Competition Breeds Excellence in Captivity

Ashoka was the third century Maurya emperor, whose dominion stretched from present-day Afghanistan to Bangladesh. He became famed for not only converting to Buddhism, but using the power of the empire to spread that local sect into a world religion. These days, Buddhism is popularly thought of as one of the most peaceful and non-violent major religions. Be that as it may, Ashoka’s epiphany was gradually induced by remorse for having started what is to-date still one of the bloodiest wars in Indian history, by conquering the lands of Kalinga. War by its nature has always been destructive, but before converting Ashoka was known as 'Chandashoka' (Ashoka the Cruel), for his murderous impulses were promulgated not only by foreign policy. As he had not been the first prince in line for the throne, Ashoka was inaugurated by assassinating his eldest brother along with all hundred other brothers and half-brothers, save the youngest. The Buddhist Sanskrit text of the Ashokavadana recounts that Ashoka had 500 of his concubines burnt alive for not wanting to feel his body and thus cutting down one of his namesake trees that put him in an amorous mood.  

My island was inspired not only by a sovereign court with so many concubines living under the threat of horrific punishment, but also one of Ashoka’s oldest legends. The legend describes how Ashoka built a superficially opulent palace, with a backdrop of delectable orchards and majestic gardens. Paradoxically from the outside, this palace was called Ashoka’s Hell. For deep inside were hidden the greatest of torture chambers, faithfully modeled on the Buddhist conception of hell, because Ashoka journeyed to Hell itself to record its perfection. Ashoka decreed that no one would ever leave his hell alive, not even his handpicked chief executioner, nor any innocents who wandered in, enticed by the splendor. I adopted the same resolution for my island, for I could not have anyone betraying what I did in the basement.

The basement construction was my idea of a dream home where I hoped to live out my days. The apartment itself was initially built with 5 bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and biometric locks on the doors, so that all could function as jail cells. But I had the construction team tunnel out and reinforce all the way from under the hangar to underneath the nearby grove of jungle trees. I had to plan ahead in case I needed more space to keep generations of sex slaves. 

The central room connecting all the bedrooms was an open plan kitchen and dining room. On one side of this central room was the metal door to the upstairs hangar and the outside world. Another wide doorway led to an open air courtyard, engineered with a drainage system, all hidden from view from the sky by the jungle canopy forty feet above. A third large opening into the central kitchen and dining room needed no door, for I had no wish to block the sights or sounds of what happened in the ‘gym.’ 

The other side of the basement was described to my architects and contractors as a ‘CrossFit gym.’ In reality, the ‘gym’ was where my sex slaves would spent most of their days being raped, restrained and tortured. There were an awful lot of squat racks for one guy, so I made reference to the intention of raising a strong family and hosting many guests on the island, in keeping with all the bedrooms. Strategically, the half-dozen weightlifting racks were anchored into the floor to withstand forces exceeding 500 kilograms/1100 pounds, and bars with attachment points ran along the ceiling. 

An adjoining ‘cardio’ room was more of the actual gym, housing a variety of workout machines and equipment, behind a locked door. The gym equipment was not just for plausible deniability: I wanted my girls to stay in shape and I exercise daily, both out of habit and to keep my slaves from being able to overpower or outrun me. Conveniently, my twisted mind is inspired by exercise equipment that dovetails as competition and punishment apparatuses. 

A second adjacent area on this darker side was a whole-room shower designed like a spa, complete with several hot tubs that could also fill with ice-cold water kept at a constant 5 degrees Celsius/41 degrees Fahrenheit by liquid nitrogen tanks. In my old special operations unit we used similar 10 degree Celsius/50 degree Fahrenheit cryotherapy baths after workouts. Today I still swear by ice baths to speed muscle recover and reduce swelling today, but sheepishly must confess that I could never bear to submerge myself for more than 5 minutes. Hypothermia treatments aside, the area was also furnished with all the fittings of a high-class spa because I, like everyone, wishes to be pampered by the warmth of skilled hands.

