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Island Slave Ch. 01

By: dweaver999



Chapter one

The Fateful Cruise

Sherry Wilson put her fork down in exasperation. "Carla. What's the point of having lunch together if all you're going to do is eat? Have you heard a word I've said?"

Carla Baxter looked up from her lunch. The smile on her face was forced. "Yes, Sherry, I have been listening. I am just not interested. You know I'm not into the bar scene."

Stabbing one of the ravioli on her plate, Sherry waved it like a baton as she spoke. "Good grief, Carla. All you do every night is sit at home, watch TV and pretend you're happy. Get out there, enjoy life!" The ravioli made it into her mouth and she exclaimed around her chewing, "What you need is a really good fucking!"

Carla's fork rattled loudly in her salad bowl when she dropped it. Her look fired daggers at her friend, not because the suggestion was insulting, but because Sherry knew better. "I've told you before, Sherry Marie Wilson, I need more from a guy than a hard on and the ability to use it. I need to be connected with him. I want to know who he is and for him to have taken the time to know who I am. I want to be able to talk with him, really talk, about things that matter."

"Oh my God., Carla, you're describing a husband, not a lover. A lover wants your body, not your brain. It's nice to have your body wanted. Trust me, I know. If something comes after that, then okay. But I, for one, like the feel of a man deep inside me, making me squirm and gasp. I don't need a rocket scientist for that."

Carla knew everything her friend said was true. Sherry had been in a long succession of relationships, though some of them stretched the meaning of the word. One, Brad, had been for two years and might have gone as far as marriage if he had not been transferred to Brisbane. Many had been true one night stands that Sherry could not even put a name to. Her friend truly loved the purely physical side of men.

"Sherry. I'm not like you. I need a relationship first. The idea of just picking up a guy and going to bed with him holds no appeal for me. You, Cindy and Gavin need to stop trying to remake me in your own images." Carla's trio of friends had spent most of the 15 years or more they had known her trying to fix her up with boyfriends and sex partners. Add to them, her mother's constant harping about why she had not found a good man and gotten married, and you had one frustrated, and apparently tolerant with her friends, woman.

"How would you know? You've never done it. Carla, by your own admission, you were celibate for five years after losing your virginity at 16. After that, you've had four boyfriends, all of whom you made wait for over a year before you went to bed with them. All of them eventually dumped you. You've never had a one night stand. You can't possibly know how much fun they are or aren't. You need to try."

"I don't want to, Sherry. Anyway, no one's going to pick me up in a bar. I'm just not pretty."

Now Sherry's fork hit the plate, but not by being dropped. "Don't you dare start on that again. You are not ugly."

"I didn't say I was ugly, I said I wasn't pretty. I mean, have you looked at me? I have small tits. My body goes straight from my shoulders to my waist and then bulges. It's not fat, but it is thick, thicker than men like. My face is forgettable, not ugly, but no one remembers it. I've seen what men want, you just have to look at their magazines, like Maxim and Stuff."

Carla did not have a bad self image, just an honest one. The way she described her body was simply accurate. There are no curves to speak of until she reached her hips, where every ounce of excess body weight settled, and her breasts are small enough that a bra was completely optional. If she were interested in passing for a man, strapping down would not be overly painful. There was nothing wrong with her face, it simply lacked any distinguishing features that someone would remember later. She would be a police nightmare if she were a criminal.

She had dieted in the past. She quickly realized that the only way she was going to keep that bulge off was to starve herself indefinitely. She did not want that. Now she kept her five foot, seven inch body at a comfortable 140 pounds. While not what many would consider ideal, it was within healthy tolerances and, more importantly, it's the size her body seemed to want to be at.

Sherry shook her head. "You know, Carla. There are guys out there that think you look just fine. Not everyone wants an hourglass waist or a Dolly Parton chest. Give them a chance."

"They do want a woman that will screw on the first date. That's why they're in bars in the first place, an easy lay. I don't want that."

"You may not want it, but you do need it. You're going to die a spinster if you don't get out and enjoy what life has to offer you. But, it's your life, I can't live it for you."

"That's right, you can't." Carla sipped her lemonade and took her friend's hand. "Listen, I appreciate how much you care for me. You keep bringing this up because you want to help. I love that you care so much. But, I am different. I can't do casual in a relationship."

"Will you at least do something different for your vacation? Two weeks of listening to your mom badger you about why you're not married will leave you needing a vacation from your vacation, just like last year. Do something bold and daring, something you would never dream of doing in a million years. Live life, don't just walk through it."

"I'll think about it, I promise."

"Good girl."

Carla Baxter worked at Hansen and Louis Importers and Exporters LLC. She was the head of the East Asian division and oversaw two dozen employees who were responsible for three million dollars of goods going into and out of the country every month. The goods her division brought into and out of the country were bought and sold by businesses throughout the USA. She pushed herself hard and expected her employees to do so as well. However, she had two hard and fast rules, learned from harsh experience.

Lunch time was lunch time. She did not allow working lunches for her employees. Rule two was similar, quitting time meant you left work and went home, or out, or anywhere that did not involve doing work. She had seen too many employees and supervisors, in the past, burn out because they skipped lunches and took work home with them. No one was indispensable and they had three shifts for a reason. Her policy's success was in the retention figures for her division. In the last three years, they had only had to replace one employee and that was due to a new baby and the decision to stay at home with her. She was not as strict about vacations, but anyone with more that a month of accumulated vacation time had to use some of it up.

Carla spoke five languages; Chinese, Japanese, Korean, English and Spanish. Her knowledge of East Asian cultures had stood her in good stead, allowing her to anticipate market trends on the other side of the Pacific. She had a Master's in Business administration and BAs in international studies and business computer programming. She was on track to be promoted to Vice President of International Relations when the current VP retired in seven more years. Professionally, her life was excellent.

Her personal life was a different story. In many ways, Carla was a lonely woman. Yes, she had friends. Sherry, Cindy and Gavin were her best friends. But, as Sherry had said, she had had only four boy friends in the twenty years since she graduated from high school. The reason for the death of romance in her life was her need for true romance instead of just sexual romance. She appreciated flowers and chocolates as much as the next woman, but she wanted more. Carla craved a man who could and would spend time just talking with her about any number of subjects. She needed her mind romanced as well as her body and emotions. With someone of Carla's intelligence, such a man was hard to find.

