April 22nd
by Dirk Dirker




I

The ship – the cruise liner Aurora – sank in a tropical storm during the night of April 22nd. The vessel had been en route from South African Durban to the harbor of Perth. When it disappeared from all surveillance screens that night a large-scaled search was organized and media coverage was intense. But neither the ship nor any survivors were found in the following days. Many questions were raised but few were answered. And so, step by step, the public was forced to accept the unacceptable: That a ship had just been swallowed by the stoic waters of the ocean and that nature felt no need to explain itself.
Relatives and friends mourned for their lost ones. Media coverage got thinner and thinner, and in the end the Aurora was forgotten, it’s disappearance only a minor historical event that already belonged to the past only a year thereafter. Life went on – at least for those who were still there.


What the civilized world did not know was that, due to an internal error in its navigational systems, the Aurora had already been more than a hundred sea miles away from her designated course when she sank. No wreck and no bodies – let alone any survivors – were found because the ship had not been where it had supposed to be when it capsized and disappeared beneath the waves.


Actually, more than two hundred of the original 722 persons onboard had survived the sinking. Many had managed to man lifeboats while others had clung to pieces of wreckage. Most of them, 127 males and 78 females, had stranded on an unknown island in the middle of the ocean, far from any shipping routes and mostly invisible even for the cold eyes of satellites due to its absurd position.


The survivors organized themselves as good as possible. They founded committees to build shelters and collect food; they started to investigate the island they had stranded on. Most of them had been brought up in the upper class of their home countries and they strongly believed in the merits of democracy and civilization.

A year later, as good as nothing of those principles was left anymore.



II


Jeanette Poulain was small and slim, but she had always been a sportive and fit woman, and she could not be easily exhausted. Still, this time she was being brought to the borders of her capabilities.
She bit down hard on the gag that blocked her mouth, trying to keep more of her saliva from flowing down her chin. But the effort didn’t much improve her situation– the bitter tasting piece of rubber was too thick, forcing her to keep her jaws wide apart, and she was so exhausted that she felt more like a hobbled animal than a human being anyways.


It was hot here in the jungle and Jeanette’s tanned skin was covered with sweat, even though she was naked apart from the straps and ropes holding her. The men had crafted her harness – and the ones by which the other women in her group were controlled – from material that had been washed ashore after the sinking, and they had put a lot of effort into making sure that the bondage was as strict and as secure as possible. Straps crisscrossed her torso and compressed her ribcage, more straps bound her arms securely on her back, elbows tied directly together and forearms bent upwards into a back prayer position.


A collar had been placed around her grimy neck and held the whole setup firmly in place. And her restrained hands had even been forced into fists and wrapped with plastic so that her fingers were completely useless. Even when they rested, even when the women were pegged during nights, there was no chance that they might free one another and escape.


Felix was behind her, holding the leash that was connected to her collar. From time to time, when her exhaustion threatened to overwhelm Janette, his thin bamboo cane hit her naked buttocks. At first she had shrieked, had tried to protest through the gag with loud, complaining noises. Later she had grown accustomed to the treatment. By now she didn’t mind anymore at all. She just quickened her pace a little when she felt the sting of another slap on her skin, snorting and coughing, but not trying to fight anymore, let alone reason with him.
There was no room for reason on the island.


At home, in France, she had been a successful interior decorator. She and Felix had been an emancipated, wealthy couple like hundreds of others in Paris, with a lot of money on their bank accounts and too little time to spend it. Thus they had decided to take some time off. Going onboard the Aurora had seemed to be exactly the kind of luxurious adventure they both longed for. And when the ship wrecked and they both survived and reached the island, Janette had thought it might be a blessing in disguise, a second chance for them. All they needed to do was organize things and wait until they would be rescued.


