Paradise Isle, Slave Trade, Pt 1

(fetish, slavery, modification, consensual) A price for beauty

By ChangeYourPassword

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction. It is a story of sexual fantasies and fetishes. These sexual practices are not for everyone, but those of us who delve into them find out the allure. The characters in the story certainly do. If you enjoy this story and the fetishes involved, great. If not, please forget the whole thing.

This tale is a stand-alone story of an adventure at Paradise Isle. Please read at least the first section of the ‘Island Paradise, The Beginning’ for background on the wonderful island and its sexual vacation orientation. It sets the stage for this and other stories of sexual pleasures encountered on the island.

I can not provide contact information for the Mancipium Association.

Michelle was all the time so jealous of the pretty girls. She’d felt that way ever since junior high, when they started getting all of the attention, and she got none of it.

And it only got worse as her own looks and her body remained dull and plain, and theirs continued to improve, as they began wearing prettier and sexier clothes, and perfecting their makeup.

She didn’t even try.

Each morning when she looked in the mirror before getting dressed for college, she was disheartened, and even disgusted, so she just threw on her baggy jeans and boring top and headed out.

Some of the girls in her situation, the homely ones, or the shapeless ones went all weird, expressing themselves in bizarre fashion statements, goth, or 50’s or hippie earth child, but she saw no point in that either. She considered it a childishly vain attempt to scream, ‘look at me!’ When no one would, or wanted to.

All of the guys only wanted to spend time with the pretty girls, and lust after them. Eventually, Michelle imagined, those women would be the ones successful in life, with husbands, prosperous careers and probably adorable children too.

And as she grew older, finished college, and moved into the working world it was still frustratingly bad.

Despite her intelligence, skills and personality, she was all the time passed over for interesting or exciting projects or positions. They all the time went to the pretty girls. Never to her. And it wasn’t a ‘glass ceiling’ problem. It happened even when her bosses were female – pretty women. It was patently and frustratingly unfair, but it was the way of the world, and that would never change.

Her jealousy grew, and she added loneliness, frustration and even anger to her sad collection of emotions and self-disgust.

So that’s why, through a series of unlikely, but to her seemingly lucky events, she found herself being welcomed to Paradise Isle. As a future sex slave on her way to the Island’s hospital complex.

It was strictly voluntary on her part. She’d worked through four years of school, three years of career and now she’d work through three years of servitude, to achieve her ultimate goal.

She’d trade three years of sexual slavery for beauty and happiness.

She had realized that she couldn’t afford all of the cosmetic surgery she dreamed of, it would empty her bank profile and put her in severe debt, and she was too intelligent to do that to herself. But she found someone who would. The Mancipium Association, a secretive organization who apparently had both the money and the capabilities to deliver her dreams, while delivering others’ too.

They would convert her to be one of the gorgeous people she all the time envied. And it wouldn’t cost her a dime, only three years as a gorgeous sex object, after which she’d be free to move on in whatever direction she wanted.

And there was another underlying aspect. She loved sex, and never got enough of it. If she were prettier, she knew she’d have more and better partners. And, of course as a slave, she’d get plenty of sex, too.

In her dreams she saw herself performing as a lusted after harem girl, quite possibly enjoying the sex, and the variety of men or even women she’d service, before returning to a much more successful career, or even settling down with some rich hunk of a man to become a socialite trophy-wife, living a life of leisure and contentment.

And there was one more incentive. To motivate the girls. If they performed as required, each was entitled to a one-million-dollar ‘gratuity’ upon the completion of her contract. The funds were placed in escrow with a large and well-respected bank. She’d seen the paperwork.

Of course, she’d wondered long and hard about this life-changing commitment over several months, before finally agreeing to it.

In her initial search for change, she had even considered joining the military. The recruiter had promised that it would be a life-changing adventure. That she’d come out after her three-year commitment with them, a new woman, more confident, self-reliant and in excellent physical shape. But with the same face and unsexy body.

Well, after this three-year adventure she would certainly come out as a new woman, experienced and ready to become a model, a trophy wife, or a whore. Whatever she wanted.