She had almost given up the dream of finding a man who could give her what she wanted in a mate. That's what she wanted, a mate, not just a sex partner. He didn't have to fill all her needs. That's what friends like Sherry and Cindy Hibson were for. Her mate? He had to not just be able, but want to discuss the events of the day and the latest book they read and be a mirror for issues at work. He had to love her and she had to love him. Not just love her, but be able to express that love in words and deeds. A desire for her body was a distant third in importance, nice, but simply accepting would be good enough. 

She was beginning to suspect that she wanted too much. But, she could not help it. For Carla, sex was more than a simple physical act. It was the culmination of a relationship. Sex was the third leg in the tripod of relationship. This is why she believed that she would never be satisfied with one night stands. It's also why she believed now, that she would never find her soul mate. She wanted too much from him. No man could be all those things. There were times, late at night, when she was alone with her feelings, that she wished she could be shallow and just enjoy the act of sex for its own sake. Yes, she could climax and enjoy it, but, the few times she did have a one night stand (Sherry did not know of these), she had sunk into a depression that took weeks to recover from. "Never again," she would tell herself, but every two or three years, she would give in to the desire for something different.

Several weeks passed with no major change in Carla's life. It was a Friday evening and she was at home getting ready to watch The Ghost Whisperer while checking her personal E-mail. Her vacation was scheduled in a month and she had no idea what she was going to do for those two weeks. She agreed with Sherry, visiting her mom was out of the question. Then she saw the E-mail. "Last minute cruise deals!" She had never been on a cruise before. Opening the letter, she saw that it was an advertising spam that offered opportunities to fill last minute cancellations on cruises at a reduced rate. Clearly, she wasn't going to take up any of these offers, but she did know that airlines, hotels and cruise lines liked to book full and would offer deals to fill spots at the last minute.

For some reason, a cruise sounded like a wonderful vacation. Instead of allowing a spammer to hack her computer, she closed the letter and did a search of cruises. Several refinements later, she found several cruise lines offering last minute deals on upcoming cruises. The choices of cabins were slim and all of the dates were within the next month, but the prices were good. One that caught her eye was advertised to go to the real Caribbean instead of the tourist's Caribbean. Most of the islands that would be visited were lesser known stops. The ship itself was unremarkable, a typical cruise ship with the usual amenities. The cruise was three weeks instead of two because they had extended layovers at some of the stops to allow for passengers to explore some of the less settled areas under the care of trained guides. There was a mountain climbing expedition (all 4000 feet worth), three scuba diving stops (one of which was a cave exploration), and a five day jungle hiking and camping stop.

Carla booked herself a spot on the cruise and then logged into the company computer and extended her vacation for another week. She could not wait to tell Sherry about this. This was daring, something she had never dreamed of doing in a million years. With three weeks, she might even find a man and get to know him well enough to try to start a relationship. For the first time in years, Carla Baxter was excited about her vacation. She was determined to enjoy herself

The next month passed in a blur. Work went as well as it always did. The division was prepared to handle her extended absence. Carla trusted her staff fully and had no concerns about how things would go while she was gone. The team worked so well together that she could drop off the face of the earth and they would be able to carry on without her, for the short term at least.

Carla spent some time shopping. Very little of her wardrobe was suitable for tropical climates. She wanted to not just go on a different vacation; she wanted to be different on the vacation. Several sundresses, pairs of shorts, jeans and t-shirts, tank tops and swim suits to add to her more formal cocktail and evening wear. Another shopping trip added some sexy lingerie, just in case, as well as a few new pairs of shoes in various styles. She topped off her new outfits with some new stockings and a teddy and a set of garters. Two days before she was scheduled to leave on the cruise, she treated herself to a new hair style, waxing, a complete manicure/pedicure and a facial. She also purchased some condoms, just in case.

The next day, she was on a plane to Miami, from where the cruise was scheduled to depart. She had splurged on a luxury suite at the Miami Hilton and availed herself of the sauna and spa facilities to make herself feel like a princess. By eight the next morning, dressed in a sundress and sandals, she boarded the Mystic Queen, leaving the world she knew behind and entering the world of island mysteries.

The first day aboard ship had the usual schedule of safety instructions and drills that all passengers were advised to participate in. As the Captain put it, "While we have never had to employ these measures before, think of them like seat belts. Isn't it reassuring to have them there?" Carla dutifully attended all the safety lessons and drills and even volunteered to be the 'man overboard' in the pool

The Mystic Queen wasn't the largest cruise ship sailing the Caribbean, but that did not detract form the luxury on board. In addition to the formal dining room, there was a buffet that had a different theme every day of the week, two specialty diners (one traditional island cuisine and one gourmet French), three lounges that were open 24 hours a day and room service. Two of the lounges had dance floors, one with ballroom dancing and one with modern music.

There were diving lessons, taught by a certified diving instructor, for those who planned to take any of the scuba diving trips,. While Carla had once earned her certificate, it was long enough past that she signed up for one of the lessons as a refresher. The ship did not have a casino like some liners had, but did have a small theater. All in all, one could spend three weeks on board and never get bored.

On the second day, Carla was taking a few hours to work on her tan when a man's voice spoke up beside her. "Excuse me, is this chair taken?"

Carla opened her eyes and saw a total hunk standing over the chaise lounge beside her. He stood a little over six feet and probably weighed around 200 pounds. She could not find an ounce of fat on him, yet his body did not have that ugly overdeveloped musculature frequently accompanying a rigid workout schedule. His tan was deep and even and his brief swim suit fit him like a glove, revealing well endowed muscles there as well. She smiled up at him. "No, I don't think so, but I have been dead to the world for the last hour."

"Hi. I'm Harold. It's a pleasure to meet you." He held out his hand.

Shaking it, Carla answered, "Carla. It's nice to meet you too. Is this your first cruise?"