But there had not been a rescue. And as the months passed and no one came to help them, the small civilization the survivors had built started to deteriorate. The food-committee came to the conclusion they would not be able to support all of them for any longer than an additional month. Fever and other diseases had started to spread. Some people died and panic grew among the survivors. And then…


Jeanette’s left foot got caught in a rabbit hole and she nearly fell over, but Felix jerked her back on the leash and supported her from behind. Even though he did this to her, even though he had captured her like an animal, she felt strangely comforted by his presence. He stroked her naked back for a moment, even kissed her tanned shoulder.
“Be more careful, Cherie”, her former fiancée said. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
But when she tried to turn and look into his eyes, the moment was already over. He grabbed her by the bondage, the straps digging deeper into her skin for a moment, and pushed her forward again. “Now go. Come on, go! We still have a long way ahead of us.”


So she treaded on, her head hanging, sweat pouring down her forehead and over her dirty face, drool dripping from her chin on her breasts. At home, in France, Janette had worn her dark hair in a bob style, but now it was matted and filthy and already so long that it touched the skin between her shoulder blades. Mosquitoes and flies swarmed around her and she could do nothing to shy them away, except for shaking her head to the sides like a tired mare. Instinctively she jerked in the bondage, but her arms didn’t even move anymore. They had gotten limp and stiff, useless and weak. She moaned in light surprise when Felix slapped the cane against her ass once more.
“And don’t try to look at me. It will not help you, and you know that very well, Jeanette.”


Yes, she knew. It had not helped any of the other women to plead with their partners or any of the other males who supported The Trade. There had been no mercy once the decision had been made. Many women had tried to flee into the jungle, many had still fought and trashed when they had already been in bondage, had teard at the straps and ropes, had screamed through their gags, had stared at the male survivors with large, tear-filled eyes, pleading for release. But none had ever been spared. And Jeanette was well aware that there would be no mercy for herself either.


They continued on their way through the bush. The five women moaned, coughed and cried occasionally, the men kept their silence. What was left to say? The Trade was merely a question of survival.



III

The whole group of survivors had already been close to hysteria and panic, starvation had seemed inevitable, when an unsuccessful group of hunters had met the natives. They called themselves Magari. They were quite small but sturdy and strong, lived as hunters and farmers in villages on the other side of the island. They had never seen white people before and they didn’t know what phones or ships were – let alone planes or internet. It seemed they had lived on the island for hundreds of years, untouched by civilization.


The Magari had food. They knew which plants were poisonous and which could be used against fever and certain other kinds of sickness. And which could be cultivated. They had hunting equipment and they knew very well how to use it. And thus, they were the only chance to survive any further for the survivors.


But the Magari did not have anything to spare, and they made that clear from the beginning. They wanted to bargain and there was not much the survivors could offer them.
Except for their women. The Aurora had been a ship for young, wealthy people, and there was a good number of attractive white women – as well as some Asians and Blacks – among the survivors. The Magari seemed deeply fascinated by their looks, their size and the color of their skins. So they had offered the men an agreement. They had simply called it The Trade. Women could be traded for food and for knowledge. Women could also be traded for medicine.

Jeanette still remembered what a buzz that offer had produced in the survivors’ camp and how she had been sitting at the beach, arm in arm with Felix, and discussed it.

“You know”, she had stated ironically, “I might enjoy to be traded to those Magari-guys. Maybe they’ll make me their white queen or something like that.”

They had both laughed about that. But now that she remembered the scene, she could also see a little flicker of insecurity in Felix’ eyes. He had been one of the men who had tried to communicate with the natives and maybe he had even at that point already had a bad feeling about their offer.

“I am not sure if they’d make you a queen”, he had answered after they had both stopped laughing. “These guys seem to perceive women a little bit different than we civilized guys do. And I’m not even sure if they see you and the other white gals as real women at all.”

“Well okay.” Jeanette had slung her slender arms around his neck at that point, and had tenderly kissed her fiancé. “I will stay with you then.”

And at that point he had still thanked her with a cheeky smile.

But since survival was prerogative five women had free willed decided to accompany the natives to their side of the island out of their free will. One of them, a young Australian redhead called Amanda McPherson, had been especially convinced it would be the right thing to do.

“I don’t care if we have to work for them or whatever”, she had stated. “Of course I’m a little scared, but we need to do something, right? If we get food and medicine and if they teach some of us how to hunt and get along in this place, I’ll go with the Magari.”


