Island Royale: The Report (Chapter One)
Introduction:
Please read “Foreword by the Editors” first
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You will not find the place marked on any published map, and no one you know can provide you directions to it. No commercial airlines schedule flights there, and even global satellite images of the area reveal nothing but seemingly endless blue waters.
There are no fancy internet websites maintained to allow you to book a vacation there, and no ordinary travel agent can make a reservation for you. On the shelves and kiosks of the World’s travel agencies there are no inviting brochures of the resort filled with rich prose and glossy color photographs displayed in competition with other pamphlets promoting popular holiday destinations. And you’ll never see a television commercial beckoning you to come for a visit.
To all but a relatively elite few, the place is but a myth – an ethereal phantom, if you will – heard of only through whispered rumor and existing solely within the dark recesses of the lascivious mind. Officially there simply is no such place; nevertheless the myth is quite real, for stretching along the eastern shore of a small, privately-owned South Sea atoll, Island Royale offers to an extremely select group of male clientele the very finest in heterosexual entertainment, all amid the plush surroundings of a first class holiday resort.
World leaders, heads of state, multi-national corporate kingpins, oil-rich Arabian sheiks, and – surprisingly, perhaps – even many of the highest-ranking members of the clergy periodically migrate to this isolated enclave to enjoy the hospitality of what is undeniably the finest brothel ever to exist on the planet. Hedonism II, Exotic Retreat, and even Thailand’s infamous Angels in Paradise sex resorts pale in comparison, for at Island Royale there is but one basic rule: Do not physically injure the staff. Within the wide parameters of that one basic rule, however, virtually “anything goes.”
How Island Royale has remained such a well-kept secret, insulated from international exposure and scrutiny, is largely due to the tremendous discretion employed by the resort’s many wealthy and powerful patrons. As Greg,* the Managing Partner of the resort explained:
Only the most Alpha of Alpha Males even knows we exist.
An invitation to visit Island Royale is not extended lightly, and the acceptance of that invitation carries with it the clear understanding that all aspects of the experience must remain an absolute secret to those outside “The Circle.”
We are, to put it simply, very exclusive.
And our Guests respect and appreciate that exclusivity. Regardless of their position, title, political or religious beliefs, our Guests know they are able to come here to relax and truly enjoy the unique amenities Island Royale has to offer, but they also know that their ability to continue to do so in the future depends entirely upon our existence remaining quite confidential. Each of our Guests sincerely wishes for us to continue to flourish, and therefore each exercises great care in order to prevent the inappropriate disclosure of any information about the resort.
Getting to Island Royale is itself not especially difficult, provided of course one has first received that coveted invitation. All patrons are extremely wealthy, possess access to their own private aircraft, and are therefore able to fly freely to and from the small airport in western Costa Rica constructed exclusively to serve the needs of the resort. Guests arrive throughout the morning for their weeklong stay, with flights leaving for the island each Sunday, Wednesday and Friday afternoon.
Prior to boarding, each Guest is subjected to a thorough physical examination. There are no exceptions. The medical staff screens not only for syphilis, gonorrhea, AIDS and other sexually transmitted diseases but for more “common” health concerns as well such as mononucleosis, viral influenza and rubella, in addition to confirming a Guest’s general overall physical health. Management of Island Royale is quite proud of the fact that there has never been a serious outbreak of disease during their thirty-seven years of operation in the sex business.
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* Because of the exceptional candor I was to receive during my interviews, as a condition of my visit the names of all principals associated with Island Royale have been changed in order to preserve their anonymity.
Although I was permitted to retain my audio cassette recorder for use during my interviews, Management refused to permit me to bring to the resort any cameras, camcorders, or other video recording devices, and I was further prohibited from attempting to interview any members of the Island Royale sex staff during my stay.
And their patrons completely understand the need for such a rigorous screening process. Although unusual, on more than one occasion over the years a Guest has been turned away at this isolated Central American outpost because of even the hint of a “common cold” infection and, according to Greg, when that has happened the Guest has each time completely accepted, without protest, Management’s decision to withhold from him boarding permission. Each Guest is acutely aware of just how very important it is to keep the resort “clean,” as infection or disease could easily and quickly be passed from a Guest to any number of the sex staff and subsequently to other Guests. Besides, a Guest who accepts his rejection gracefully knows he will receive another invitation to visit the resort once his medical issue has been successfully addressed.