Harold lay down on the lounge, setting his towel over the back. "No. I've taken a traditional cruise before, you know, stopping at St Croix, the Bahamas, St. Thomas. I wanted to try something different this time. How about yourself?"

"My first cruise. It sounded really interesting and different. And it's nice and long."

"It should be very enjoyable. That's a nice start to your tan. You keep this up and we may have trouble telling you apart from the natives on the islands."

"Thank you. You seem to have a head start on yours."

"It's easy to keep up a tan in Arizona. Do you need some more sunscreen on?"

Carla hesitated only a second before deciding, "I came on the cruise to do something different." Smiling, she asked, "Would you mind?"

"Not at all."

He took the bottle and applied the lotion to the exposed areas of her skin. She was not sure whether to be pleased or disappointed that he was a perfect gentleman and did not let his fingers stray under the edges of her swimsuit. His hands were strong, but smooth. He definitely did not work with his hands, yet knew how to use them. The process was much like a massage with the way he did it and Carla thoroughly enjoyed herself. Afterwards, they talked a little about small stuff and then just lie together soaking up sunbeams.

When the ship's bell chimed noon, Harold turned his head. "May I buy you lunch?"

"That would be hard," she answered, "since the food is all free."

"Now don't go spoiling my illusions. The man is supposed to buy the meal, and we should at least pretend that I can."

"Well, in that case, buy away," she said with a chuckle.

They had lunch in the buffet while she learned that he was a stock broker on a long vacation. He was single and on the cruise alone, hoping to meet a woman to enjoy the cruise with. He was a natural talker, able to hold up his end of a conversation with ease, yet he didn't dominate it to the exclusion of herself. He showed an interest in her job at the company. They had a lively debate about the usefulness of tariffs without descending into acrimony. By the time lunch was over, Carla knew that she liked Harold.

He begged off the scuba lesson, thanks to an inner ear problem that prevented him from being able to go deeper than five feet without pain. The skills came back to her quickly. She loved the feeling of floating in the water and was looking forward to the diving tours. She was a little nervous about the cave dive, but the instructor promised a chance to practice cave diving in the pool. By the end of the first lesson, she was assisting some of the other students in basic breathing and swimming techniques (scuba swimming is different than regular swimming).

They met again at dinner in the main banquet room. Afterwards, they spent three hours dancing in one of the lounges. Neither was an exceptional dancer, but they did manage to avoid stepping on each other's toes. The moon rose late that night and the couple watched the moon rising over the water, separating from its shimmering reflection in the waves. The ship had the outer lights to minimum, allowing the full panorama of the night time sky to be seen. Eventually, he led her back to her cabin, stealing a brief kiss before wishing her a good night.

Carla fell asleep quickly, seemingly so she could reach her dreams as quickly as possible. She dreamed of Harold and herself, entwined in her bed, kissing passionately. Her breasts were flushed, the entire areolas enlarging with arousal and the nipples erect. Her pussy was wet and engorged in anticipation of blissful penetration. Her hands were at his back, caressing and pulling him closer. His cock was stiff and full, leaving a trail of precum across her leg. His mouth was at her neck, licking and sucking at it. His hands were massaging one breast and her ass.

Her dream self was writhing under his ministrations. "Harold, please fuck me. I need to feel you inside me." He pulled himself up and plunged his cock deep into her cunt. Carla gasped in pleasure as her pussy gripped at the welcome intruder. His thrusts were deep and slow while his lips found hers and consumed her cries of desire. Carla was lost in pleasure, unable to do anything but accept the ecstasy that was being forced upon her.

As she dreamed, the sleeping Carla was dripping pussy juice onto the sheets as she writhed in time with herself in the dream. Her hand was at her pussy, caressing her lips and clit in her sleep. Her moans sounded to the otherwise empty cabin, signaling her rapid approach to orgasm. The two Carlas reached climax at the same time. The dream Carla screaming in ecstasy as she and Harold came together, and the real Carla cumming more sedately as her body stiffened while her pussy quivered around her fingers, the only sound being a slightly louder moan.


Island Slave Ch. 01



When Carla woke up in the morning, the smell of sex was thick in the air and she was lying in a wet spot on the bed. For several minutes, she had difficultly determining whether the dream fuck had been real or not. It was only the lack of semen on the sheets or her body that convinced her that she had simply had the erotic dream of all time.

"I must have it bad for Harold. A dream fuck after only one night? I wonder if my body is trying to tell me something. Dare I go for the real thing? Am I going to make a mistake? Maybe Sherry is right? Maybe I just needed to do something wild and crazy to see that I can enjoy a good hard fuck for what it is?"

Her thoughts continued like this for much of the morning. She had breakfast at the buffet, eating sinful amounts of bacon, scrambled eggs covered in melted cheese and apple crisp. Already, she was comfortable walking around in her swim suit, a sarong and sandals. She retired to the upper deck for more work on her tan, finding Harold there already.

"Hi. Would you care to do my lotion again?"

"I'd love to."

While he was rubbing sunscreen into her skin, he asked, "How was you night? Enough sleep I hope."

"Yes, it was wonderful." She thought for a minute and then rushed forward, before she could talk herself out of it. "I dreamt of you."

"You did? That's amazing! I had a dream about you too. Was I a good guy in your dream?"

Carla blushed as she remembered his cock thrusting deep into her cunt. "Yeah. You were good. What was your dream about?"

"Ah..." Harold seemed to be embarrassed at the question. It was a first for him.

"What's wrong? Was I the evil bitch from hell?"

"NO! Definitely not the evil bitch."

"Did we make love?"

Harold coughed.

"We did in mine." Carla could not believe that she had just shared that. She held her breath, waiting for his reaction to her admission.

"In mine, you were wonderful. Sexy, erotic, hot, passionate, insatiable. It seems like we're on the same wavelength."

"Yes, it does. What are we going to do about it?"

"I know what my lower brain wants to do about it." 

His oily hands reached around her and held her close. Carla shivered at his touch. Her pussy was responding, yet she felt a stab of fear. Things felt like they were going too fast.

"I'm... I'm not ready yet. Can we go a little slower?"

He pulled his hands back. "Of course. I would never rush you. We have three weeks to figure out if we really want what our dreams want."