For weeks Jeanette had not seen any of them again. And the men who had later visited the natives’ villages had been strangely close-mouthed and secretive after they had come back. Rumors concerning the way the ‘traded’ women were treated had started to spread in the camp, and Jeanette had started to hear talk about them being held as animals, being forced to work on the fields like slaves. And then one day, when she searched the brink of the jungle for berries and edible roots, she had found Amanda McPherson.


The once so proud and dedicated redhead had stumbled out of the foliage with weak , uncertain steps, completely naked, dirty and exhausted. There had been new muscles shining under her pale skin, but there had also been a lot of bruises and several marks on her back that proved she had been whipped or caned. And she had worn a harness, an evil thing made of crude ropes that tied her arms to her back into a strict back-prayer position, her hands pulled up to a point between her shoulder blades.

“Animals”, the sweat-soaked, stinking girl had whispered, when Jeanette had grabbed and supported her. “We are just animals.” There had not been much energy or hope in her eyes anymore, just the tired flicker of defeat.

Jeanette had not even been able to release Amanda, so strict and unforgiving where the knots that secured her bondage. She had had to bring her back to the camp, leading her like a lost animal, until she met someone with a knife in his belt.



IV


They stopped when the sun had set and when every single shadow was growing larger by the second, darkness already flowing out of the brushwood. Apes and other animals started shrieking and screaming in the jungle. The mosquitoes disappeared, the air cooled. For Jeanette, who had been herded with the other women all day like some domesticated animal, that coolness was an enormous relieve.


Some men lit a fire in the middle of the clearing they had chosen as resting place for the night while others took care of the women. They made them sit down close to each other, then hammered pegs into the ground, securing their captives to them by their leashes. Jeanette tried to make herself as comfortable as possible in the strict bondage and with the gag in her mouth. She was thankful the day was over. When Martha Hanninger, a pretty german girl with bright blue eyes (as far as Jeanette remembered Martha had been a singer, kind of a rising star), tried to slip behind her, she shied the girl away with frustrated anger. Martha obviouslyl still hoped she might be able to loosen a fellow sufferers bonds during nighttime, so that maybe they would all escape. But Jeanette knew much better: They would be too closely guarded, this night just as any other. And even if for some weird trick of fortune there would be no guards, would the german girl still never be able to release any of the other females from their strict bondage. Her hands were as packed, fingers useless, as the others’. No, there would be no escape.


Just as there had been no escape for Amanda McPherson. Yes, once Jeanette had brought her back to the camp she had been freed of her bondage. Tumult had followed, heated discussions, arguments about how the natives treated the women who had accompanied them. Amanda told stories about how all five of them had been restrained, had been forced to work on the fields like animals, how they were kept tied even during night time, how they were locked into stables like beasts of burden. Many of the survivors had been outraged to hear about that.


But when a group of about thirty armed natives had come to recollect Amanda, things had not evolved as Jeanette would have anticipated.


“There should not be any discussion about this!”, had she screamed when they held council in the evening. A large fire had been burning on the shore and the natives had settled down some hundred meters away from them, had just watched them with curious glances and had listened even though they did not speak their western language. And Jeannette to her own horror had understood where those curious glances hailed from: The natives were simply not used to seeing women argue with their men.

And that night, the women did in fact argue with the males as unforgiving as they never had before. It was a weird debate, oddly divided between the sexes. Of course many men also felt sick about handing Amana over to the natives again, but did they want to fight? No, they argued, they did not have enough weapons and they still needed the natives’ help to survive. Yes, they admitted, they felt dirty and ugly to think like that. But no, they stated, they did not see any other way to secure the survival of their small colony.

Only few males voted for keeping Amanda, and Felix was not one of them. And when the natives sent three ambassadors the next morning, several men held women back who moved against them, screaming and cursing the camps visitors. Jeanette herself was close to picking up a stone and throwing it and the whole situation seemed to be getting out of hand of everyone – and in that moment the first step of the coup took place.

