3 comments/ 11006 views/ 0 favorites Sommer Storms Ch. 01 By: Keroin I'd finally found a new description for the evening's tropical sunset, one not involving the adjectives sultry or fiery, when a small but determined fist smashed into my dinner plate. "Murderer!" The fist belonged to a woman I'd glanced at a few times, as she sat at the bar and as I wrote and scratched out sentences on the back of a cocktail napkin. "Liar!" she grabbed the crab I hadn't even touched yet off my plate, hoisted it in the air and shook it as if she might bring it back to life. Her eyes were the most interesting shade of blue. Damn, more adjectives. "Miss, please." A waiter scurried over to my table, urging my accuser to calm down by raising his index finger to his lips and making a shh face. Those blue eyes ignited like a blowtorch. "Don't you dare tell me to be quiet." She shook the crab at the waiter. A leg came loose, flew through the air and bounced off his flowered shirt. "Get that lying bastard of a manager out here!" I could clearly see the lying bastard of a manager hurrying in her direction but I wasn't about to stop the show to let her know that. "You people think because you're rich that gives you the right to eat endangered species?" Now she waved the crab at the patrons who were frozen in cartoonish poses of shock. "Do you have any idea how few Coconut Crabs are left on this island? Do you?" If the diners of the Pacific Pearl Resort did have any idea, they weren't stupid enough to say so. "Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to leave," the manager said, in that annoyingly calm tone they teach you at manager school. Blue Eyes grit her teeth and thrust the crab at his face. As the lying bastard of a manager started to speak, she whipped out a compact digital camera, from god knows where, and snapped a shot. "Busted, asshole." I chuckled. I should have known better. "You think that's funny?" she spun around and lashed me with a stare. Cute. Maybe I should have said something but she was like a wild animal that had been caged for too long and I couldn't bring myself to dull her obviously deserved outrage. "Laugh at this," she said, using my ex-entrée as bat to knock over my fruity cocktail onto my dress shirt. "Now look…Sir, I'm so…Get her out of here!" the manager was still blinking from the flash that had caught him off guard as he waved over a slow moving security guard. They were no match for Miss Blue Eyes, she was already on her way out, crab in hand, yelling obscenities as she went. I watched her legs. Gazelles would kill for legs like hers. If I'd been in New York or Paris, I would have run after her but that's the beauty of a tiny patch of rock like Aitutaki, there's nowhere for gazelles to hide. Sommer Storms Ch. 01 I nodded to the laptop, "I told you it was a rough draft." I watched her eyes drift down to the words on the screen. "But you're probably right. I can just get you to email me some info and I'll take a look at it when I'm back home." I chuckled as good naturedly as possible, "Thanks for putting up with my silliness, I'll just get your email address, if that's OK." "Is it still there?" she asked, standing, reaching a hand up between her shoulder blades and turning away from me. "Is what still there?" "The sign someone obviously taped to my back that says Please fuck with me, I'm a complete moron." Oh shit. "Look, Sommer, I--" "Save it, I know what you're trying to pull. People lie to my face all the time, Mr By the Way; you think I haven't learned to spot the signs? I honestly thought you were going to be different from all the other suits who think they can get me to behave the way they want with a bit of flattery and a few false promises." She shrugged, "I guess I am a moron." In one motion, she scooped up the remaining star fruit slices off the plate, hurled them at my face, with a suggestion for where I could shove them, and beelined for the sliding door. What could I say that wouldn't sound lame or desperate? Nothing. She whipped her head around to face me, blue eyes on full, "You should have stuck with weird, I like weird." With a silent slide of the door, she was gone. For the second time in two days, I watched that woman storm away from me as I cleaned up the mess she'd made. My own fault, entirely. I'd overdone it. Too impatient. The problem was, she did inspire me, in the worst way. Sommer Storms Ch. 01 "Girl, behave," I said, pressing the charcoal against one side of her collarbone and writing slave with enough force to demonstrate my displeasure. She looked down at the word, deciphered it and whimpered into her palm gag. I traced circles around her breasts, not quite accidentally brushing against a few of the tender, red spots left by the bra. Each time this happened, she inhaled sharply and moaned. Whore came out in a diagonal line, beginning under her right breast and ending on the far side, just at her hipbone. I didn't like the skirt anymore, it was in my way. Reaching my hands around her waist, I untied the string at the back and tossed the thing to the side. The girl was down to her tiny bikini bottom and those gazelle legs were