Her Last Resort

HER LAST RESORT

by C. A. Smith ©2005

Chapter 1: The Crime

Jesus God Almighty! How did she get herself into such a fix? It can't be happening! Not one single soul had so much as whispered to her when she won this vacation trip that unpaid casino debt by tourists on Paradise Island is a capital crime! It certainly wasn't noted on their web site. Nor had anyone happened to mention that cannibalism can be sanctioned by the court for capital offenses on this godforsaken tropical island nation . Not her travel agent. Not her lover. No one. Not one fucking soul! Now she was in deep, deep shit!

And there's not even a U.S. embassy! No one had mentioned that little fact, either.

Okay, true. No one had recommended this place; she had decided on it all by her little blonde self. But it seemed so sensible at the time! She'd won the damned airline tickets and a week's free stay for herself and Kevin in the honeymoon suite at the Princess Xarnia Luxury Casino Resort and Health Spa with her winning essay on the subject: “Why My Lover and I Deserve a Vacation on idyllic Paradise Island.” Of course they weren't exactly on their honeymoon (since they weren't exactly married), but she'd bet most of the “honeymooners” who booked that suite were also one wedding shy of being married. Besides, she and Kevin had used every square inch of the bed, furniture, floor, shower and Jacuzzi to do what any madly-in-love, authentic, marriage certificate carrying, honeymooning couple would do. And then some. Which, if you looked at it in a certain way, made it okay.

Then, as if a dozen orgasms the night before weren't enough, the next day in the Casino, Sunday, she actually came away four-hundred dollars richer than when she started! This had been the real attraction of Paradise Island, of course. She had been to Atlantic City and loved it! She'd spent three days on a casino cruise ship out of St. Thomas and hardly poked her nose out of the gaming rooms the whole time the ship floated in circles outside the three-mile limit. She had been to Las Vegas and had the time of her life! She loved the thrill of gambling and was good at it. True, she had maxed out her credit card in both Vegas and Atlantic City and had struggled to pay it off, but she'd come out three hundred dollars ahead on the gambling ship. She figured the tropical heat had something to do with her improved relations with Lady Luck.

She wanted to cash in the chips, now, so she could enjoy holding the four hundred dollars in her hand, but Kevin talked her out of it.

“Caitlyn, my sweet,” he cajoled, “think about it. We're going to be on Paradise Island for a week. What's the point of cashing them in now when we'll just turn them back into chips tomorrow so we can play some more? With your skill at blackjack, you can easily triple that in a couple more days. It's all a matter of confidence and persistence.”

Right. She'd been plenty confident and persistent and look what happened! Ignorance and stupidity was more like it. She should have caught on that second night when her four-hundred dollar winnings had withered to twenty-five dollars. But she'd had a few really good payoffs along the way and was sure she was due for another biggie. Trouble was, they closed the Casino at two a.m. before it came.

“It's just a matter of timing,” Kevin assured her in the elevator on their nine story upward journey to another night of frenetic, naked revelry. “You were just starting a really good roll there. Another few hands and you would've cleaned up! You've got a special aura, sweetheart. It attracts the good cards. We'll pick it up again tomorrow. You'll see. I've got a really good feeling about this!”

And he gave her a really good feeling that night, too, beginning in the crowded elevator on the way to their room when he had the audacity to sneak his left hand under her mini skirt. They were up against the back wall so nobody noticed (she hoped) and she had no way to stop him without drawing attention to it. She was just plain helpless to keep his finger from sliding under her thong and up into that wet, sensitive place that had been itching for attention all day. She just bit her lower lip and concentrated on not moaning. They were the last ones in the elevator when it reached the ninth floor, so he felt no need to extract his wiggly finger as he marched her down the hall. She was just giddy enough (and just drunk enough from complimentary vodka screwdrivers) to let him, despite her desperate fear that someone would pop out of a door at any moment and catch them. To make matters worse (and more exciting) he slid his right hand down the front of her scoop-neck tropical halter, pushed down her barely adequate black lace bra and gently pinched her nipples as they walked to the door of the honeymoon suite.

By the time they had closed it behind them, she was gasping at the brink of an orgasm and practically tore his clothes off to get at the remedy for her ache. She fondled and caressed it encouragingly as he took an outrageous amount of time to peel off her own skimpy apparel and lay her down on the king size bed. She writhed in delirious frustration as his tongue found every spot on her body that craved attention. He let her lick and suck the tip of his huge male sex toy while he did the same for her little female version. Then, using that same male appendage, now drenched with saliva, he traced a delightfully teasing path from her eyelashes, over her lips, across both nipples, around her navel and into the valley of her raging desire where it was suddenly swallowed by a very wet, very urgent and very greedy vagina that wouldn't let it go until it had surrendered a large cache of liquid assets. And that was only the beginning of the night's debauchery.