Because there were weapons, if only a few. One man, an older businessman called Peter Mahon, had used the nighttime to distribute them between his followers. And when a good part of the survivors readied themselves to fight against the natives who had come to enslave Amanda again, Mahon and his friends had shot several bullets in the air and had threatened to kill anyone who attacked the Magari.
Mahon had even had one of his followers design a special piece of equipment during nighttime, when all the others had argued and discussed and debated and screamed at each other: A harness made from straps and ropes. He had his men fasten it around Amandas body, and her cries and her resistance did not stop them. In the end they strapped her arms to her back, in the same cruel back prayer position they had been tied into by the Magari. And they gagged her, since she did not stop cursing and pleading and crying.


They gave the red headed woman back to her owners and the Magari left, contended. And that was the end of civilization as Jeanette and the other survivors knew it.



V


When the night was there, their gags were taken out and every women got a little to eat as well as two cups of water. Felix cared personally for Jeanette. Affection and regret were equally in his glance as he stroked her strapped arms, helped her to drink and eat.


She knew he would not change his mind. It was much too late for that. She still could not keep herself from giving it a try.
“Felix”, she started with a coarse voice, “remember how we lived in Paris. Remember who we were. I love you…”

He immediately grabbed her collar, jerked it so that their faces were nearly touching. She could feel his warm breath against the side of her neck and that sensation made her shudder.

“I do remember all of that”, he said with a strange sternness in his own voice. “But I still forbid you to talk, woman. Talk again, and I will gag you and beat you, and you will not eat and drink until tomorrow.”

So she just nodded, some tears welling from her large, dark eyes. He kept feeding her, and when he was finished he plucked some small leafs from her hair with an absentminded look.


That absentminded look had spread in the days after Mahon and his men had taken over control. The colony was more or less a dictatorship now, and attempts to weaken Mahons position were punished harshly. When a Chinese-American woman by the name of Lin Palminteri tried to win people with enough courage to attack Mahon and his men she was assaulted. They tied and gagged her, strapped her to a nearby tree and whipped her. And after that she was not freed again, like many had hoped: She and her few female followers were put into similar harnesses like the one that had been forced onto Amanda McPherson.

And when the Magari sent new ambassadors to prepare another Trade, Lin Palminteri was one of the naked, shrieking women they took with them when they left again.


“I can not take what they are doing”, Felix had told a shocked, scared Jeanette that night. “We are selling our souls and I don’t know what I could do to stop it.”

“Run away from here!” That was her answer. She had known instantly how silly it sounded, but the words had already left her lips.

“We can not run away. The island is not big enough for that, Jeanette. And even if we managed to hide – we would die alone in the jungle. You know that.”

Yes, she had known. But still she had hoped with all her heart that he would have supported her.

The rest of the story was rather short: McMahon and his men had been rewarded by the Magari for their cooperation. They got the food. They got the medicine. They were the first to learn how to build good bows, how to throw spears. The number of their supporters grew. The numbers of those who opposed them dwindled. Finally Jeanette had sensed that even Felix was starting to accept how things had changed, that he somehow had persuaded himself to see the good sides of the Trade. Jeanette herself, Martha Hanninger and a south african woman called Birte van Loy had made plans to leave the camp, had attempted to sneak away by night. And where caught.
That had been three days ago. Felix had been furious. That was when Jeanette understood he had already planned to trade her, for a higher rank in Mahon’s private corps. Felix had been the one who strapped her into her own harness, and he had made very sure she would not be able to free herself from it under any circumstances. Felix had gagged her, as cruelly and securely as possible. He had been so angry.



VI


Jeanette awoke from her sleep with a sudden jerk. She did for just a single moment think she was in her apartment in Paris again, with Felix sleeping soundly beside her. Tomorrow they would start the day with a café latte followed by croissants with fresh butter and red jam. They would also have a bowl of strawberries, and after breakfast they would take a stroll through Montmartre…
In the next moment she remembered. Remembered everything, and a helpless moan escaped her. She was lying with her back on the muddy ground, naked and dirty. The smell of her own sweat was intense in her nose and the bitter taste of the gag filled her mouth completely.


But Felix was in fact there. He was leaning over her, even stroking her naked body, cupping her firm, greasy breasts with his hands. And he gestured to her to be quiet, pressing one finger against his lips.