The actual eight-hour flight to Island Royale, aboard an unmarked Boeing 757 jetliner, is largely uneventful. The aircraft is outfitted with first-class accommodations throughout the accessible portion of the passenger section and comfortably seats around one hundred twenty-six persons, including a small staff of male flight attendants. Each seat is equipped with a video screen, and passengers may choose from a variety of audio and video entertainment options. Most Guests, I observed, elected to view “first-run” movies – quality motion pictures, not the abysmally edited “feature films” shown on long-distance commercial flights – if they chose to watch anything at all. Generally, though, the passengers simply read or slept during most of the trip. Although some Guests talked quietly among themselves, on the whole I noted very little interaction between the passengers during the long flight.
The rear third of the aircraft fuselage is sealed off and is not accessible to the passengers. I was to learn later that the jetliner, as well as her sister air ship, serves both to shuttle patrons to and from the island and to provide the resort thrice-weekly shipments of food, beverages and other necessary supplies – including young human females – and consequently both aircraft have been modified to haul “freight” in the pressurized rear portion of the cabin as well as in the large cargo bays below.
Midway during the flight one of the attendants announced that a short instructional audiotape would be played and that it was strongly recommended that first time visitors to the resort listen carefully. I of course donned my earphones, but it appeared most of the passengers had previously visited the island and therefore largely ignored the suggestion of the flight attendant. I and the scattering of my fellow “first time visitors,” however, listened intently to the recorded message.
Narration is in English, and the male voice possesses a vaguely British accent. The syrupy background music seemed a bit much to me, but on the whole the instructional tape is brief and quite straightforward:
Welcome to Island Royale, where all of your fantasies become real!
You have embarked upon the trip of a lifetime. Every sexual dream you have ever had will be fulfilled over and over again by the willing staff of our wonderful little resort. Island Royale is indeed the paradise you have longed for.
Our girls are for the taking. Any time, any place, and as often as you would like. They exist only to serve you, and they will serve you in every manner imaginable. You want straight sex? All you need do is summon a girl. Fellatio? Each of our girls is an expert at providing the very best oral sex you have ever had in your life! Multiple partners? Whenever you wish. B&D? Simply book your visit to our Dungeon and select your “victim” or “victims.” Are children of interest to you? We have sweet little girls as young as five years of age ready and always eager to please you.
At Island Royale, there are but three simple rules that must be strictly observed at all times. They are all “common sense” rules, of course, but it must be emphasized that we cannot tolerate any violation of these rules.
• Rule No. 1: At no time can we permit you to subject any of our girls to actual physical injury or death. We do maintain a mock torture chamber for your enjoyment and if you wish to engage in this activity we will do our best to accommodate you. But any session of sadomasochism will, by necessity, require supervision by a member of our administrative staff.
• Rule No. 2: At no time may there be arguments about the girls. If a female is available for a session, she will accompany you immediately. If she has already made a commitment to another Guest, she will offer to serve you at a later time. Please do not argue with her or attempt to persuade her to break her prior engagement.
• Rule No. 3: You will notice upon your arrival that each of our very young girls displays a small red ceramic ornament attached to a chain suspended from her vagina. This ornament is to signify that she is too young to safely engage in vaginal or anal intercourse. All of our females, regardless of their age, are of course available at all times to perform fellatio and to be fondled, but you are not permitted to insert your finger, tongue, penis, or any foreign object into the vagina or anus of a girl displaying a red ornament.
Please remember these three simple rules and you will thoroughly enjoy the delightful accommodations Island Royale has to offer!
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Our flight had departed from the small Latin American coastal airport promptly at 3:00 p.m. local time Sunday afternoon, and therefore with the time zone changes we arrived at the clandestine resort shortly after six o’clock in the evening.