Tuesday (which began at two thirty in the afternoon after a long soak in the Jacuzzi to relieve the soreness in their wonderfully abused sexual parts) Caitlyn and Kevin spent a little time at the indoor pool (where the chlorine stung her eyes and threatened her hair), a little time at the first class restaurant (where the food was a little too tempting) and a little time at the beach (where the sun was a little too hot and the air too humid).

As they ambled along the hard wet sand where the tide was pulling back, they came to a high knoll covered with thick vegetation. A sign at the start of a foot path announced, “NUDE BEACH.” Kevin was eager to take a look. Giggling, Caitlyn let him lead her by the hand up over the knoll to the other side. The beach on this side was just as populated as the one they had left, but with two major differences. More than half the beachgoers were black — native islanders, Caitlyn assumed — and everyone was stark naked. Kevin urged her on but they were stopped by a uniformed policeman who told them no one was allowed on this portion of the beach while wearing any kind of clothing. “Okay,” Kevin said brightly. “Let's get rid of the suits.” Caitlyn was tempted, but balked. She told him she needed another day to work up her courage before she could get totally naked in public. He reminded her that the bikini she was wearing only covered a few square inches of skin. True enough, she agreed; but those few inches made all the difference to a girl. She promised him with a kiss, however, that tomorrow (with a deal of fortification from the bar) she would return with him and strip to the buff. “You're my witness,” he said to the policeman. “You heard her promise!” The man grinned and nodded. Finally Kevin led her back up over the knoll where they made a bee-line for the Casino to resume her roll.

And roll she did! By about eleven o'clock she was five hundred dollars in the black and a card away from doubling it. But it turned out to be the wrong card. “Confidence! Persistence!” Kevin reminded her. So she soldiered on through a stomach churning night of good cards, bad cards, ups, downs, more downs and still more downs, until — when the closing bell rang — she was a little more than two thousand dollars in the red.

Later that night Kevin did miraculous things with his tongue in all the right places, but somehow the half dozen orgasms he induced failed to lift her entirely from a darkening funk. She tried to take her mind off the financial hole she had dug by concentrating on increasing the girth of Kevin's love tool with her own well honed oral skills, but her attention to that tender task was niggled by a nasty inner voice reminding her that she had drained all her meager savings and was within a thousand dollars of blowing past her credit card limit.

But Wednesday morning (well, one in the afternoon to be precise), Kevin reminded her that with four days left of their vacation there was plenty of time to get back on her roll and restore her credit and bank accounts. Confidence! Persistence!

A long visit to the bar to drown the stubborn remnants of her modesty wasted just enough time for a tropical downpour to show up, giving Caitlyn a temporary reprieve from her promise to bare it all on the nude beach. She fully intended to fulfill her promise to Kevin and knew how silly this last scrap of modesty was, but nevertheless, she felt vastly relieved at the postponement. In fact, she took it as a sign that Lady Luck was once again in her corner. She was ready to return to her place in the winners circle!

Sure enough, back at the Casino the cards started coming her way. By seven in the evening she had won back fifteen hundred dollars. Things were looking bright again!

But somehow Lady Luck slipped out the back door when Caitlyn wasn't looking. By closing time Thursday morning she had lost it all again and a great deal more. In fact, the Casino Manager, an enormous black man with a large, affable smile and small, hard eyes regretted to inform her that her credit card debt had exceeded her limit.

Shaken out of her gambler's daze (and the happy buzz of several free screwdrivers) by this unpleasant news, she turned to Kevin in boozy alarm.

“Jesus, Kevin, I've run through all my money and now my credit card's maxed out. Where's yours?”

“Where's my what, sweetie?”

“Your fucking credit card, sweetie ! You heard the man. Mine won't work any more.”

“I didn't bring my credit card with me on this trip. You said it was all paid for.”

“The flight and the room and the drinks were paid for. Not the fucking chips! What do you have left for cash?”

“Thirty dollars. Enough for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Thirty dollars!” Her well hammered brain went into a fuzzy panic. “Jesus Christ, Kevin! Thirty dollars barely pays for a spam sandwich around here! And I can't win any money back without more chips!”

The large Manager cleared his throat politely. “I'm afraid it's a more urgent problem than that, ma'am. You see, visitors who are not citizens of this country must clear all debts incurred in a casino before they are allowed to leave the premises. To do otherwise is a serious felony. You now owe the Casino . . .” He consulted a paper drawn from an inside pocket. “. . . four thousand seven hundred and sixty dollars, payable before you leave the Casino tonight.”