"I'm sorry, Harold. I need time to think. I have to go."

Carla practically ran back to her cabin. Once there, she sat on the bed, shaking like a leaf, talking to herself.

"Carla, you idiot, you'll drive him away. This is too fast. I've only known him one day. Trust your feelings. I don't know what I feel. God, I'm so wet. I want his cock in me. I want to suck him and fuck him. You don't know him well enough, girl. Damn it! Can't I just enjoy a fuck even once? It's been so long. There's time, I don't have to decide this minute. I want him so badly."

Her mind awash in confused thoughts and debating itself, she flung herself down on the bed and cried. All the loneliness that had accumulated over the years burst out of her. For three years there had been no man in her life. It wasn't so much the sex she missed, but the connection with an opposite. There was no one to share her life with. No one to share the fears and triumphs and desires and dislikes with on a daily basis. Her heart and soul yearned for that special person she no longer believed she could find. Because she no longer believed, she misinterpreted her needs as sex. If she couldn't have what she truly needed, her heart would settle for the drug that would make the pain go away for a time, sex, raw hard sex.

She spent the rest of the week, enjoying Harold's company or in her cabin, wrestling with her dreams and desires. Harold was a gentleman through out the week. The two ate together regularly. They danced in the lounges and walked in the moonlight in the evenings. Each night, he would escort her to her cabin, lingering long enough to give her a chance to invite him in, but not pressing the issue. Each day, she felt she had drawn closer to him. Back in the city, this much contact with a man would have taken months of dates. By the end of the week, she felt like she had truly come to know him. Every night, she dreamed of sleeping with him. The first scuba trip passed without Carla going on it.

She had made up her mind by the morning of the ninth day of the cruise. Carla had no idea whether sleeping with Harold would end up a mistake or not. She did know that she would never forgive herself if she didn't, at least once. Even if it didn't work out in the long run, she knew she wanted the sex. Sherry was right. She needed to be fucked, well and truly fucked. It might as well be with someone who was simply hot.

She put on her most revealing swim suit before she left. She had a continental breakfast and found Harold on the sundeck again. His eyebrow raised at the sight of her in the far more revealing swim suit. He again rubbed sunscreen onto her skin. When his finger strayed slightly under one of the cups on her top, Carla stiffened briefly and then relaxed with a moan. Encouraged, he let himself slip under the edge of the other cup and the edges of her bottom. He never made contact with her pussy, but did feel the quiver in her loins at the probing intrusion.

Both had been avoiding talking about their dreams and desires for each other. She did spend the entire day with him, even asking that he stay and watch her scuba lesson. The tension between them grew steadily as the day wore on. Harold realized that something had changed in Carla today. She seemed ready. Each time he applied more sunscreen and she showed no sign of resisting it, his fingers grew bolder at the edges of her suit. As they watched the sun set beneath the waves, he held her close, her back against his chest. One hand rested on her breast and the other on the front of her suit bottom. Carla made no move to remove them. Carla made the fateful crossing. She had accepted the sexual contact, her willingness to go farther was almost shouted out by the way she leaned back into him.

He turned her around and bent to her lips. He kissed gently once, then harder, pulling her to him. Her arms reached around him as well and her lips opened at the slight knocking of his tongue. While one hand held her head to his, the other caressed her back, sliding in the traces of lotion still on her. Her hands were at his back, holding him close, pressing his cock against her pussy. When they broke the kiss, he took her hand and led her to his cabin.

Inside the cabin, they embraced again. Their kiss was even more passionate than the one on the deck. His hand slipped down the back of her swim bottom, running his fingers along the crack of her ass. His other hand caressed her back. One of her hands rubbed against his back while she ran her fingers through his hair. When they came up for air, she brought her hands to his front, running one over his chest while the other went lower and felt along the outline his rigid cock. His hands cupped her small breasts, the thumbs slipping under the bra of her suit to brush the nipples directly.

Carla's need was growing with every second of contact between them. Her whole body was tingling in anticipation of the coming ecstasy. In spite of not having been swimming for five hours, the front of her bathing suit's bottom was damp. She could feel the damp part of his suit as she massaged his cock through the fabric. Harold slipped the cups off her breasts, revealing the engorged areolas and erect nipples. With a hungry lust in his eyes, he bent forward and licked at one, and then the other, breast.

They backed toward the bed until Carla's legs were touching the edge. While her breasts were being worshiped by his mouth, she slipped her suit down her body, letting it fall, unnoticed to the floor. Carla moaned in pleasure as Harold's teeth lightly scraped across her sensitive nipples. He bent her over backwards and lightly held her hands behind her to keep her breasts pushed as far forward as possible.

Harold released her hands and breasts, pushing down on her shoulders. Carla resisted his pressure, saying, "No. Condom first" He reached over to the night stand and pulled several packets out of the drawer, all but one dropping on the stand's top. He handed her the packet. One hand held the top of her head while the other pulled his swim shorts down, releasing his throbbing cock from its prison. She rolled the condom over his cock, smearing some precum across her fingers at first. Slowly, he pushed himself into her mouth with a groan of pleasure. The warmth that enveloped him caused him to gasp and pull Carla's head closer in. 

As his cock pressed farther into her mouth, she felt her stomach tighten and her throat develop the first tickling of a gag. She managed to pull back a little and run her tongue across his sheathed cock. She could feel him throbbing with every swipe of her tongue and she tried to pull her head off before he came. His hand exerted more pressure as she resisted him. When she felt the tensing in his cock, she took him in deeper. He cried out and spurted into the tip of the rubber. 

He kissed her again as his free hand peeled the condom off and dropped it in the waste basket. With her cunt free, Harold was able to slide his hand against her wetness and across her clit. Carla gasped and thrust against his hand as shivers flowed through her body. Harold leaned her back against the bed with her waist at the edge. He knelt down between her legs and brought his lips across her pussy lips. Carla started thrusting against his face as his tongue continued to lick at the folds of her pussy lips. As her thrusts became more energetic, he probed her entrance, allowing her own motions to fuck her cunt with his tongue.