From the air, the principal Island Royale hotel building does not appear to be all that impressive, and in size would most certainly be dwarfed by the massive resort facilities seen along the beaches of Monaco or even Cancun or Maui. Structurally, the hotel is constructed in the shape of a softly curved crescent, with each end of the building bending gently to the east. The concave side constitutes the front of the building and in the wide area leading from the main entrance all the way to the beach is the “Compound,” where I would learn much of the outdoor sexual activities take place. Dominating the Compound is a massive irregularly-shaped swimming pool from which numerous canals, somewhat like tentacles, lead off to smaller and more secluded alcoves. Assorted walkways bridge these canals, enabling one to reach any section of the Compound with relative ease.
South of the hotel structure one can see from the air that several hundred acres have been cleared for an impressive eighteen-hole golf course, and a large one-story somewhat “T”-shaped building serves as a buffer between the corner of the golf course and a large cluster of tennis courts enclosed within a grid of tall chain link fence. Another much smaller swimming pool, shaped in the form of a semi-circle, lies immediately to the west of this building.
Our jetliner circled twice before gracefully descending to land upon the longer of the two concrete airstrips constructed on the far western side of the island. Frankly, our reception at the airport was as unremarkable as the flight itself, as Island Royale Management provides no formal greeting or welcoming ceremony to Guests upon their arrival. After the aircraft had slowly taxied to a stop before a small cinder block “terminal building,” we descended the boarding staircase to where two modern air-conditioned buses sat idling, waiting to take us to the resort, and as I stood to enter one of these vehicles I glanced to my right to see a couple of large panel trucks carefully backing toward the cargo hold of our recently landed aircraft.
I spent the short ride through the lush tropical island forest leading to the Island Royale resort complex watching as a blur of vegetation streaked silently past me outside the sealed windows of the bus, but as we approached the hotel we descended into a long tunnel, blocking our view of the Compound, and I could feel the bus sway slightly to starboard before slowing to a crawl and stopping at a well lit subterranean platform located below the hotel lobby. With little discussion we disembarked and were rather perfunctorily escorted in small groups into a bank of elevators. Upon our ascendance to the lobby we were met by a number of women, each dressed in lightweight green colored jumpsuits, standing patiently waiting to receive and guide us to our assigned rooms.
The main resort building consists of but ten floors I was to learn. Guest quarters are located on the upper six floors, with administrative offices, the seldom-used infirmary, and the “Graduate School” on the fourth level, while the second and third floors, not generally open to Guests, house all maintenance and managerial employees. The sex slaves themselves have no individual quarters and must sleep in the Compound or hotel lobby in the unlikely event they are unable to secure a liaison with a Guest for the night.
The concierge is on the main level, on the western side of the lobby in the middle of the crescent-shaped structure. Various suites, decked out in assorted “themes,” occupy the southern wing of the ground floor and are available by reservation to Guests upon request. These “themed” suites are furnished as appropriate: One is decorated as the inner chambers of a harem, while another possesses a pirate motif complete with a plank overlooking a large pool of water. Still another suite is designed as a saloon in an old American West town and is outfitted with several poker tables, a tinny player piano in the corner, and a well-oiled and fully stocked wooden bar stretching out along the northern wall staffed by bare-breasted women in full-length skirts. The largest of these suites is the Dungeon, located at the far southern end of the building, and is equipped with a wide variety of medieval and more modern “torture” equipment. As mentioned in the audio briefing, Guests are invited to bring girls to the Dungeon and subject them to simulated torture sessions employing a rack, a “wooden pony,” whips, chains, nipple clamps, and assorted other tools and implements commonly associated with sadomasochism. In all, the resort maintains six “environmentally themed” suites available for the use of the Guests and their selected sex partners.
To the north of the concierge, a large recreational center offers to resort Guests a wide assortment of more “traditional” amusements including two fully stocked bars, parlor games such as billiards, air hockey and pin ball, and video games including blackjack, an auto racing simulation, and even “Pac-Man.” A small dance floor is available but is seldom used. A much larger area is set aside for “Twister,” a game played principally by young naked girls, usually preadolescents and early teens, who assume extremely revealing positions while trying to maintain contact by hand and foot with a variety of brightly colored dots painted on the thickly carpeted floor. Needless to say, watching the girls play “Twister” is quite popular among the Guests, and these games are seemingly in progress throughout the day and evening hours.