free for me to explore. My property, cum deposit, fuck toy, I wrote in a semi-trance, delighted at how I could make her moan or struggle by varying the pressure of the stick. "Wider," I ordered, tapping the inside of her knee. She moved her legs apart slightly. "I said wider!" I gave the other knee a firmer tap and she obeyed. As I pressed the black tip of the stick against the inside of her left thigh, I pinned my eyes to hers. I moved my hand upward, and she panted. Up and up and up the stick went, her eyes widening as I approached the notch of the V between her legs. I listened for finger snapping and heard none. She was scared but not scared enough to stop. Pausing at the threshold, I contemplated my next move. No, not yet. Pulling the stick away from her thigh, I grabbed her chin in my left hand and tilted her head to one side. On her cheekbone, I drew more swirls. I tilted her head in the other direction and did the same thing. Her eyes closed as a thin stream of saliva fell from her mouth. I dropped the stick, caught some of the drool on my thumb and brushed it across her lips. Eyes still closed, she moaned. More drool. This time I wet my thumb and lowered it to her nipple. Like a predator circling nervous prey, my thumb worked around the very perimeter of the warm, pink aereola, never putting so much as a paw over the line. The rope tightened as the girl lowered her weight into her restraints. "Am I your Master, girl?" I asked, my lips pressed to her ear. She nodded, pushing her body toward my hand as best she could. Now she let her saliva flow for my benefit. I knew what she wanted and had every intention of denying it. "Good," I said, stroking my way along the outskirts of her other nipple. "If I am your Master, you must obey me and never disrespect me. Is that correct?" I whispered. Again a nod, this time accompanied by a moan. I stepped away, quietly, bent down and picked up a thin Toa branch I'd stashed by the base of the palm tree. Her eyes remained closed and now she was undulating and pulling at the rope. This dance of hers and the weapon clutched in my hand made my cock stiffen. I moved in close again, tucking her hair behind her ear, for effect. "So if you did something like…" I slid the weapon between her legs, bringing it up just to the edge of her bikini, and pressing against her skin hard enough to make her groan and grind her hips, "…oh, I don't know, let's say you stuck your tongue out at me behind my back or sassed me by calling me 'boss' or smirked at me when I gave an order, you'd have to be punished, right?" Eyes open. Wide open. She spied the slender stick as I pulled it away from between her legs. I ignored the muffled protests and the squirming and strolled behind her. The first strike, against her ass, was no more than a playful flick, a warm up, but the girl was so panicked she let out a scream into her gag and jumped around like she'd walked onto hot coals. I suspected she was more embarrassed than anything and gave a few more light taps to let her work through her angst. When I'd had enough of the dramatics, I halted and came around in front of her once more. "Are you quite through with your tantrum?" I asked. The blowtorch eyes fired up, then sputtered out. "You have no power here. Accept your punishment." She was still fighting it but I could feel her desire to submit winning. The next volley of strikes was more serious. How much I wanted that ass of hers naked, how much I wanted to see the border between bronze and alabaster skin and watch my stick endow each with lovely, red stripes. Her dangling dance stopped but she still flinched at every blow. I was careful to position each lash in a slightly different spot. Working across her ass and down the backs of her thighs. Each time the wood connected with her skin I was torn between the urge to stop and soothe her and the desire to flail even more mercilessly. From her, I felt a softening. The weapon was reshaping something inside of her. Muscles that were cinched and tight, grew long and languorous. Then it happened. Almost audibly, I felt her yield, give way. Her body hung heavy on the rope, her head lolled to one side, her breathing slowed. Cocking my arm back, I let go with a solid strike. I heard the whack and her long, guttural moan as a single noise. She inhaled but it wasn't the sharp inhale of fear. I needed to watch her. Moving to her front, I saw my slave, blackened by charcoal and beaded with sweat, looking at me with an expression of pure gratitude. As I raised the stick, her eyes followed and kept following through the arc, to her thigh. I swear she smiled. Oh god I needed to fuck her but we'd agreed, last night, that wasn't part of the deal. Frustrated, I smacked her thigh again. Her head dropped backward, exposing her long throat. Such a chokable throat. My attack on the front of her thighs began in earnest. Between my legs, and in my gut, a bonfire raged. Only a thread of humanity kept me from tearing off her bikini bottom and sinking myself into her. So engorged with my fantasy was I, it took a few moments to hear the finger snapping. In fact, it wasn't until I saw her