It took very little of this for Carla to go over the edge. With a scream, her body went rigid and her pussy quivered around the tongue that had impaled itself inside her. Harold brought his hand up to diddle her clit while she was cumming, sending her orgasm into overdrive. Her back arched and her hands flailed and grasped at the covers on the bed. Her breath caught as her body was overwhelmed by the pleasure-wave that rolled over her. Only when her back descended to the bed, did Harold pull back from her cunt and let her finish coming down from her climax.

"That was so great," Carla said as she caught her breath. "I want to fuck you tonight. Will you make love to me tonight?"

"Yes, I think that will be possible." He stood up, revealing his already semi-erect cock. He sat down beside her and ran his hand across her breasts. She purred at his touch and caressed his ass. She sat up, with some help from him and brought one hand to his cock, sliding her fingers through the slick remains of his semen that was on it. Slowly, it grew in her hand, leaking precum to add to the slickness that was there. Carla's pussy was juicing again in response to the feelings on her breasts.

They leaned in to kiss again, falling back on the bed, their hands still at one another. This time, they went slower, taking time to get to know their bodies. In the midst of their activity, fumbled for another condom from the night stand. Carla was amazed at how fast he recovered. A new condom, this, one that she brought, was slipped over his cock. When he thrust into her, she cried out. Side by side, they thrust against each other while their hands roamed everywhere, craving the touch of the other's body. Carla came once, her body freezing again while he continued to thrust with increased fervency. His mouth, pinned against hers, consumed her screams, as her cunt tried to milk his cock of the cum it was not yet ready to give.

The extra stimulation from her orgasm propelled him quickly towards his own climax. As she came down from her climax, she tensed her pussy as much as she could, reveling in the moans that accompanied each clench against his cock. He came in the middle of one of her clenches so that she could feel every pulse of his cock as he emptied cum into the rubber. She reached down and diddled her clit to send herself over the edge one more time.

As they came down from their respective orgasms, she whispered, "I love you." As she did Carla did not notice the momentary tensing in his body.

They slept in his room, arms wrapped around one another. In the middle of the night, they made love again, this time with less haste and more tenderness. When Carla woke in the morning, Harold was not there. A note on the bed stand, next to the cabin phone, indicated that he had gone to a rock climbing class and that he hoped to see her for lunch. She showered in his room and redonned her swim suit to make the trip to her room. There, she put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, then headed to the main dining area to catch a continental breakfast.

The ship was scheduled to stop at their third island today (the two had not gone ashore on the first two). They would spend two days there. The first day had the second scuba excursion planned. This one was in a shallow reef and would not test anyone's skills very much. Like the one Carla had missed, the area could be explored by snorklers and would give the students their first sea water experience. The 37 students were to go out in groups of six, accompanied by two instructors.

Carla signed up for the third trip, allowing her time to meet Harold for lunch first. The couple enjoyed a meal at the soup and salad bar while Harold listened to Carla talk about how much she was looking forward to the diving trip. She reminisced about dives she had made in the distant past. 

After lunch, Carla changed into one of her swim suits and joined the group at the launch. They were to take 15 minutes traveling to the reef, two hours diving (including anyone's attempts to qualify for a basic certificate), and another 15 minutes returning. The passengers were talking excitedly as the launch bounced across the waves towards the reef. Once the boat was anchored, she instructor gave final instructions.

"Okay, folks. Remember, we use the buddy system out here. No one swims alone, no matter what. Each pair must remain in sight of either myself or Hans. This is the safest dive we'll make, but no dive is a cake walk. I don't want anyone trying to take samples back with them. We have souvenirs in the gift shop if you just have to have a shell or some other underwater treasure. Remember, we are not in an aquarium. These are wild animals in their natural habitat and will defend themselves if they feel threatened. NO TOUCHING! Everyone clear?"

When they nodded their heads, he gave the final instructions. "I'll be qualifying anyone who thinks they're up to it at the beginning. Hans will take those who are already qualified or aren't ready straight away. If you're not qualified, stay on the surface. Okay, let's get in the water."

Carla and her partner, an older lady named Jasmine, stayed and qualified. Like Carla, Jasmine was requalifying after a long dearth of diving experience. Once they were done, they swam into the heart of the reef. The two women swam with practiced ease past the colorful coral. Their pace was slow, allowing for them to take in the beauty of the animals and plants that made the reef a thriving natural community. They saw a school of clown fish heading towards the surface, into the glare of the sun. Following it, they were caught be surprise when the school scattered, revealing three jellyfish descending.

Carla, recalling that the diaphanous sea creatures could have poisonous tendrils, pushed Jasmine to one side and tried to swim away. The push delayed her enough that one jellyfish grazed her arm with a touch of fire. It was all she could do to not scream in pain from the agony that lanced across her skin. She could see through tear filled eyes, a red rash forming at the point of contact. As her right hand came around to grasp the burning left arm, Jasmine appeared and clamped her hand on Carla, shaking her head and pointing up.

The senior dropped a dye marker to indicate a problem and guided the suffering Carla to the surface. As soon as they broke water, Jasmine spat out her regulator and asked, "Can you breathe okay?"

Groaning in pain, Carla nodded her head. Jasmine nodded her head, visibly relaxing. "Good. It's not a nerve toxin then. If you touch the rash, it could spread."

Hans appeared then. "What's the problem?"

"Carla was touched by a jellyfish and there's a painful rash on her arm. She can breathe okay."

Hans pointed to the launch. "Take her to the launch and get her back to the ship. There is ointment in the first aid kit. Have the doctor look at her. I'm afraid Jasmine, you'll have to abort your dive as well since you have no buddy."

Jasmine sighed. "I know. Maybe I can join one of the other groups?"

"We'll see. I think we do have an odd person in the last group."

Once the ointment was applied, Carla was in far less pain. On board ship, the doctor gave her a specific remedy for the poison that had, by now, caused her skin to blister. She was told to stay out of the water for the next several days and to check back in with him in three days or if it got worse. Carla and Harold were planning to spend more time together after the dive, so she went to his cabin to link up with him.