Farther down the northern wing, behind a door, a large exercise room is available to resort Guests, although the sex slaves are welcome to use the extensive selection of workout equipment as well. Adjoining the exercise room are other areas where the slaves shower and groom themselves, and it is here where they receive their assigned clothing, if any. These latter areas are open on the interior side, and Guests can conveniently watch from the Compound as the females prepare themselves for their next session.
On the main level, to each side of the long front desk, large swinging doors lead down a hall to the formal dining room, and beyond that the kitchen – or “galley” as the administrative staff calls it – as well as the resort’s general storage facilities. To the rear of the resort complex, enclosed within a tall chain link fence, is an immense, lushly green and obviously well maintained field dotted with a scattering of the sort of common children’s playground equipment one would see in any typical school yard, and Guests can observe from the dining room the very young girls of the Nursery as they frolic and play outdoors in the nude beneath the warm tropical sun. Across that field and far to the west sits the Nursery itself, a sprawling one-story cinder block building quite reminiscent of a suburban American grammar school, where those very young girls – ages four to seven years – are housed and trained to eventually join their sisters as sex slaves in the Island Royale Compound.
The “T”-shaped building seen from the air to the south of the hotel accommodates several small steam rooms and a large sauna, and Guests may choose from a full menu of available spa treatments. A bar and limited-fare restaurant is also provided, and there is even a small “Pro Shop” located in the structure catering to the needs of both golf and tennis enthusiasts. Ironically, I was to learn during my stay at the resort that “The Clubhouse,” as the bar/lounge portion of the building is called, is an extremely popular hangout among the Guests – ironic, that is, because in the virtual sea of beautiful naked sex slaves available throughout the Island Royale complex, other than for the girls trained as masseuse and the bare-breasted bar and restaurant staff, females are rarely seen in the Clubhouse.*
None of this opulence is accessible inexpensively, of course. A week’s stay at Island Royale, excluding transportation costs to reach the isolated Costa Rican airport, is about $35,000 US, or approximately €25,700 Euros. But the resort’s patrons are all extremely wealthy men, and to these men $35,000 is a trivial sum to spend for even a brief stay in Paradise.
This is an extremely profitable business, to be sure, run by very smart and very calculating men – and one woman, I would learn – and in many respects represents a social system unseen since perhaps the times of the Roman Empire.
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* See Appendix A for an artist’s conception of the Island Royale grounds and facilities – Ed.
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From the lobby of Island Royale I was escorted to my suite by an attractive brunette in her early twenties clad in a simple light green jumpsuit that did little to disguise her large breasts and alluring figure. Her wardrobe, which was hardly flattering, and the rather automatic manner in which she conducted her duties as bellhop surprised me somewhat, as I guess I had expected my female attendant to have been provocatively attired and to have submissively offered herself to me immediately upon my arrival. I soon realized, however, that she had many Guests to guide to their rooms and therefore had no time to spare. She gave me a brief tour of my suite, presented to me my room key, bowed and exited, leaving me to explore my quarters on my own.
Actually, a Guest’s “room key” is not a key at all but rather a plastic card, similar to those provided guests at most modern hotels and resorts, except a bit smaller and thicker perhaps and with more gently rounded corners. The Guest’s suite number is embossed in large gold lettering along the face of the card, and a hole had been punched in the upper left corner to permit a thin band of strong nylon cord to pass through. A spring-loaded “alligator” clip is attached to this band, permitting a Guest to fasten his room key to his clothing as he makes his way around the resort complex. Access to one’s suite is gained simply by holding this plastic card in the immediate vicinity of a detection box located on the wall just to the side of the door.
Guest quarters consist of two large connecting rooms, each providing a spectacular view of both the Compound and the ocean beyond through the full-length windows that constitute the eastern wall. A sliding glass door, rarely closed, leads to a reasonably sized private balcony, or “lanai,” as it is called, large enough to accommodate a drinks table and several comfortable deck chairs. The rooms are tastefully furnished and are exceptionally well apportioned; the bath/Jacuzzi, for example, located at the far end of the suite is almost as large as an average cruise ship stateroom, and the generous number of shower heads installed along the three tiled walls can more than adequately allow a Guest to entertain multiple sex partners.
