Problems

Amanda reached behind her neck and fumbling with the clasp for a moment, worked to free the leather collar from around her neck. When she succeeded she tossed it into the bushes before freeing her sister. Next she opened the bag, it was the same bag she'd brought to the island filled with her supplies, extra clothes, and money. Reaching in she grabbed her shirt, the first item of clothing she'd touched in almost two years. Her heart dropped when she unfolded it: It was completely shredded, cut into ribbons from hem to collar, it wouldn't cover her now more ample chest from the gaze of anyone. Quickly she cast it into the night as well, reaching deeper into the bag and coming out with a bra, but it was equally useless. The snaps that held it together had been cut from the cloth of the band. Panicked adrenaline filled the woman as she checked each piece of clothing in turn. Underwear, shorts, pants, a jacket, socks, everything had been rendered useless by the master's scissors. There wasn't a single usable piece of clothing left in the whole bag. Worse, her passport and all of her money were missing as well. Amy and Amanda were naked and trapped on and island where they would look like nothing other than runaway slaves. The only thing that had been left in the bag was a scrap of paper at the bottom. In the moonlight she saw that "good luck" was written in tight, black script. She cursed the master under he breath and looked around wildly for any avenue of escape.

Amy, absent of instruction from the master, had resumed her normal position: face down, ass in the air, spreading herself. She was a good **** after all.