So, ultimately, it was an easy decision. For the price of three years of her life, she’d get the face and body she’d all the time wanted and a ton of money too. She’d then move onto the happy life she deserved.

So, one day, in some stuffy lawyer’s office she’d signed the contract. And then gone off to sell everything she owned; abandoning her old life. She’d have a new and better one, with a new begin when she returned.

With little other than the one-way tickets provided by Mancipium, she headed for the airport, confident in her decision and excited about her adventure.

++++++++++++++++

Her escort was a professional ‘handler’. An expert who would walk her through the process and deliver her to her owner, the person who was paying for everything. She didn’t know who they were, or what they were, or what they would make her do, that was part of the arrangement. She didn’t even know whether her owner was a man or a woman.

But she was certain that Kevin, the slave trader, would return her to freedom, after she had paid her debt for being made into the beauty she had all the time wanted to be.

There were various safeguards built into the process. Independent lawyers, and failsafe documentation would guarantee that. And part of the agreement also stipulated that she wouldn’t be forced into menial labor. She wouldn’t be scrubbing toilets, washing clothes or polishing pots and pans in a kitchen.

Her own lawyer had tried to talk her out of the commitment. The woman was at first scandalized by the deal, but she had finally, begrudgingly, verified the legitimacy of both the organization and the contract.

The document she’d signed, stipulated that they’d make her gorgeous before she began her life of slavery. And she trusted them, as what sex slave owner would want an ugly sex slave? Kevin assured her that she’d be gorgeous. With a beautiful new face and a shapely new body. And that no one from her past would recognize her when they were done. That was fine with her.

Once she was deposited in the clinic, she didn’t even know what all they’d be doing to her.

At the island’s harbor facilities, Kevin had worked with a resort concierge to process her through the island’s strict guest identification and screening process, and she came away with a guest’s bracelet in red, for slave.

They’d also helped Kevin place a slave collar around her neck. The thing was actually sort of pretty. Brushed nickel, with a ring mounted at the throat. five centimeters tall and five millimeters thick. But it was surprisingly light weight. And it locked in place.

“It also has its own built-in locating transmitter that will ensure you’re never lost. It’s good anywhere across the globe.” Kevin said pleasantly. Then he looked closely, just beneath the ring. “Number 1277. A nice ID number for you.”

“Twelve, seventy-seven?” she asked. It gave her a little thrill. I’m sex slave twelve, seventy-seven, she wondered, pleased that it was all really happening.

“Yes, that’s you. Now, don’t forget.”

“I won’t.”

“Good,” he said, before reaching up and clipping a chain leash to the collar, and gently leading her away toward a parked golf cart.

Now that felt strange, and intimidating – her first taste of slavery.

“We’re off to the hospital to begin your conversion to a beautiful butterfly.”

Michelle giggled. She was both nervous and terribly excited – it was really happening!

No one reacted when they saw the girl being led into the medical complex on a leash. It was apparently not all that unusual a sight on Paradise Isle.

After check in, the pair sat in the waiting room for only a few minutes before a nurse showed up and took them back into a treatment room. There she had to strip naked, and undergo a thorough examination by a doctor.

She wasn’t used to being naked in front of people, including doctors, but she forced herself to remain calm and aloof. She had to get used to being nude, she was, after all, on her way to life as a sex object.

“Excellent,” the doctor declared after he had poked and prodded, measured and monitored her. “You’re in excellent shape and the data we have on you matched up perfectly. Sometimes we get slave girls who exaggerate their body measurements.”

Michelle, just smiled and nodded.

The doctor smiled back. “Now I must ask one more time. Are you ready for this? The surgery to make you beautiful, and sexy and to become a slave girl? Do you consent to this, all of this, willingly?”

Michelle looked at him and then to Kevin, and then back. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Excellent. Then just stay here, and a nurse will be in shortly to prepare you for your first surgery. You’ll be with us for about three weeks, while we perform all of the major changes, and you have substantially healed. Then you’ll be moved to a suite at the fet resort for another week, for additional recovery.”

“And then she has a couple weeks at S3.” Kevin inserted.