When she got there, she was about to knock when she heard him talking. "Yeah, it looks like we're going to be here for at least two weeks... They got a virus that wiped data through out their entire network. We have to check each hard drive individually to make sure the virus is gone and the data recovered... Yeah, honey, I love you too... How are the kids...?"

Carla stifled a cry and backed away from the door. Harold, if that was his real name, was married. He had a family. There was a wrenching in her chest as she realized that she had been lied to and used. She ran to her cabin, desperate to reach the sanctuary of her room before the tears flowed from her eyes. Once in her room, her control was lost and she collapsed on the bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

Carla felt like she would never be able to trust again, never be able to risk again. This cruise was her big 'do something spectacularly spontaneous' trip and it took only four days for the consequences of being wild and crazy to bite her in the ass. She realized that she could not win. Her normal approach to love and romance had left her still single after 20 plus years. Her trip on the wild side had broken her heart. Why did she even try anymore? She resigned herself to stop trying for love. As for the cruise, she would spend the rest of it in her cabin.

She ended up crying her self to sleep. Harold's knocks on her cabin door went unheard that afternoon. When she awoke, the sun was hanging low on the horizon. Her belly rumbled in hunger. She ordered dinner from room service and spent the rest of the day in her bed, eating comfort food and reading her romances. Now she envied the heroines of the books, jealous that they had an author looking over them, making sure that they had happiness in the end.

She did not remember falling asleep that night. A knocking on the door woke her up. She realized that she was still wearing the bathing suit she had gone scuba diving in. Peeking out the peephole, she saw Harold. Anger burning, she pulled the door open.

"What do you want?" she yelled.

"Whoa. What was that about?"

"Oh, I don't know. What do you think I'm mad about, daddy?" The sarcasm dripped like acid from her voice.

Harold's face blanched for a moment at the question. Then an almost snarling leer filled his face. "If you were worried about that, you would have asked before you fucked me."




Island Slave Ch. 01



SLAP!

Carla's hand left a red imprint on his face. "You bastard! You hide that you're married and it's my fault? You arrogant, self righteous, son of a bitch!. I don't ever want to see you again! Get out. Get out of my sight!" She slammed the door in his shocked face and collapsed on the bed in tears again.

Carla spent the next three days locked in her room, subsisting on room service and romance novels. On the fourth day since fourth scuba dive, the fourteenth day of the cruise, Carla realized she was going stir crazy. She had read every book she had brought twice. She noticed that the ship was scheduled to stop at another island that day. There would be a four day stop here so that the passengers could visit a local village and experience true Caribbean life. The caving dive was also to take place here on the third day of the stop.

"Some time off the ship would do me good," she muttered to herself. "Maybe they have more books I can buy."

She ventured out for breakfast. Harold was visible in the distance with another woman. When he noticed her, he steered his new conquest away from Carla. Carla did not care. After their very loud blow up, anyone who didn't know what kind of cad he was, deserved what she got. She would, if she had the chance, warn the woman about who he really was. At least Carla would not have to suffer his presence. When they anchored shortly before lunch, Carla decided to go ashore. She had dressed in a sundress this time and was looking forward to some shopping.

Eager to escape the ship and Harold's presence, Carla took the first launch to the dock. The town of Chrisobos did not have a major port, preventing the Mystic Queen from docking directly. The town was built around a central square where the main well was located. It seemed that the major industry for Chrisobos was fishing. They passed numerous small fishing boats on they way in and the dock was practically overrun with services to support a fishing industry, such as it was.

In the central square, several women were setting up small booths. Baskets of knick knacks or other locally produced items were visible. This little impromptu shopping mall seemed to be the only bow the town made to the sudden influx of tourists. The other businesses, those in more permanent buildings, looked as if they were selling the same things they always sold to the locals. There was occasional foot traffic to the well by women of children with containers for water. Everyone seemed friendly and chatted with the visitors, but no one other than those with the booths initiated any contact.

Unlike most of her fellow passengers, Carla wandered away from the booths that were designed to sell to tourists and visited some of the permanent local shops. She picked up a few local spices that she hoped to use in her cooking back home. The food items available were all fresh and perishable. She smiled at the site of the ship's boson negotiating for supplies to take back to the ship. It seemed that the ship's menu was to get some local flavor added.

There were also shops that sold modern goods. The selection was limited, but they had the ability to order items to be shipped in. The stores had many modern conveniences, such as electric lighting and modern toilets, so they were not the primitive, backward society that the tourist booths in the square tried to portray. She wondered how many of the people taking water from the well actually needed to make the trip. It seemed that even the 'authentic' Caribbean lifestyle had to be manufactured for the tourists.

There was a local diner set back from the square, on the edge of where the private dwellings were located. Inside, she found only a couple of other non-locals sitting at tables. While she did not recognize them, she assumed they were also passengers. Carla took a table against a wall and waited a few minutes. She quickly determined that you ordered at the counter and the food was brought out to your table. She walked up to the counter and studied the menu written on a chalkboard above the counter.

All of the food choices seemed to be local dishes. Beverages included many familiar names such as Coke, Pepsi and Budweiser. There were a couple of drinks that she did not recognize and assumed to be local in nature. The man behind the counter waited patiently for her to make a choice.

"Excuse me miss." A well tanned gentleman with a strong Caribbean accent, had joined her at the counter. "You seem to be having trouble making a choice from the menu. Can I be so bold as to offer a suggestion?"

Carla looked at the man with a suspicious eye. "Fool me once..." she thought to herself. He wasn't bad looking. He stood about 6 feet tall and weighed around 180 pounds. He was clearly in good shape, trim with a firmness all over that spoke of little excess fat. His general appearance was rugged and, while there were no calluses on his hands, the skin was rough, speaking of some form of physical labor in his life. If she chose men on their appearance, she would already be putting the move on this one.

"That would be nice, mister..."

"Sanchez, Quinn Sanchez."

"Thank you Mr. Sanchez. I'm afraid I'm not familiar with most of these dishes."

"If I were you, I'd get Anna's rice shrimp, deep fried pineapple and the Maluga draft. You do like garlic? There's a fair amount of garlic in the shrimp."

"I love garlic. I'll take what he said," she ordered, turning to the man waiting. Looking back at Quinn, she added, "I'm sure I will love it, Mr. Sanchez."