The latest in audio and video entertainment technology is available to Guests from two large “high definition” flat-screen televisions hung on the wall of each room. The video selections – in eight choices of language – include news, sports, and first-run motion pictures as well as the expected sexually oriented fare, and every imaginable style of music is available at the touch of a button. In addition, each suite is equipped with a computer terminal, with full Internet access, and a clever program allows a Guest to instantly summon any of the Island Royale sex slaves to his quarters.
The Guests’ rooms are located only on the ocean-view side of the crescent. A wide central corridor, appropriately decorated with plush pile carpeting and tasteful lighting, is available for the use of the Guests while a second hidden passageway, not as wide and with much thinner “institutional” carpeting, parallels the central hallway and is used exclusively by support personnel. The reason for the duplicate corridors, I was to learn, is to enable the maintenance staff to service the complex without inconveniencing the Guests and to provide Management, as well as the sex staff, the ability to reach any part of the hotel without encountering delays.
Exploring my suite I soon gravitated to the computer terminal. Declining other options I focused on the listing of the Island Royale sex staff. The main page permits one to scroll through small thumbnail portraits of each of the resort’s impressively large “inventory” of currently available females, and by clicking on one of the portraits, one may view a full nude image of the girl or woman complete with her name, “vital statistics” such as height, weight, age and country of origin, as well as the standard female measurements of bust size, waist and hips.
A button near the bottom of the screen invites one to either request to have the selected slave summoned or to return to the main page to view the thumbnail pictures of all of the girls. I browsed among the thumbnails awhile and selected Danica, an attractive nineteen-year-old brunette from Poland with large full breasts and a thin closely-cropped strip of dark brown pubic hair.
The screen cleared and a message popped up:
Danica is currently in session with another Guest.
What would you like to do?
Have Danica report to you upon the conclusion of her current session?
Return to the main screen to make another selection?
I was aware that the “Poolside Get-Together Party” for new arrivals to the resort was due to begin in just over an hour, so I chose not to “reserve” the charming little brunette and instead decided to shower for the upcoming party.
Since my arrival I had been dressed in the same comfortable khaki slacks, short-sleeved dress shirt and sports coat I had been wearing when I had been unexpectedly invited to Island Royale. My luggage, other than personal toiletries and the contents of my carry-on briefcase, had been “stored securely” by Management for the duration of my visit with assurances that none of my travel apparel would be necessary during my stay at the resort. After I had showered I inventoried my wardrobe closet, discovering only a few loose-fitting terry cloth robes and tunics of varying thickness and length, each either white or light blue in color, suspended from heavy wooden hangers. On the closet floor an assortment of comfortable sandals, all in my size, had been carefully set out. I saw no undergarments of any sort.
I selected a long white robe and, perhaps feeling a bit self-conscious, left my quarters and joined a number of similarly attired men walking down the hall, into an elevator, and out into the large reception area leading to the Compound. We exchanged small talk, in English and with an obvious enthusiasm for our upcoming “holiday,” but although the men spoke in a variety of accents, I noted that none asked the others for their names or countries of origin.
The sun had not quite set as I threaded my way between the drinks tables and lounging chairs scattered randomly all around the pool. To my left, I could see a young naked woman straddling a fat and balding European sitting in a chair, her tits bouncing as she repeatedly impaled herself on his dick. To my right, at a slight distance, the lower torso of a woman, her bare ass prominently on display, emerged from beneath the tunic of a middle-aged Asian man stretched out in a chaise longue. Beyond her, a large man sat on the edge of the pool as two naked teenage girls in the water took turns giving him head.
I continued through this maze and selected a seat among a group of other men over near the high diving platform of the large swimming pool. Soon a dark-haired man wearing a deep blue business suit approached from the complex, clapping his hands and smiling as he walked. He stopped near our gathering, still loudly clapping his hands while he surveyed the area. I would learn later that the man was Greg, the managing partner of Island Royale, but at this point I was fascinated only with the casual manner in which he seemed to weave his way through the congregation of nude and scantily dressed women as they engaged in assorted sexual acts.