head rocket up, perfectly straight, that I realized there was a problem. I tossed the stick to the side, feeling like an ass, but she started flailing and thrashing, yelling into her gag and yanking on the rope around her wrists. What had happened? Was I that out of it? I thought she'd been enjoying it. "OK, OK, hold on," I said, trying to calm her as I worked to free her hands. "Hold still, you're not helping." I could feel the effort it took her to stop struggling and I could hear her yelling, "Urry! Urry!" into the gag. Damn it. Every time I think I get this girl, she throws me a curve. The second her hands were free, she ripped the gag out of her mouth. "Fuck!" she yelled, then turned and ran, full speed, down the beach, away from the sight of her punishment, and me. "Sommer, what's wrong?" I yelled, jogging behind her. "The ra'ui! They're fishing in the ra'ui, those motherfuckers!" she answered, the second before she charged into the water. Sure enough, when I looked across the deep-water channel separating Motu Moana from the neighbouring motu, I could see two dark figures obviously setting a gill net right in the area that was a protected, marine reserve. Perfect timing. Thanks guys. Sommer was swimming the channel as if she was Michael Phelps's twin sister. No use trying to call her back and I certainly didn't feel like battling the current, especially with the needy ache in my groin. Kicking the sand and cursing, I turned and headed in the direction of my so-called slave's kayak. At least I could stop someone from getting hurt, though I didn't know who I was more concerned about, Sommer or the fish poachers. I took one last look at the empty rope, hanging from the palm like a broken promise. Damn. Sommer Storms Ch. 02 From the power of her thrashing, I guessed Sommer must have been on the tenth level of pain. The men spoke in their own, Maori tongue. Shorter popped the leaves into his mouth and began to chew, while he also helped hold the girl still. Her eyes rolled back and she gasped for air. Now that she was under control, Taller dug his knife into the sole of her foot, where she'd stepped on the poisonous spines. More screaming. The clear water around her feet turned a cloudy red. It was all I could do to hang on to her. Setting the knife aside, Taller held out his empty palm and his friend spit the chewed leaves into it. He began pushing the green poultice deep into the wound, evoking more screams. For a minute, he pressed his hand against Sommer's foot, holding in the mush as she fought us with all of her remaining strength. Then, all at once, her body went limp. Her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, and her muscles surrendered. I couldn't believe it. Colour even returned to her face. "Your shirt, give me it," Taller said to me. I removed the tank top I'd slipped on before kayaking over – my attempt at being culturally sensitive – and handed it over. As easily as if he were tearing a piece of Kleenex, the ersatz doctor, ripped the garment lengthwise, then wrapped it around his patient's injured appendage. She flinched just a bit but the effect of his ministrations was startling. Smoothing strands of wet hair away from Sommer's face, I could see her eyes processing what had just a happened. She moved to sit up. "No, you lie down," Shorter said. "Stay," Taller added. "I'm…fine," she grunted, working herself upright. "I need to get her to the hospital," I said. She turned to face me and shook her head, then she grabbed my shoulder and used it to push herself into a standing position. I also stood, to help support her. Taller and Shorter eyed her with a mix of confusion and respect. Her right knee was bent, to keep the injured foot out of the water, and she balanced on her left leg, refusing the hand I offered to steady her. I wondered if I could have done so well in the same position. Everyone deals with pain differently, I guess. It took Sommer a minute to catch her breath but when she did, she held out her hand to first Taller, then Shorter, and gave each of them a firm handshake. I waited for her apology, or her thank you. Between heavy breaths she said to her saviours, "Please…please don't fish…in the R'aui…anymore." Their faces moved from shock, to anger, to laughter. Taller reached out a Frisbee-sized hand and placed it on top of the hair matted to her head. "OK, crazy papa'a, no more fishing here. Just for you." "Thank you," she said. As she swooned, I caught her, mid-fall, and scooped her into my arms. Out cold. The men nodded to their tin boat and I smiled. "Crazy papa'a woman," I whispered, as I kissed the top of her head. Sommer Storms Ch. 03 Paradise does not exist. I'd spent enough time in postardesque destinations to realize that it's all a front, a beautiful slight of hand. Where there's white sand, blue water and warm breezes, there's also cockroaches, dengue fever, eight-dollar heads of broccoli, over fishing, cyclones and drinking water swimming with parasites. Paradise does not exist. That's what I believed until the afternoon Jules and I spent torturing my new slave. Sommer's passion was not limited to protecting marine life, I