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While dining at a restaurant popular with millennials, families are gassed and rendered unconscious. When they awaken, they find themselves aboard the yacht of a nefarious couple who use the women's loved ones as leverage to encourage their eager obedience. This is an adult tale intended for the mature reader. Excerpt: "Hello? Where am I? Is anybody there?" the frightened woman called out. "I'm here," responded a panicky voice nearby. "I don't know where we are either. I'm dizzy, light-headed. I think... I think I've been drugged. It's totally dark, pitch black. I can't see anything at all! Am I blind?" "No, I can't see anything either. There is no light in here." There were others, too. In all, eleven young women answered. They were an even dozen. "What's the last thing you all remember?" "I was having dinner with my family." "Me, too." "This can't be good. My wrists are bound over my head." It was the same for all of them. She struggled in vain to get loose. They all did. - - -
"Hello, ladies. I bet you are wondering who we are and why you are here. You will address me as Master and this is my wife Mistress. You are guests aboard our sizable yacht and will do as we say. We have your families secured in an adjacent area, and they will be punished for any lack of enthusiastic participation on your part. Do I make myself clear?"
They all understood.
"Don't bother screaming or trying to escape. We are miles out to sea." The roll of the large craft confirmed it.
"Why are you doing this?" asked one of the women.
"For fun, and for profit. We play sex games, ones of humiliation and intensity. Those who survive will eventually be relocated. It is our tradition that someone be fed to the sharks. Sorry, but it is a rule. It's our way to appease the Gods, especially Neptune. Always wise to keep the big guy happy when at sea. - - -
"Learn how we make money to pay for all this, our yacht, your upcoming college expenses, our expensive lifestyle. Our company has three divisions. One is the brothel, another is the organ harvesting farm, and the third is for the children."
"What do you mean? What's organ harvesting? Why do we care about the kids?"
"At the bordello, each girl is with an average of twelve clients a day. That brings in an average of a half-million dollars a year, each."
"Wow!"
"Their husbands are taken to the harvesting farm where our staff remove and sell their body parts, kidneys, hearts and other organs. There is a healthy demand for them on the black market, another million for this lot alone."
_ _ _
In the morning everyone gathered again in the lounge. Kara wore only a choke collar and leash. Mistress had a sparkle in her eyes, as did Master. - - - There were other young women there, dressed in tight jeans and colorful tops, also a few menacing, uniformed security guards. They were led inside for another indoctrination. Jimmy and Jamie followed to listen in. "Welcome to Curacao Island in the Dutch Antilles, ladies, your new home. Look at the women standing with you. Half of them will be dead in a year. If you wish to be one of the survivors, you will want to do everything you can to be cooperative. Tourists and locals come here for sex. You will comply with their needs, all of them, telling them you are here of your own free will if they ask.
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