“Before I leave the Casino?!!” Very little happiness remained in Caitlyn's vodka-based buzz. “How the hell am I gonna pay four thousand dollars before leaving the fucking Casino? I don't have two cents! Kevin! Help me here!”

“I'm afraid I don't have it, either,” he reported sadly.

“But he says they're gonna hold us here until we pay it!”

“No ma'am,” the imposing Manager said through his very white teeth. “The debt is yours. You will be the one detained. And it will not be here in the Casino. We do not have the facilities for that.”

“Come on, Kevin,” Caitlyn said, jumping up from her chair at the blackjack table. “Let's go to our room and figure out how to get some money.”

The Manager lifted a heavy hand into the air and made a slight beckoning signal with his index finger. “No ma'am, I'm afraid you will be detained elsewhere unless and until you have satisfied the debt.” Two equally burly black men in uniforms appeared at her side from out of nowhere. “Kindly put your hands behind your back, ma'am,” the Manager said blandly.

“What?!” Caitlyn's indignant frustration turned swiftly to shock.

“I said place your hands behind your back. It is necessary for the authorities to take you into custody until this matter is resolved.”

“You can't . . . I won't . . . This isn't . . . Kevin!” she sputtered.

But Kevin said nothing, did nothing, as one of the two burly men moved behind Caitlyn, took hold of her wrists, drew them behind her and snapped handcuffs over them.

“Kevin!” she pleaded, “Do something! They're gonna put me in jail! Call someone! Your credit card company! My mother! The Ambassador! Don't just stand there, for chrissakes! Do something!”

But he did just stand there. And they did take her away, her eyes afire with anger and fright. She had never been in a jail before. Not even a police station. Definitely not a jail in a tropical country filled with extremely poor black people who spent miserable lives groveling out a sub-poverty income serving rich, haughty white tourists. Like her. Her brain filled with stories she had read where innocent white female visitors to the third world were framed and sent off to a grim prison cell from which they were dragged daily into the head jailer's office and gang raped.

The jail to which she was taken, as it turned out, was indeed pretty grim. But not for the reasons she had feared. She was not targeted by bitter and resentful natives for mayhem and abuse. She was not thrown into a filthy cell crammed with lice-covered, venereally infectious prostitutes and thieves. She was not dragged into the head jailer's office and savagely raped by sweaty guards calling her a worthless white whore bitch cunt.

In fact, all the jail attendants — from the two gentle giants who brought her in, to the exquisitely polite desk sergeant who booked her, to the big-bodied courteous Matron who led her to her cell, were kind and gracious.

“Now don't you worry, dear,” the Matron told her as she opened the steel door to the cell block, “you'll be just fine. Everyone here will treat you with respect, right up to your dispatch.” Caitlyn took “dispatch” to mean when Kevin got hold of the money to free her.

She had hoped all the inmates would be asleep, it being two thirty in the morning, so she could slip into an empty bunk unnoticed, postponing the jailhouse horrors she had read about until morning. But as she and her entourage of Matron and guards started down the corridor, there was a rousing cheer! Behind the wall of bars on both sides was a sea of black faces — mostly men except for one large cell filled with women — smiling at her, nodding appreciably, taking in every inch of her long straight blond hair, lush white cleavage, slim shapely white limbs and flat white tummy fashionably exposed between her short halter and low-riding mini skirt.

To her surprise, she was led to an open door near the far end of the corridor and put in her own private cell. It's furnishings consisted of a dirty, torn up plastic pallette and a truly filthy metal toilet with no seat. She could just make out in the dim light a tiny square barred window up near the ceiling. The burly guards removed her handcuffs and withdrew to just outside the cell door until the Matron had safely locked her in.

“There's no blankets, dear,” the large woman said through the bars, “but you won't need any. Try to get some sleep. We'll see you in the morning and prepare you properly for the Magistrate.”

Caitlyn was too shell shocked to reply. She stood in a helpless rage listening to the cadence of their feet retreating back down the corridor, followed by the solid clank of the cell block door and the shunk of its lock. She took stock of her surroundings: cinder block walls, cement floor and ceiling, iron bars, disgusting pallette, revolting toilet. Not even a sink. She sank cautiously to the pallette and burst into tears. It wasn't long before she became acutely aware of the torrid heat. No air conditioning for “detained” prisoners. She could hear a constant scrabble of cockroaches and other unseen vermin and smelled the fear-driven stench of her own heavily perspiring body. Eventually, out of sheer weariness, she managed to put her head down on the foul pallette and wept herself into a sweat-drenched sleep.