“Ah, I hope you enjoy that. It seems that about half of the students appreciate their time there and the other half struggle with the curriculum.” The doctor commented.

Michelle looked confused, “S3?”

“Slave Sex School. It’s a program run here on the island for guests who wish to improve their sexual prowess. S2, ‘Sex School’ is for willing guests, and is only a week long. But S3 is for slaves.”

“Oh,” she said, busily imagining what slave sex college might be like, and what she’d learn there. It made her pussy wet. She’d probably get more sex in those two weeks than she’d had her whole life. Cool.

A few nervous minutes later a nurse came in rolling a gurney, she laid Michell out, hooked her up to an IV, and a monitor device, and then gave her an injection to put her to sleep.

The last thing Michelle remembered was Kevin’s smiling face, and his whispered opinion. “You’ll be a different person when you wake up. And I’m sure we’ll all love it.”

It was a pleasant wondered, as she drifted off under the influence of the drugs they’d loaded her with.

While she was unconscious, the doctors went to work, following the plan provided.

Multiple steps from a couple of teams were necessary and they worked on and off over the next several days, before declaring her procedures complete.

She was then rolled into a recovery suite, still virtually comatose.

And there she stayed for the many days that followed. During that time, under close supervision her body recovered rapidly. Thanks to the radically advanced processes the island’s hospital applied.

And in order to perform them, easily and efficiently, they kept Michelle heavily drugged and compliant throughout.

She didn’t realize it, but three weeks had passed before she was finally returned to wakefulness.

She came to, lying in a private little hospital room, with a nurse and doctor standing over her. To her it seemed like she’d been half-awake for quite a while before then, but she didn’t find out that sensation. All she knew was that at that moment she could see and hear and think.

Before she could say anything, the nurse stuck a straw into her mouth and instructed her to drink from the glass of water she held.

And while she drank the doctor spoke up. “Hello Michelle, I’m Doctor Cummings. I’ve been your lead surgeon for these last three weeks, and it’s time for you to come alive again.”

“Three weeks?” she mumbled, shocked and concerned.

“Yes. Not to worry. We do that to make all of the procedures easier for both us and for you. And to speed your recovery, as well. We’re very good here at what we do, and that includes hurrying along the healing process.” He paused to chuckle. “All of our patients are guests here at the resorts, and they’re always anxious to get out and enjoy themselves after they’re healed.”

“Okay?” She responded, still uncomfortable with the timeframe, and looking for more information.

“You’re fine now. Almost completely recovered. We’ll be moving you to a suite in the resort to complete the process. You’ll be more comfortable there, and you certainly don’t need any more nurse’s care, here at the clinic.”

He again paused, to let his words sink in. He knew that his patient needed time to think.

A few minutes later, during all of which Michelle had just been laying staring up at him, he began again.

“I’m sure you’re anxious to see your new self. There’s still some swelling and bruising, but that will fade quickly. But other than that, you’re finished, with our services, and you look as beautiful as anyone could ask for. I’m certain you’ll be pleased.”

That got her excited.

The nurse took that as her cue and pressed a switch to shift the bed so she could sit up, while the doctor offered her a hand-mirror.

Michelle grabbed the handle and shaking a little, took a look, and after only a quick glance, she inhaled and sighed. She was surprised and pleased beyond words. She was also shocked to realize that the visage in the mirror was actually her.

She was gorgeous! Stunningly so. But a bit overdone, too. She certainly looked as good as any Hollywood starlet. But a little closer to a men’s magazine fantasy woman, than any actress.

Her face is indeed gorgeous, she can not deny that.

Her eyes are big, a little too big. And blue, a very bright blue, and her nose is tiny, while her lips are gigantic. Unquestioningly cock-pillows.

Her eyelashes are long and thick. And it looked like she was already wearing eyeliner; probably tattooed.

And her skin is unblemished, smooth and white, and when she pulled down the sheet that covered her, she could see that her neck, and chest and breasts were the same – perfect.

She reached up and cupped her breasts and they were large and firm, and heavy on her chest.

“How big?” she asked quietly.

“Um, E-cups, I believe. That was the instruction. It will take a little longer for them to settle into place. I’m certain that they’ll be at least Es, perhaps a little larger. We want to err on the larger side of the scale.”

