The Bunker of Whidbey Island (HotTexasCowboy & Lala)

[Lala]

It began with a postcard. Lucy recognized the sender as one of the girls who’d been on cheer squad with her, though she hadn’t spoken to her since they’d graduated high school almost two years ago. She’d kept in touch with a few of her good friends, but no one seemed to know where Amy had disappeared to and, as it happens in the stark realities of adulthood, Lucy had soon forgotten about her.

She had taken a few odd jobs here and there in town, with the goal of saving up enough to afford some classes at the community college. Dad was long gone and Mom was in love with her pills and generally forgot she even had a daughter. But Lucy was determined to work toward something stable, something permanent. She just didn’t know what.

The postcard intrigued her for many reasons. The picture on the front was of a quaint little town: shops with brightly-painted trim lining a boardwalk that overlooked the water, a lighthouse in the distance. The return address listed a place called Whidbey Island, somewhere she’d never heard of before.

She flipped the card over and read it again:

Hi Luce! Haha, long time, right? Well, I just had to tell you about this totally awesome place I found that you would just adore. I’ve been working here since we graduated. It’s so amazing! There are tons of jobs if you’re still sort of floating around back home. I got you pre-approved for a visa (it’s a security thing, no big deal - just they gotta check everyone out first, right?), and it’s waiting at the docks. So if you want to come check it out, you can take the Seattle-Whidbey ferry. I know you’ll completely fall in love with it like I did! Hope to see you here.

Kisses,

xxxx Amy xxxx

A quick internet search showed the island was in the Puget Sound off the coast of Seattle, accessible only by ferry now since the bridge to the mainland had been demolished about twenty years ago. Apparently, the military had a base there and the island itself was populated mainly by officers and their families, a few year-round residents running the businesses in town, and a tightly regulated tourist industry. That part seemed very interesting, if not a bit odd. They actually issued tourist visas that one had to apply for before even being allowed on the ferry.

Amy’s postcard came at just the right time. Lucy had just quit her job at the gas station since the owner wouldn’t stop standing too close and ‘accidentally’ brushing her C-cup breasts with his hand. Summertime was a bad time to be hunting for employment. School was out and many of the entry-level positions were taken up by adolescents between semesters. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. Tons of jobs. A quaint island life. What did she have to lose?

Like Amy said, a visa had been waiting for her at the ticket window. The wind stirred her long brown hair around her shoulders now as the ferry approached the island. It looked just like the postcard, and she felt a little flutter of excitement in her belly.

A man with very formal posture had been staring at her the whole trip. He had a military tattoo on his bicep, though he wore civilian clothes. Lucy crossed her arms a bit over her chest. She was wearing a lacy camisole with no bra (though she probably should have had one), and evidence of the chill in the wind was obvious. Her homemade cutoffs were probably a bit too short, showing off quite a bit of her toned, tan legs lengthened by chunky espadrilles, as well as just a peek of the bottom of her rear.

Finally, the man spoke. “Better read all the laws as soon as we dock,” he said slowly, looking her up and down. “You look like you could get up to some trouble in town.”

She tilted her head aside, giving him a strange look. “Uh, thanks? I will…”

When the ferry moored, she hefted her suitcase full of pretty much everything she owned and bounced down the gangway. She wasn’t planning on staying indefinitely, but who knows? If it really was as great as Amy claimed, maybe she would stay.

Right away, signs in big block lettering greeted her: Martial law past this point. Please read the laws carefully and mind the curfew. Ignorance of the law is no excuse. You will be held accountable for your actions.

Lucy blinked big blue eyes at the odd sign. Well, that was something Amy hadn’t told her about. She glanced back over her shoulder as the ferry began to depart. Still time to run back onto it.

No. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Just meant that things would be a bit stricter in town, but maybe then she wouldn’t have to deal with bosses grabbing her tits or ass.

