Islands Trip

THE ISLANDS TRIP by Shearingly

This trip to the islands of West Indies had been planned for several months. We were all looking forward to the trip. There were four of us – my wife, Jill, and me (my name is Ed) plus our eleven-year-old daughter, Katy. There was also Darla, an eighteen-year-old who had been our babysitter several times over the last few months. We invited her to go along thinking she would be able to stay with Katy so my wife and I could do things together.

We didn’t know that much about Darla – we thought she came from a pretty decent family, she looked wholesome (girl-next-doorish) and Katy liked her. She was a very pretty girl with long legs, a slender waist and gorgeous, long, red hair (curly, like Nicole Kidman’s). In fact, we teased her about it and nicknamed her “Nicole.”

Jill, at thirty-two, was a terrific looking woman. She had grown more beautiful over the years I’d known her. She turned heads and stopped conversation whenever she walked into a room. Her thick honey-blond hair ended about three inches below her shoulders and glowed with a healthy shine. Katy was a younger version of her mother. Her hair was also blond (a little more reddish than Jill’s) and longer – it came to the middle of her back. They both knew that their hair was eye-catchingly pretty and took good care of it. Neither one would leave the house until every hair was in place. Sometimes that was exasperating for the only male in the household.

When Darla started working for us, it quickly became apparent that she was into hair in a big way. She would talk about hers, about styles, about changing styles or colors or getting it trimmed or permed. She could talk for hours about hair! She would come early when Jill and I were going out so when I got home from work, there would be Darla brushing my wife’s hair and helping her style it for the evening. After we’d leave (I would find out later) she would wash and comb out Katy’s hair. They both loved to primp and put on makeup and try on clothes (Jill and Darla were the same size, so Darla would try on Jill’s clothes when we were out, which didn’t seem to bother Jill).

Darla came to our house the day we left for the airport. We loaded up the suitcases (Darla said she’d borrowed some that her older brother had left behind when he went into the army) and drove to the airport. The three females had gotten together and co-ordinated their outfits. They were all wearing short, flare skirts that showed off a lot of leg. We attracted a lot of attention as we made our way through the airport terminal. The skycaps fell all over themselves trying to help with our luggage.

Finally we were on the plane and settled in for the long flight. The weather was great and visibility was good. I dozed some, but the girls plastered their noses against the windows and exclaimed over everything they could see on the ground miles below. We landed and were shown where to line up, with our luggage, for customs. One of the baggage inspectors had a dog that was sniffing all the luggage. Finally it was our turn. Katy went through first – no problem. Jill’s suitcases were next, also no problem – except getting them closed again after the officer had riffled through her things.

They took Darla’s next. The officer looked through each piece, but not too carefully – he was too busy staring at Darla’s long legs and short skirt. He pushed the luggage down the counter where the dog sniffed Darla’s suitcase and started barking. Before I could even ask what was going on, all four of us were marched into a side office with a couple of large, armed men standing at the door. Our suitcases were taken into another room. We could see through a window – they took everything out of the suitcases and examined it all again.

In a side pocket of one of Darla’s suitcases they found some white powder. It was loose and there wasn’t much of it, but they noticed it and one man put a little on his finger and examined it. He thought it might be cocaine (it turned out to be shaving talc, but by then it was too late). The powder made them very suspicious! They carefully examined all of her neatly packed clothes, checking every pocket and seam. Then one man took a pocket knife and cut out the lining of her suitcase checking any possible hiding place. The only things they found that interested them were two photo albums, one in Katy’s suitcase and one in Darla’s.

The officer in charge came back to where we were and in formal tones announced that his men had found suspicious items in our luggage and that we would be detained for questioning. They took me first. I was led into another room and questioned for a long time about Darla and her relationship to our family.

After a while a stack of pictures was put in front of me. “What do you know about these?” they asked me. I looked at them – they were photographs of Darla without any clothes on in very erotic poses. My eyes widened in surprise. I had no idea that Darla would be willing to degrade herself by posing that way.

Immediately I expressed horror and outrage. “We had no idea that this was the kind of girl we hired to be our babysitter! This is horrible. It shows a complete lack of morals. She should be ashamed. She shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this! She always did flaunt herself more than a good girl would.”

“We don’t allow pornographic materials to enter these islands – it is illegal. And we don’t welcome the people who pose for pornographic pictures. What would you do to punish her if it were up to you?” they asked me.