"Please, Quinn. My employees don't even call me Mr. Sanchez."

"Very well, Quinn. I'm Carla." She held her hand out to shake his.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips, kissing it with a light touch of his lips. "My pleasure. Not many of the tourists make it as far as Anna's. But, I suspect that you're not an average anything, let alone tourist."

Carla's hand tensed as he kissed it, wondering what he intended and whether he was married as well. Given how courteous he had been, she couldn't rebuff him. She walked back towards her table while Quinn went back to his. The meal was brought out shortly and she found it to be fabulous. She could taste the garlic as well as other flavors in both the rice and the shrimp. She recognized the effects of long term marinating. The Maluga draft was a dark, rich beer with a hint of nut in the flavor. As someone who always had liked pineapple, she was able to savor the deep fried flavor that accentuated the sweet and sour taste of the tropical fruit.

For his part, Quinn found that he was drawn to Carla. He wasn't sure why yet. There was simply some quality about her that he found attractive. He watched her eating Anna's signature dish. She visibly savored every bite without making a big show. He knew he wanted to get to know her better.

"So, how was the food?" Quinn had walked up next to her , without her noticing, again.

"It was great. Thanks for the suggestion."

"I'm glad. I'd hate for one of the few discerning people to visit us to get the wrong impression."

"I'm not so certain about discerning," she muttered under her breath.

Quinn did not miss the hint of pain in her voice. Someone had hurt her recently. She was both vulnerable and leery. A gentle hand was called for. He found that her being hurt bothered him. He wasn't conscious of why, he just did not like that she was in pain.

"Come now. It is clear to me that you are someone who can tell the gold from the dross. After all, you managed to avoid Chrisobos' version of a tourist trap. If I were to take a wild guess, I'd say you work in a profession that requires you to make discriminating judgments between numerous options where the differences are small and the possible effects large. How am I doing?"

Carla was impressed. He had pretty much described what import/export was all about. "Quite well, actually. Let me try. I'd say that you work as the leader in a profession that is labor intensive. There is a lot of hard work involved, in the outdoors, yet you don't do much of the actual labor now."

"Ah. More proof of your discernment. I own a tobacco plantation about twenty miles from town. And what do you do when you're not visiting the Caribbean?"

"I work in the import/export business." Carla found herself drawn into conversation with Quinn, in spite of her misgivings. The reason Harold had been able to fool her so well was his ability to meet her needs in a man. Quinn met those same needs. He was intelligent and articulate. He genuinely seemed to enjoy talking with her. Carla had not been lying when she had told Sherry that she needed to be able to talk to a man about matters of substance and to be able to get to know and be known by him.

They talked for hours, the subjects of conversation drifting with time. She learned that the island had first been visited by the cruise line 15 years ago. In return for allowing themselves to be a destination, the line invested in the invisible infrastructure that enabled modern society. In the last 15 years, electricity and plumbing had been made available to the people of the village. While much of their lives were unchanged, the quality of those lives had improved. The ship's doctor used the three days to set up a small clinic to deal with any number of physical problems that had accumulated in the time since the last visit.

Carla found that she shared much of herself with Quinn. By the time night had fallen, he knew that she was the supervisor of her division, that she was single and unattached, that she had very strong opinions on the separation of work and play. Without being told, he was able to deduce that she had had few boyfriends, none of whom had gotten close to marriage. Quinn now sensed that her pain was because someone had broken her heart very recently. He could tell that she did not believe she would find love, a fact he had difficulty fathoming. To Quinn, she was a woman that a man could love. He found Carla to be intelligent and insightful, with a sharp wit and an easy laugh, when she allowed herself to. She accepted her body the way it was and wasn't starving herself to make her body some weird caricature of the female form nor was she trying to be what she was not by adding to the modest breasts nature had given her.

In fact, Quinn Sanchez was becoming interested with Carla Baxter. He wanted her and would do anything to achieve that goal. Carla sensed his obsession and believed that it was physical. She was different from the women on the island. She imagined that he saw her as an exotic attraction, one to be pursued and captured for a brief while. The memory of incredible sex was fresh in her mind and she was rebounding from Harold's betrayal. For the one of those rare times in her life, Carla found that she wanted a one night stand. She wanted to be seduced into Quinn's bed and shown ecstatic pleasures, only to disappear from his world and life the next day. She wasn't sure she could let him yet. The pain of Harold's betrayal was too fresh, too painful. What he wanted in his obsession was something she was unable to even contemplate. By the time she knew what he really wanted, it would be too late.

After dinner at Anna's, Quinn walked her back to the dock where she could catch the launch back to the ship. She allowed him to hold her hand on the way, and she gave him a light kiss on the cheek before she left. Carla was in her own little world on the trip back. She slept without tears for the first time in four nights. When she woke, her first thought was of Quinn. Would he be there?

She dressed in shorts and a tank top over her swim suit. The first thing she had noticed on the island was that dress there was very casual. Even Quinn had been wearing jeans and a polo shirt. She packed a day bag with her towel, sunscreen and sunglasses. She grabbed a quick breakfast from the buffet and was on the first launch to the island. This trip, she took a little time to look at what the ladies in the booths had to sell. She used the opportunity to subtly ask them about Quinn Sanchez. She was able to confirm that he was, indeed, a bachelor, and that he owned a plantation on the far side of the island. He always visited the town when the ship was here, charming the pants off (sometimes literally) the unattached females who visited the town.

Reassured that he had been honest with her and knowing that his intentions matched her own, she explored the outer areas of the town that she had become distracted from by his company. In the areas beyond where the average tourist would visit, she found life taking place instead of being staged. Children were playing and women were doing chores around their houses that anyone from anywhere would have recognized. There were water pumps in three different locations. She even saw two jeeps parked behind a couple of the houses. While she had her camera, Carla did not take any pictures. It didn't seem appropriate to snap photos of people's daily lives.

Two children bolted past her, yelling something she didn't catch. A woman yelled after them in Spanish, "Carlos, Maria, behave yourselves. You almost knocked the lady down." Turning to Carla, she apologized. "I'm very sorry miss. Are you okay?"