Jeanette felt new hope, the hope that he might have tricked all the others, might even have tricked her, and would free her now so they could run away together. But instead, he started stroking her breasts more intense now, playing a little with her nipples.


She could just stare at him. She did not have the courage to utter even a single noise – everyone else seemed to be asleep and she could hear the other captured women snore and moan in their sleep nearby – but she tried to show him solely by her gaze what she thought of this.

You want to fuck me? First you betray me, truss me up like an animal, and now you want to RAPE me?, was what her gaze asked.
He smiled a little. She could see it in the shimmer of moonlight that fell through the branches above them. Then he shook his head. And then, playfully and a little self-ironic, he pinched her left nipple again.

No, I don’t want to rape you, his eyes told her. I want you to forgive me. And I want to sleep with you, one last time.


And she understood him very well. He did what he felt he had to do. How many of them would the food and the medicine allow to survive? There were also children in the camp. There were old people.

She hated him and she wished she would be able to take her own life rather than be handed over to the Magari. But still she also understood him. And loved him. And longed for his touch.

Jeanette forced herself to relax and let her head sink back unto the muddy ground. She inhaled deeply and spread her legs. She kept looking into his eyes as he kept touching and stroking her. She remembered the time they had spent together as equals, all the good times they had had. And as she felt the warmth inside her grow she spread her legs for him.


He opened his trousers quietly, a somehow tortured looking smirk on his face. There was also a lot of lust in his eyes and she was surprised and a little scared about how arousing this seemed to be for him. She asked herself if maybe he had always dreamed to have her like this – dirty, degraded, helpless. And to test that notion she pulled her torso upwards a little, until the straps dug themselves deeper into her skin, compressing her torso even further. It was a little painful, yes, but Jeanette didn’t care about that any more. And when he pressed a hand against her breastbone and used his weight to push her back to the ground, she knew: He actually loved having her like this.
Felix’ let himself sink on her, kissed her sweaty skin, pressed his cock nearly a little playfully against her moistening slit. He supported himself with one hand on the ground, used his other hand to caress her face. Then he pushed with more force, his penis sliding inside her without much resistance, and Jeanette had to bite down on her gag hard to keep herself from producing any sound.


She enjoyed it. Enjoyed it a lot and didn’t care anymore why that was the case. She raised her head a little and since she couldn’t kiss him with the gag between her teeth she just pressed her face against the side of his neck. When he started moving in her she let it fall back and looked into his eyes again, and she kept watching him just as he kept watching her while he fucked her.

It was good fucking. It made her feel degraded and dirty, but it also made her feel alive. Jeanette knew that she humiliated herself right now, that she should not have given in to this, but that same knowledge made it even better. Fresh sweat coated her skin and she enjoyed its smell. She enjoyed the small kisses Felix planted on her forehead and cheeks, on the sides of her own neck, on her breasts.

Something moved, right next to her. And when Jeanette turned her head she saw the wide eyes of the german girl, Martha Hanninger, who stared at her in shock and disbelief. Stared at her until Jeanette came, silent and helpless, twitching and jerking, digging her heels into the soft ground and bucking like an animal, biting down on her gag with all possible force. She clenched her eyes shut as sweat dribbled from her forehead into her eyes, her nostrils flared and the explosion of the intense orgasm washed her whole being away for a second. And she could feel Felix’ cock pump inside her, fill her out even more, before he relaxed himself and kissed her one last time.
He did not look into her eyes anymore, and she approved.



VII


The next day they reached the Magaris’ trading outpost. It was around noon and the jungle was steaming hot. The mosquitoes had found the naked women again, but none of them complained anymore. There was only some gentle moaning and sobbing when the natives stepped up to them, grappled them, checked their teeth and muscles. Roots and seeds were traded, and after less than half an hour they were on their feet again. Jeanette did not even get a chance to cast a last glance at her former fiancé as she was led deeper into the jungle.
She did not know how long she would manage to stay sane. How long she would manage to feel human in the hands of the Magari. But maybe there was hope. She remembered what felix had whispered into her ear before he had handed her over to her new owner.

“I will work hard”, he had said. “And if the colony survives, if this crop and the next crop will be successful … maybe I can buy you back, my Love.”