strength of women, and I’ve never found a woman lacking in mind, body, or spirit. I am simply in awe of them.
What I am not in awe of are the empty husks I see before me. Beaten into submission, these women are the docile ones. Any hope they had is dead.
Any will they had—extinguished.
Certainly, there are other captives hidden away somewhere on this estate, those who have yet to be broken, who await an unspeakable fate. I’ve never felt so sick in my life.
How much longer do I need to keep up this facade?
Which girls are the ones who are sold? The docile ones I see before me now? Or those who remain full of fight, waiting to be broken?
Despite my disgust, I make a show of taking in the sensual offering of unwilling female flesh. It turns my stomach to see these poor girls forced to serve rotten, old men, but they do it with grace and false smiles plastered on their faces.
Most of the girls bear evidence of fading whip marks and the marks from a cane, brutally trained to provide the illusion of consent over coercion.
“I look forward to spending time in the Oasis.” I make sure to ogle the girls, leering like a horny bastard as if I’m eager to begin.
“It’s our hope you enjoy your stay.”
“I think I’ll spend all my time in this enchanted place.” I turn to him. “But no touching?”
“Most of our guests do enjoy their time in the Oasis, but we respectfully request no touching of the girls.”
“Seems odd, considering…”
“You will have ample opportunity to meet the girls and select those you wish to spend more time with, but not here.”
“Of course, I am your guest. I will adhere to your rules, just curious how I’m to choose a girl when I’m not able to sample her assets.”
What a repugnant thought.
None of these women, these girls, are here of their own volition. While the girls in the Oasis sounded eager and flirtatious, I remind myself this is not by their choice. They’d rather die than endure the torments of the horny bastards touching them. But like everything else in their lives, that choice has been stripped from them.
“Completely understood. Do not worry, you’ll have plenty opportunity to select the perfect girl for your tastes.” He gives me a moment to get my fill of the girls. “The Oasis is not all we offer. Later today, you may enjoy time on the green. We have a nine-hole golf course…”
“I abhor golf.”
“No worries. There are several jogging trails and a group heading to the skeet range before dinner.”
“That sounds more up my alley.” A jog around the premises is exactly what we need. “My man will accompany me.”
“Of course. There is a full list of amenities listed in your suite. This way…”
James continues his brief tour and reiterates the rules.
As a guest, the rules are quite clear. I am not to touch any of the girls. They may touch me, but I am to refrain from touching them. I’m curious as to how much the girls are forced to interact with the guests. Touching can mean any of a thousand things.
What am I going to do if one of them touches me? This is what I don’t like about this whole plan. Going undercover means there will be things I must do that I abhor. When that time comes, I’ll navigate those muddy waters with great care while reminding myself of the bigger picture.
At least one thing has been answered. I won’t have to force myself on any of the girls. Fucking, at least, is off the table, and that comes as a great relief. Now, as far as touching with hands and mouths, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about that. But I’ll figure something out. Just because I must live in the company of monsters for the next week doesn’t mean I need to act like one.
As for getting here, a little Mitzy Magic mixed with Julian Townsend cracked wide open like an egg—Thank you, Griff!—getting an invite was only monumentally difficult rather than impossible.
My invitation came after a thorough background check following Townsend’s sincere recommendation.
Funds were placed in escrow to secure my seat at the auction. Those funds will be verified tonight and placed in accounts neither party may access until our business here is done.