Taking a page from the NKVD station blueprints of Stalin’s second secret police chief, I ordered that all the basement floors be slightly angled downhill and, like the walls, easy to wash. At least one hose was installed in every room. Full-length mirrors covered the walls, even outside in the courtyard, to let me catch every angle and force the girls to face the horror of what was happening to them. No one would necessarily suspect this true reason, for interior designers often line the walls in stores, restaurants, and gyms with reflective surfaces to make the rooms look bigger and brighter. Every room had freestanding drawers and cabinets to organize my instruments of torture, and could be wheeled around to supplement the basic set I stored in all of the bedrooms. All this was installed by the builders, and I brought my own, all-too-sinister, furniture later.

Despite downstairs being completely off the internet grid unlike the upstairs office, the basement apartment was a ’smart’ home. From anywhere I could control everything from the thermostat, to the timers, to boiling water, and unlocking and opening any door or drawer. The smart home system could be programmed either by the remote controls in every room that responded only to my facial recognition and fingerprints, or an apartment-wide voice command system. 

Large digital timers masqueraded as seemingly normal digital clocks on the four walls of every room, for the competitive games I would force my sex slaves to play. The timers were linked with the smart home system, but never displayed the time after the builders left. This was another measure for controlling my slaves: I wanted them to lose track of time, the way that there are no clocks in casinos. Without an anchor to time, they would always be living in dread, not knowing how fast time had elapsed, and would not be able to predict when their ordeal would begin. For myself, I had the realization once I had built up my estate that time only mattered when I had to deal with the outside world. As long as I did not need to go to a place of business, I could simply eat when I was hungry and sleep when I was tired.

After the builders left, I personally installed a video and audio surveillance system on my own, so that I could monitor every room. I could watch the video feed or playback weeks of footage through a virtual reality 3D Vision Pro headset. I am not into voyeurism, though I hoped to be able to relive ‘highlights’ of my memories from other angles. Moreover, I am concerned with what my slave girls might be up to when they think I cannot see them. I made the attempt to hide the cameras and microphones, because, as the military saying goes, “intelligence drives operations.” In this case, what I was trying to preempt was the girls planning an operation against me, or a suicidal one.

Before stockpiling supplies on the island, I calculated an estimate for a generous caloric burn and the quantity needed of a mix of brands of pet food to preserve a sex slave’s curves. I did not want my girls getting too skinny. I knew my slaves would be revolted by being forced to eat pet food. Punishment opportunities aside, I am not particularly turned on by degradation, but others may enjoy this. I was being practical: pet food is shelf stable, nutritionally consistent, readily available in bulk via overnight worldwide shipping, and easy to chew. I research the brands with the highest fiber, so my slaves would be more efficient cleaning out their colons before all the ass rape.

Pet food is not designed for human consumption though, even though the better brands use ingredients that are no different than what free men and women eat. For example, dog food is much higher in the proportion of protein, cholesterol, and Vitamin A, all of which can cause problems if eaten in large doses. There is also a higher risk for illness, because cat and dog digestive systems are, frankly, better adapted to eating all kinds of things in the wild, so pet food is not subject to the same rigor of inspections. Down the line I would research better suited foodstuffs that were non-perishable and available in commercial volumes. I had every intention of buying fresh meat and vegetables for myself, but the lure of playing with sex slaves disincentivized me from flying off the island for grocery trips more often than I had to. 

After the last builders were flown off, I dragged an extra king sized waterproof mattress to the main gym room. It was not the most luxurious, but it was easy to clean and the metal bed posts could take pounds and pounds of force from girls thrashing against them. Smaller and slightly larger heavy-duty metal aerated boxes for transporting wild animals could hold the girls in cramped conditions if they did not earn the privilege of my bed that night. All six sides were pockmarked with air holes to the point where I would have a pretty comprehensive view of the slave from the outside, but every aperture was too small to fit more than a thumb through. The walls and ceiling of the boxes were padded, to keep the girls from concussing themselves when they woke with a start, but not the floor because it was supposed to be uncomfortable. The start of every day in these boxes would be a rude awakening, because the floor was lined with copper to maximally conduct a dose of electricity as a wake up call. By hooking these portable prison cells up to an outlet, I could also rely on integration into my smart home system for unlocking via voice and remote control.

I ordered a medical grade autoclave for sterilizing my torture tools with pressure and steam. Woodworking is not really a hobby of mine, but something I had to learn for a job. Thanks to the miracle of the internet, there are a lot of designs floating around for things like restraint benches, wooden and aluminum ponies, and waterboarding tables. 

This room, surrounded by these furnishings, was where Zarina woke up.