She took one of the tourism pamphlets that outlined the rules, nose down as she wheeled her suitcase through the streets. The town was immaculate. Not a scrap of paper or refuse in the streets. Carefully cultivated flowers and shrubs lined the town square she walked through. She passed a bookstore, and a pub that looked like just about the nicest bar she’d ever seen.

A strange wooden object made her pause. It looked like one of those old things they used to put people in to shame them, with holes for head and hands. She couldn’t remember what they were called. Strange it would be out here in this clean and quaint town, but there were more of them and other devices she couldn’t even begin to name lining the street.

The pamphlet dropped from her fingers and she went beet red when a broad-shouldered man in uniform came strolling toward her. It wasn’t the overt signs of military presence now that startled her, but the fact that there was a naked woman behind him walking on a leash with her head down. Someone had scrawled “I was bad” on her chest in what appeared to be Sharpie. Lucy stared wide-eyed as he led her to one of those devices and locked her in, then began to undo his pants.

What the hell?

She wheeled her suitcase faster, shaking her head and letting out a slow breath. There had been an address with the visa that Amy had left for her, a place called The Silhouette. She needed to find that place, and Amy, so she could ask what kind of island this was. With a natural bounce to her step, she cut a perky figure striding down the street, keenly aware that she was pulling many eyes along with her. It was about an hour before curfew, according to the pamphlet, so she needed to get settled for the night as well. Wouldn't that be a trip, getting arrested her first night on the island for breaking curfew? She laughed and continued walking.

 

[HotTexasCowboy]

“The Silhouette” wasn’t that difficult to find. It was clearly a bar, with music that could be heard even through the closed double doors. The outside was curtained windows decorated with full-sized black cut-outs of shapely women in dance poses. Pushing through the doors opened into a more dimly-lit large room, the music now blasting a hard rock recording. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she could see two small stages farther in the large audience space full of tables, some round, some rectangular that were placed fully around the twin stages. Each stage, not surprisingly, was dominated by a floor to ceiling metal pole, with various lights around both the top and floor of the stages to focus illumination to the entertainers. Apparently this was a lull in the action, as neither stage was occupied at the moment. The tables were about half full, mostly with men in uniform.

Along one side wall was a long bar, and behind it a passageway in the wall to what might be a small kitchen. Some of the tables, she could now see, had plates with food, although most were primarily beer bottles and drink glasses. Lucy managed to skirt along the wall to reach the nearest end of the bar, and waited patiently to get the attention of one of the two men mixing and serving drinks. He was a short man with male-pattern baldness, who leaned across the bar and gave her a small smile.

“Yes, Miss, what can I do for you?” He eyed her towed suitcase with a curious twitch of an eyebrow.

Lucy had barely begun to introduce herself when she heard a high-pitched squeal from the tables, and a young woman she recognized almost trotted toward her. “Luce!” she called as her high-school friend Amy reached her and gave her a quick hug. “You made it! I’m so happy to see you. You’re gonna love it here! Norris,” she turned to the bartender, “this is my high school bestie Lucy. She needs to see Mr. Harriman, okay?”

Lucy barely recognized her. Her short school hair style was now long black hair that tumbled down her back nearly to her ass. Which was good, because that was the only thing even slightly covering her back. She was wearing something that looked like a one-piece swimsuit with cut-ins from either side to a center strap with a metal ring to hold top and bottom together at her navel. The bra was deeply cut to show lots of cleavage in a heart-shaped opening before the fabric came together to attach to the front of what looked almost like a cloth collar around her neck. “You’re going to so love this place,” she gushed as she almost hopped in anticipation.

‘Norris’ disappeared through the opening to the kitchen, and returned a moment later following a larger man dressed in white shirt and pants with an apron wrapped around his waist and wearing a hairnet. He had the muscular arms of an ex-soldier and thick brown hair. Norris pointed to the end of the bar where Lucy and Amy were waiting, and he headed in their direction.

Amy jumped in with introductions. “Mr. Harriman, this is my friend Lucy. Remember you sent her the visa? She’s here looking for a job. I know she’ll be just great! Lucy, this is the owner, Mr. Harriman.”