I was really upset that she had gotten us into this mess. I thought of what influence she might have had on our sweet, innocent, Katy. It made me angry. But I was, in a way, responsible for her and I didn’t want to see her thrown into a prison in a foreign country. “She should have an old fashioned paddling on her bare backside – she might learn to be more circumspect in her activities. Then to make sure she didn’t flaunt herself for a long time, I would cut off all her hair then send her back home.” I had read somewhere that these punishments were not out of the ordinary for this country. As I was talking the officials were nodding their heads in agreement. They left me for a while then returned.

“We have talked to the judge and he agreed with your recommendation and told us we were to go ahead with it,” the officials told me.

I nodded, still in shock, and said, “Fine, I think you should teach her a lesson she’ll never forget. In fact,” I added, “if you are agreeable, I want to carry out the punishments on her. She betrayed a trust by bringing those things along and getting my family in trouble.” I was taken back into the room with the other three who looked very worried.

“Are you O.K.?” Jill whispered to me.

“QUIET,” the official shouted. He made Darla stand and then proceeded to list the charges against her: attempting to bring pornographic material into the country, posing for pornographic photographs and contributing to the delinquency of a minor. I nodded approvingly as he said all this. I watched Darla’s face get red with embarrassment and then white with fear as the realization dawned that she had committed an illegal act on foreign soil. Her legs started to tremble and she had to grasp the table in front of her to steady herself.

The pictures of Darla were held up for all to see. As I glanced at them again it dawned on me – THEY WERE TAKEN IN MY HOUSE! That was my family room furniture and drapes in the background. “What was going on?” I wondered to myself. “Who took those pictures? Where was Jill and Katy when they were taken, how much did they know about all of this?” I shook my head to clear away the confusion.

Just as I tuned back in I heard them pronounce the sentence for Darla – twelve strokes of a wooden paddle on bare buttocks then all the hair of her head to be cut off. I heard a loud sob and wail and Darla collapsed on the floor. The sobbing continued and I looked behind to see Jill and Katy in each other’s arms wailing. “Be quiet,” I told them. “Look at what she has done. She deserves this. She’ll be taught a lesson she won’t soon forget.” They just looked at me and sobbed harder.

When Darla regained consciousness (an official held smelling salts under her nose until she came to), she was told to remove all of her clothing from the waist down. She slowly started by unzipping, pulling down and stepping out of the tiny skirt. Then she peeled off everything that was under it until she stood there bare legged, naked from the waist down. The officials told her to turn around, bend over and grab her ankles. She slowly complied. As she bent way over her long red curls tumbled around her face and puddled on the floor under her head.

The men looked at me and asked if I wanted to “do the honors.” I took the paddle they offered me and proceeded to let fly – it connected with a sold WHACK. Darla jumped and cried out in surprise and pain. I delivered three more quickly before she could get herself set. I was counting out loud and that brought me up to “FOUR.” I paused for a moment to heighten her anticipation and then quickly delivered four more. I had been paddled like this when I was a boy, so I knew what pain and agony she was going through. I knew it wouldn’t leave any physical scars, but she would distinctly remember this day, with all of its humiliation, for the rest of her life. The last four were delivered with a slow cadence to draw out the final effect. I reflected on the thought that we had never punished Katy like this. I wondered if she, watching it, was learning anything from the experience. I hoped it would help her to grow up into a morally respectable young lady.

When the paddling was done, Darla was led to a cold, metal stool and forced to sit on her tender bottom for the rest of the sentence. A pair of large sharp scissors were brought out along with a set of electric hair clippers. I stood behind Darla, gathered her tangled curls with one hand and held it taut, up and away from her head. Using the large scissors I slowly hacked my way through the thick mass of hair. It took a few minutes and many bites of the scissors to get all the way through. As the severed ends came free the still-attached hair fell around her face in an odd, uneven, shaggy style.

The clippers were next. I could tell from the horrified look on her face that she wasn’t accepting this as real. Maybe she thought it was all a dream. I flipped the clippers on and brought the buzzing teeth up to her forehead. The cold teeth bit into the red curls just above her eyebrows and plowed ahead, cutting a furrow straight back to the crown of her head. After a few more swipes, the top of her head was bare of all but red stubble. I worked quickly, but carefully around her ears, then clippered up the back of her head. Soon she was bereft of her glorious red cloud of hair. The men in the room, watching closely laughed cruelly at her humiliation. They took turns rubbing their hands on her stubble and calling her names like “Brush Bunny,” Fuzzy Worm,” and “Porcupine.”

I sat back down thinking it was all done and they would soon release us. I was hoping that my willingness to help in the punishment would keep them from coming down hard on me or my family. The head official came up to me with a folder in hand. “Do you still believe that we did the right thing in punishing Darla this way for her crimes?”

