I disembarked from the chartered plane. There were a couple hundred of us, all on a month long holiday on a deserted island in the Caribbean. I was looking forward to such a long time unplugged from everything and everyone I knew, so I could just relax. The travel agents issued each of us a key ringed onto a hunk of plastic with our cabin number, and they assured us that each cabin was regularly restocked with food and drink, for which there would be no charge.
I got to my cabin right away. It was spacious, the doorway led into a well furnished living room with a large television set and a mini fridge by the couch. From there, a doorway led to a dining room with hardwood floors. Opposite the table was a large glass patio door looking out on the beach and letting in ample natural light. One archway opened into an immaculate kitchen, opposite a hallway that led to the bed, bath, and basement.
As I entered the living room, I let the door shut behind me, but didn't bother to lock it. Dressed as I was for the Canadian winter, the heat was oppressive, so I immediately headed into the bedroom, plopped my suitcase down, and started to change clothes.
Just as I was pulling my boxers around my knees, a shadow fell over me. I looked up, surprised, and saw a stranger in the doorway. She was striking, in her early forties, with raven black hair and oval shaped glasses. A moment of stunned silence passed as we locked eyes, before she finally looked down at her key.
"Wrong cabin," she said, but then took another look at me as her slight blush morphed into a smirk. "Well?" she inquired, "Are you going to pull those back up, or the rest of the way down?"
The direct question brought me back to reality, and I blushed. My first instinct was to cover up, but something in her knowing smirk made up my mind. If she wasn't happy with what she saw, she would have looked away. Decision made, I stepped out of my boxers and stood upright, hands at my sides.
"Good boy," she purred. "Now turn around and let me get a good look at you." Meekly, I complied, and from behind me, she said "My name is Mia. What's yours?"
"I'm Marcus," I replied, keeping my eyes forward. Mia finished her inspection and instructed me to place my hands behind my back. I heard the sound of a suitcase zipper and then felt ropes being wrapped around my wrists and elbows. She bound me securely, but not tight enough to cut off circulation, and tied the knot above my elbows where I couldn't reach it. Next, she placed a collar around my neck and slipped a blindfold over my eyes. I heard her step out to the kitchen and return, then felt the cold shock of a bag of frozen vegetables being held to my cock. Once I became flaccid, I felt the familiar sensation of my balls being pulled through the ring of a chastity cage, followed soon after by a tiny spiked tube. The lock clicked shut, and Mia clipped a leash to my cage and led me into the basement. "Wait here until I get back," she said.
I don't know how long I languished in the basement, but it felt like eternity. Once the basement door closed, I couldn't hear anything that gave me a clue as to what Mia was up to. For all I knew she was up there watching a movie and letting me stew. No light filtered through my blindfold, so I knew the lights weren't on. At length, I heard the door open, then felt the leash being clipped to my collar. "I'm pleased with you for waiting so patiently," Mia's voice came. She led me back upstairs, and I could feel from the carpet underfoot that we were in the living room. Which meant that she had paraded me naked in front of the patio door overlooking the beach. I heard Mia take a seat on the couch. "On your knees," she commanded, and I knelt eagerly. A moment later, I felt her nylon-clad soles on my face, and knew what to do without instructions. I began reverently running my tongue across her soles. With each lick, I was pushing against the spikes in my cage. After a time, one of her feet drifted down to my cage and started running along it, making me strain even harder against the spikes.
The next shock came a few minutes later when I felt hands on my head from behind me. They pulled the blindfold from my eyes and I was greeted with the sight of not just Mia, but a half dozen other women, grinning at me. Some had their phones out and it was clear that photos had been taken. Still rubbing my cage with one foot, Mia said, "I'd like you to meet my friends. We all came on this holiday together."
Over the next couple of hours, each of Mia's friends took their turns getting their feet worshipped and teasing my cage. When they were all satisfied, Mia untied my wrists, but immediately secured them back in place with steel handcuffs. Hands grabbed me and forced me to lay on my belly, where ankle cuffs were also secured to my ankles, then the wrist and ankle cuffs padlocked to each other in a hogtie.
"Here's how this is going to work," Mia explained, "I will be keeping one of the keys to your cage. That one will not, under any circumstances, be used before the last day of our holiday. The other key will be passed around at random between my friends and I. Each day, you may ask one of us for a date. You will take who you choose out for dinner, then spend the rest of the night at her cabin serving her as she sees fit. At the end of the night, if she is the one in possession of your chastity key, then you will be unlocked, otherwise you stay in chastity for another day. "
"We will be leaving now," Mia continued. Gesturing towards the dining room, she said, "your handcuff keys are in that pot over there."
As Mia and her friends filed out, I surveyed my situation. It had been all night, and the sun was starting to crown over the horizon. The pot containing my keys was a shallow steel pot with handles at either side. Chains ran from the handles to rings driven into the walls so the pot could not be moved from its position in front of the patio doors. The curtains had been taken down, so I could not crawl to the pot without being visible to anyone looking into the patio doors from outside.
It was still early in the morning, so I decided to take a shot at getting the keys before anyone else was awake. When I crawled over to the pot, though, I saw that it was filled with a solid block of ice. The handcuff keys were clearly visible at the very bottom, so I would either have to wait for it to melt, by which time there would definitely be people out on the beach who might see me, or lick the ice to make it melt faster.
When I started to lick, I noticed a familiar botanical flavour — there was gin in the pot! I knew it had to be a mix of gin and water to get it to freeze in the first place, but how much gin was in it?
Enough, I suspected, that by the time I got my lips around the keys I would be drunk enough to have a hard time unlocking my cuffs.