discovered. Every task she was given, she attacked as surely as she had attacked the illegal fishermen. Every ounce of pain we delivered to her, she absorbed with a determination made all the more beautiful by the agony carved on her bronzed face. Even when she hated it, she loved it. And then, suddenly, unexplainably, she didn't. From her bag of toys, Jules had pulled a dozen super balls. Small, rubber balls, kids toys, that bounce like crazy as soon as they hit a solid surface. She had tossed them in the air for Sommer to fetch, in her mouth, on her hands and knees, within a specified time limit. There would be a punishment for failure, and failure was a given considering how erratically the balls bounced and the multitude of directions they bounced in. It was one of her tamer tasks, a break between our other activities, which were growing progressively nastier -- one-upmanship starting to rear its competitive head between Jules and I, just like the old days. Sommer, still gloriously naked, had scrambled off frantically after the balls - the classic over achiever, determined to beat the system. But after retrieving the third ball, which had dropped inside Jules's purse, her energy vanished, and she loped back to Jules, ball in mouth, with a flat expression on her face. After a halfhearted crawl to the next ball, she flopped over onto one hip and uttered her safe word. "Sommer, are you OK?" I asked, striding to her side. She spit the ball into her hand. "No," she said, standing and hurling the ball across the room as hard as she could. It ricocheted from wall to floor to table, barely missing Jules's head as it whizzed by. "Whoa! Easy Babe Ruth, you almost took an eye out with that one!" Jules said, rising from her chair. "Good," Sommer said, yanking the collar off her neck and hurling it to the floor. What had just happened? Was she jealous? Angry? This girl was such a riddle. Five minutes earlier she had been lapping up everything Jules threw at her, now she was glaring at her as if willing laser beams to shoot from her eyes and disintegrate the buxom blonde where she stood. "Sommer?" I asked, stepping cautiously closer. I recognized the volatile mood and kept a safe distance; who knew what she might do. "What's going on?" When she turned her eyes to me, I could see a conflict swirling behind them. "Nothing. My foot hurts," she muttered, flicking her eyes down to the quasi-cast Jules had made for her. An obvious lie, but why? I moved until I was standing in front of her, blocking Jules from her view, then I spoke in a voice that was low but commanding, "Tell me the truth." I watched her bite her lip then I grasped her chin between my thumb and forefinger, hard enough to let her know I was serious, "Now." She didn't answer, just pulled away from me and stomped over to the table where Jules's purse sat, grabbed the straps in one hand and threw it to the wood floor, the guts of it spilling out everywhere. "Hey! What the fuck?" Jules came running to the aid of her wounded handbag. Sommer crossed her arms and glared at her with her laser beam eyes. I looked at Sommer, looked at the purse, asked myself what the sea god's daughter could be angry at now, then the light bulb flipped on. "I'll take that," I said, snatching the purse from Jules's hand, much to her surprise. I examined the offensive accessory then held it up toward Sommer, "Eel skin?" She nodded. Lips pressed together. "Ah." I placed the purse back on the table then helped Jules to her feet before wedging myself between the two angry women. Now I had a dilemma. My new slave was livid and I knew that all the orders and masterly commands in the world weren't going to make one dent in her anger. Besides, I liked this about her, her passion, and I wasn't in any hurry to strip it from her. On the other side, was my best friend who had traveled several thousand miles to rescue me from an imagined broken heart. She would never be the PETA poster child but she wasn't a bad person. We were all stuck here for the night and I would be damned if that night was going to be spent with the two of them giving each other the stink eye across the room. "Jules," I said, "remember how you offered to bottom for me when you arrived?" "Yes but that was bef--" I raised a silencing hand. "You offered, I'm taking you up on it. No more arguments. You've offended Sommer -- unintentionally, I know, but you need to make amends for it. Let's call it a lesson in environmental awareness." I turned to Sommer, "And you can wipe that smug smile off your face right now. I asked you a direct question and you lied to me. If you want to be my slave you'll damn well learn to respect me, right now." I can't speak to what possessed me, only that I was on a control high and my body was being guided by instinct. I raised my hand and delivered a solid smack to Sommer's face. There was no anger in it, only a need to clarify our respective positions. Outside the wind was beginning to howl, adding to the rising tension in my veins. "Here's how this is going to work..." I began, walking away from two very shocked women, hands clasped behind my back, mind racing.