Harriman looked intently at Lucy, barely glancing at Amy as he dismissed her to go back to her tables. The owner gave Lucy a long visual examination, began a quick interview over the music. “Okay, Lucy. You’ve had a look over the place, no doubt. We serve almost entirely base personnel - soldiers. They come in here for food, drinks, music and dancers. I got plenty of dancers; what I need are good waitresses. Someone who can take orders, pick up food and drinks and deliver them to the right people. Waitresses are off limits as far as improper behavior is concerned, but they’re soldiers, so you gotta to expect them to try to be handsy some. I got MP’s standing by in case anyone tries to get out of order. Waitresses do better if they can be flirty and playful, while keeping things under control. I pay twenty an hour, plus tips. You work four to midnight, Monday through Thursday, six to two Friday and Saturday, with Sunday off. You get a food and rest break for half an hour sometime between 7:30 and 8:30, staggered so there’s always someone on the floor. Of course, curfew starts at 9:30, but you get a pass to get home from work. There’s some apartments right out the back, a quick walk home after work, and access to the beach out the other side. Okay, any questions?”

After dealing with Lucy’s questions, Harriman glanced at a wall clock. “You can start tomorrow, it that’s okay. I’ll give Amy her break so she can take you out the back to get you a room, unpack and rest. If you want to come back here to look around and get used to the place, feel free, but you’ll be hit on a lot, so it’s up to you.”

* * * * * *

Colonel Walsh was taking an evening constitutional, more of a leisurely walk and inspection than his morning exercises. They kept him trim and fit, fitting his uniform without a trace of sag or fat. His black hair was well trimmed under his billed officer cap, and his blue-gray eyes swept along his path, missing nothing of interest. As he sauntered into the town square, he saw a slave in one of the stocks, bent forward, with a private holding her hair to bob her mouth on his cock, while behind her a sergeant was periodically swatting her buttocks with a padded ping-pong paddle. The sergeant paused to give the colonel a smart salute.

“Good evening, Sir. Just taking my girl out for a bit of discipline. Perhaps the Colonel would care for a turn with her?”

Colonel Walsh returned the salute and gave a small shake of his head. “No thank you, Sargeant Willis. Just watch the time. There’s under an hour until curfew. You’re responsible for getting her housed before she’s in violation.”

“Of course, Sir,” the sergeant assured him as Walsh continued on down the street. While it was a bit late for dinner, Walsh had skipped mess at his office in favor of getting something light in town. His favorite place was Silhouette, and he soon pushed through the double doors into the rauccous atmosphere within. His usual table was unoccupied, but he made his way to the bar to signal the owner to give him his order.

“Good evening, Harriman. I’d like one of your classic chicken ceasar salads with a Dos Equis, please. I’ll be at my table.” He glanced around the club, then turned back to the owner. “I got word that your visa request arrived today. Everything alright with her?”

Harriman wasn’t surprised that the Colonel would know the goings on in the town as well as on the base. While Walsh wasn’t technically in charge, he was the second ranking officer on base, and in reality ran things, as the General was more of a figurehead. Harriman had gone to Walsh to approve the visa offer, so it made sense he’d know when it was honored and the intended girl had arrived. “Yes, Colonel. I’m waiting now for her decision on the job. Of course, if she takes it, I’ll have a full thirty days before I can begin taking bids on her. That’s the rules.” Thirty days she’d be left to do the job for him, before someone in the town or the base could start silent bidding with Harriman to take possession. Even if enslaved, there was still a good chance her owner would let her continue to work, Harriman hoped, even if her master would collect most of her wages. “Those are the rules, Colonel.”

“I know the rules, Harriman,” Walsh grinned at him. “I wrote most of them.” And, as with most rules on this base, he also knew he could get around them if he had the desire to do so. “Well, I’ll go wait for my dinner,” he nodded and left the bar to take his seat.