Greg stopped clapping and a large cluster of young naked women began to huddle near the ladder leading to the diving platform. “Gentlemen,” he announced with a broad smile. “Welcome to Island Royale. And welcome to our Island Royale Poolside Party.”
A round of applause from the gathering of men abruptly ceased with a wave of Greg’s hand. “How many Guests do we have here for the party?” He counted, turned to an aide and said quietly, “I count forty-three. How about you?” His assistant nodded and ran to the cluster of naked girls, counted them, and sent three away.
“All right, Gentlemen. To assist you in becoming more… intimately acquainted with our staff, please drop your room keys into our bucket.” A little naked girl, about seven years old, passed among the Guests to collect our “keys” as we tossed them into a yellow plastic bucket she held out before her. She was of Indian or perhaps Pakistani ancestry, I thought, as she possessed the rich tan, jet-black hair and distinctively large, deep set brown eyes of the race. When she smiled, she displayed a set of brilliantly white teeth, perfect but for the apparently recent loss of an upper molar.
As the child drifted past me, my eyes were drawn to the small bright red ornament, molded to resemble a cherry, swinging delightfully from the end of a thin gold chain that emerged from between the lips of her tiny hairless vagina. Her ornament would bounce repeatedly against her smooth inner thighs as she threaded her way through the crowd of seated adult males, and I found myself rubbing the front of my terry cloth robe beneath which I had developed a very serious erection. I glanced around in embarrassment only to see I was not alone in having become aroused at the sight of the lovely naked prepubescent female.
The little girl continued on until she had collected into her bucket the room card of each Guest participating in the game, and then she carefully ascended the ladder and sat, straddling the edge of the diving platform high above the pool, with the bucket between her legs. “Gentlemen,” announced Greg, “This is Island Royale’s version of ‘Hunt and Seek.’ Each of our girls will carry a room key. She will belong to whomever’s room key she is carrying.”
Another round of applause followed as the little girl on the platform stood and began throwing our room keys randomly into the pool. When she had finished she turned, descended the ladder with her empty plastic bucket, and disappeared. Greg clapped twice and the group of young nude women gathered near the base of the diving platform quickly entered the pool and began searching for the plastic cards now lying on the bottom.
Several Guests cheered as, one by one, the young women emerged from the pool, each displaying the edge of a room key lodged between the lips of her vagina.
The first girl out of the water approached a Guest and stood before him, her legs slightly parted. I watched as he spread her labia, removed the key, shook his head and offered it back to her, but she declined to take it and, spreading her legs even more, motioned to the Guest to slide the plastic card back into her slit. With a smile he slowly did so, and the naked woman then moved on to present herself before another Guest.
By now many young women, their wet bodies glistening in the poolside light, had emerged from the water and stood presenting themselves to the seated Guests. A girl in her early twenties, with ample tits and a freshly shaved Mons pubis, appeared before me. Spreading her nether lips, I carefully removed the room key she carried in her vagina. “904” was printed on the card. I shook my head and as she spread her legs a bit I slipped the plastic card back into her pussy. She turned and slowly moved away.
Another naked female soon appeared before me, water still dripping from her nipples, inviting me to inspect her vulva. Again I played with her soft wet pussy lips while removing the room key, and again I reinserted the card. Others followed, and my hard-on
throbbed as I fondled the vagina of each young woman as she offered herself to me, all under the pretense of locating my “date” for the evening.
A raven-haired beauty in her late teens, with pert nipples and a flawlessly shaved pussy, approached and stood before me. I playfully spread her labia and retrieved the room key she carried. “516.” My room number. I looked up to her, but she was gazing out across the Compound, her hands clasped together behind her back, seemingly indifferent to my exploration of her genitalia. I held up the plastic card and nodded; she smiled and immediately dropped to her knees, spreading my robe to expose my swollen penis. I played with her smallish breasts and ripe little nipples as she began enthusiastically sucking my cock.