I nodded emphatically and said, “I sure do!”

He continued, “Do you believe the punishment should be the same for anyone who commits the same crimes?”

Recklessly I plunged ahead, a little flattered that they were asking me, a foreigner, about dealing with criminals in their country. “Sure,” I said, “it seems like a fitting punishment to me.”

Without another word he slapped the file folder down on the table in front of me – it sounded like a gunshot, I jumped. It fell open to some other pictures that he hadn’t shown me before. I glanced at them and let out an “Ohhhh” of disbelief. There in full color were pictures of my wife, Jill, posing erotically before the camera. There were several of them, then a few with her and Darla together doing things I had never pictured my wife doing. And then, to top it all off, at the bottom of the stack there were two pictures of my sweet, innocent, Katy. She was a little more discreetly posed, but unmistakably without any clothes on.

I think I almost had a stroke. I know my blood pressure shot way up when I saw those. “WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS!” I shouted at Jill.

“Oh, Ed,” my wife said. “We never meant for you to see those. We were just having fun one day and took some pictures. They were supposed to be destroyed. I don’t know why the girls kept them. I’m so sorry.”

“SORRY! SORRY?” I shouted. “That’s all you have to say for yourself? You’re sorry?”

The officials smiled and laughed at my discomfort. They had led me into a trap and I had pronounced the sentence for my own wife and daughter! I collapsed into the chair.

They dragged Katy to the center of the room first. With rough hands they removed her skirt and panties then pushed her into a bent-over position for her paddling. The men handed me the paddle and I looked at it like I’d never seen one before. I started to paddle my daughter, but it was without any real force or conviction. One of the men grabbed the paddle from my hand and gave Katy a thorough paddling – something she’d never had from me, I thought regretfully. If she had maybe we wouldn’t be in this mess right now.

After they finished Katy’s paddling they led Jill to her position, jerked her skirt, hose and panties down and then took their time, having fun with her humiliation and discomfort. They let her stay bent over, exposed to the whole room while they talked about how they should paddle her. They discussed the pros and cons of different paddling methods and techniques. They rubbed their hands on her exposed bottom cheeks, building the tension and anticipation in Jill. Finally they got started and really gave it to her. Harder than I had paddled Darla and much harder than they had given to Katy. Jill was in agony. I was angry at her, but somehow felt that she had made her bed, she must lie in it.

The two girls were then seated side by side on cold metal stools while two men toyed with their beautiful hair. Once again tormenting them with their words and making the whole thing worse by stretching it out. Katy was first. Her mid-back length, gorgeous reddish-blond hair was sliced off section by section as close to the scalp as the scissors would go. The men tossed pieces to each other and draped them on her lap. Katy wept uncontrollably. After the shearing, the clippers zoomed around her head – a totally unfamiliar experience for her. They didn’t stop with that, a safety razor was brought out. She was lathered up and scraped clean, leaving a completely bald head.

Jill put her hands up to her head and pleaded, “Please, don’t shave my head. Please, no. I couldn’t stand that.” The men just laughed at her.

They tied her hands behind her back so she couldn’t interfere and then proceeded to toy with her, playing with her lovely ash-blond hair and taunting her. They lifted it up and smelled it saying, “Oh, this smells so nice. You must spend a lot of money on shampoos.” They took locks of Katy’s hair and tickled her face and arms. “Pretty soon, you won’t be able to experience the feel of hair on your face or arms. Remember what this feels like – it will be a long time before your hair grows out enough to feel it again.”

When they finally started it didn’t take long. They roughly pushed Jill’s head forward until her chin touched her chest. They used the clippers (no scissors) and mowed from the nape of her neck up the back of her head to the crown, over and over. Her beautiful mane dropped off in layers, piling up on the floor around her feet. The sides came next, exposing her white scalp. Then the top of her head. They pushed the hair forward so it tumbled down her face, tickling her eyes, nose, mouth and chin on its way to her lap. I’d never seen her cry so much as she did then.

Finally the ordeal was done. I held my breath, for fear that they would change their mind and throw us all into jail. We were escorted back to the airport. We got a lot of stares – one man and three bald or crew-cutted females attracted a lot of attention! I was never more relieved when the plane taxied down the runway and climbed up into the air. Headed for home, where I determined there were going to be some changes in our house. Never again would we let some girl get involved in our lives and put us in such potential danger!

THE END

Feel free to e-mail comments to: Shearingly@aol.com

 

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