“Of course, we do.” She replied with a chuckle.

She pealed the sheet down farther, so it only barely covered her pussy. And she held the mirror further away so she could getter a better look at her torso.

She could see that her body was an absolute hourglass. Massive breasts, with tiny waist and hips that were happily not too wide.

She hoped that like her ass wasn’t oversized. She hated those women with big booties. Where it looked like their pants were stuffed with pillows.

As she continued to examine herself, it occurred to her that she was still wearing the slave collar. She had felt the thing’s weight and stricture when she first woke up, but had disregarded it with all of the other excitement. I guess that thing is permanent, she wondered, before returning to her pleasing inspection.

After staring at herself for several more minutes, she sighed, smiled and leaned back, handing off the mirror to the nurse, who’d been standing there waiting, patiently; smiling all the while.

I wonder if she’s gay? Michelle said to herself and it produced a little smile. She closed her eyes, and continued thinking, well, I’m now the perfect Barbie Bimbo, more so than I ever imagined. But I’m happy with that. It’s what I wanted.

She laughed when it occurred to her that she also looked a bit cartoonish like Playboy’s ‘Little Annie Fanny’. She’d seen her in back issues posted on the Internet. Where better to examine the type of beauty men liked in their women? Most men anyway.

“Thank you, doctor. It’s what I wanted.”

“Excellent. Now you just rest for a bit. A councilor and a physical therapist will be in shortly to brief you on next steps, and help you get up and move around a bit. Afterwards you’ll be taken to your suite at the resort. If you have any pain, Michelle, please call us. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a week for a final check-up.” Then he turned to leave, his work done. The nurse followed him out leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Michelle lifted the sheet to see her crotch. As she’d expected it was completely hairless and, like the rest of her new body, her pussy looked perfect. She pulled the sheet back up, and started giggling and talking out loud, to herself. “I did it. I’m the woman of my dreams. Now I just have to get through the next three years.”

She reached up and caressed her slave collar, and it emphasized her future. She thought if they had taken the thing off, while she was out, or if they’d simply worked around the thing. No matter, everything else was perfect. And the thing was the ultimate symbol of her deal, so she’d accept it, for the next three years, anyway.

Kevin arrived several hours later. After her briefing and a couple of hours with the staff learning to stand and walk again. It had been painfully difficult. As far as she could remember, she hadn’t really been out of bed the whole time, and her new breasts threw off what little balance she did have. At least at first.

She also felt an odd tingling from her pussy, that she wrote off as pure excitement. She certainly wasn’t eager to opinion on it.

She was sitting in a chair, dressed in a simple dress provided by the staff, when her handler knocked and entered her room. The outfit she wore on her day of arrival wouldn’t fit her anymore, how cool was that!

“Wow, you look fantastic!” was the first thing out of his mouth. Then he stepped in front of her and held out his hand to help her stand.

She giggled, “I bet you say that to all the sex slaves.”

He laughed, “no matter, believe me, it’s true. How are you feeling? How do you like your new face and body?”

“I’m fine, it’s nice to be fully awake. And I like my new looks, although I think they’re a bit more, ah, bimboesque, than I had imagined.” She replied, hesitantly.

“Ah, but we both know that you do not have the dim-witted brain all too often associated with a bimbo, even if you do look a bit like one.” He smiled condescendingly, before continuing. “Looks can always be toned down, but intelligence is inherent, if you’re lucky. Your owners were intrigued by your brains, they feel it will be an asset, as well as an amusement.”

“Amusement?”

Kevin looked uncomfortable for a moment. “Well, how can I explain? Ah, they believe that a girl with your current looks will be more easily frustrated and humiliated if she is intelligent. They look forward to toying with you along those lines.”

“Oh really?” Michelle hadn’t ever wondered about that aspect of her new life. She had expected constant demands for sex, and perhaps exposure and embarrassment, but she hadn’t considered any kind of mind games. It sounded a bit devious and mean.

They’d assured her that sadism was not something they allowed in their owner clients, but humiliation hadn’t been forbidden.