"That's all right," Carla answered in the same language. "They were just playing. I suspect you'll be happy they have run off some of that energy by tonight."

"Yes, you are right, I will. Do you have children of your own?"

"No, I'm afraid not. My sister does and I've seen what they can be like if they don't play hard during the day."

The villager gave a knowing smile. "Are you with the cruise ship?"

"Yes I am. My name's Carla, Carla Baxter."

"I'm Maria. If you don't mind my asking, it's unusual for the cruise people to come to the real village. Why are you here?" There was a hint of caution in her voice, as if she had to suspect something, but didn't want to.

"I don't know for sure. I guess I wanted to see what life here was really about. The town looks so... artificial. It's what I might expect to see, but too perfectly what I expect."

"And what do you see now, miss."

"I see normal. It's not how people live in the states, but it is too. I guess it's nice to see that children still play, housework still needs to be done and mothers still worry about their children. Granted, I wouldn't be cooking bread in a communal oven made of stones, but I would be making sure I had bread in the house."

Maria's expression softened. She could see a good soul here. "Would you like to join my family for lunch?"

"I would love to, provided you let me help in some way. I warn you though, I'm not a good cook." "At least not over a fire," she added in her head.

"Can you clean dishes?"

Carla laughed. "Yes, I think I can clean the occasional dish."

Carla spent the next hour heating the water and cleaning the dishes that had been used at breakfast. While it was strange to have to heat the water over a fire first, the process was no different than what she did at home. She knew that Sherry would never believe that she had spent part of her vacation cleaning someone else's dishes and asked Maria to take a picture of her at the chore. Lunch was a simple affair, just a blend of three vegetables steamed over the fire with fresh bread and butter. Carla noted that the only animals in the village were goats and knew where the unusual taste in the butter came from.

It was as lunch was finishing that she heard it. The sound of a diesel engine was coming out of the bush. Several of the children jumped up and ran off towards the sound, screaming "Quinn! Quinn's back!" Maria saw the look in Carla's face when she heard the children.

"Ah, you've met Quinn."

"Yes, he suggested what to have for lunch at Anna's yesterday."

"You know that Quinn will try to sleep with you, no?"

Carla had become very comfortable with Maria in the last couple of hours. "God, I hope so," she said without thinking.

"Ah. So you are willing. That is good. Quinn is a lonely man. The cruise ships, they help him fight the loneliness."

The truck was coming into view, creeping along with a children's escort. "Why is he lonely? I would think he would have no trouble finding someone to share his life with."

"I cannot say. Something or someone hurt him in the past. I think he is bitter with love. So he sleeps with the tourists and then stays on his plantation. There are always women, on the boats, who want the pleasure and no emotions. It is good for him, and I'm glad that this time he has found someone nice. Be sure to let him seduce you. It is something he needs."

"I'll do that. It's kind of fun to be seduced, I think." The two women shared a knowing smile.

Quinn's pickup had finally made it to the edge of the village. He got out and was mobbed by the kids. His hand appeared from his pocket holding a bunch of hard candies which he distributed with a practiced ease. When he looked up and saw Carla, his smile increased in size. He made his way over to her. Carla decided that not wading through every child in the village was a wise course of action.

"Ah, Carla. I see you found the true Chrisobos. What do you think?"

"It seems very normal. I enjoyed a chance to wash some dishes." From her face, he could tell that she honestly did enjoy that mundane household chore.

Turning to Maria, he exclaimed in mock horror, "Maria! You put this pretty lady to work?"

"No Quinn. I offered her lunch. She insisted on working. Who am I to deny a tourist that experience if they wish?"

"So, what would the tourist lady wish to do today?"

"I don't suppose you know how to swim?" she asked mischievously.

"Carla, this is a small island. Most children swim before they walk. The correct question is, 'Do I know where the best swimming spots are?' The answer is yes. If you'll hop into my limo here," he waved his hand at the pickup, "we can be there in a matter of minutes."

"Lead on Mr. Sanchez, lead on."

They talked as he drove the old truck through the bush. The topics were not of importance, just the fact that they seemed able to communicate with each other about anything. When he stopped, she looked ahead and saw a sandy beach leading into a lagoon. There was a slight ripple on the water's surface from the little of the ocean's waves that managed to survive the breakers that protected the lagoon.

"I assume you have a suit in that bag of yours?" he asked.

"No, I have a suit on under my clothes." With that, she pulled her top off and slipped out of her shorts, revealing the form fitting single piece suit she had worn.

Quinn eyed her with obvious approval, something she was unused to. Her breasts tingled under his gaze and she felt a rush of heat flow through her that had nothing to do with the tropical climate around her. He pulled his own shirt off, letting Carla see his chest for the first time. Like his arms and legs, it looked lean, yet with strength. She could picture herself leaning into that chest with pleasure.

They swam for hours, broken up with bouts of sunbathing. He showed her some of the beauty under the water and above it. They watched birds, fish and insects, all dressed out in brilliant colors. They also watched one another. They were able to laugh together at a bird struggling with a nut. For several hours, Carla forgot about Harold and the heart ache. By the time the sun was low on the horizon, both knew the game they were playing and the parts they were assigned. The end of the play was predetermined and both accepted that with joy.

They were sitting on the beach, watching the sun as it neared the horizon. Quinn put his arm around her and pulled her in close. He kissed the top of her head and she sighed. Carla leaned her head against his shoulder. One arm slipped behind his back, returning his embrace. When he bent down towards her again, she raised her face to receive his next kiss on her lips. It was a brief kiss that she renewed quickly with more passion. Their mouths opened and their tongues intertwined. Carla's other hand reach behind his head and pulled him tight. They lay back in the sand, still embracing and kissing.




Island Slave Ch. 01



Quinn brought one hand to the shoulder of her suit, slipping a finger beneath it. When she didn't complain, he pulled it down. Carla's breast revealed itself in all its unremarkable glory. Quinn's head moved lower, caressing her nipple with a light touch of his tongue. Carla bent her head back, thrusting her chest towards his mouth. He sucked her areola in and letting his teeth lightly drag against her. She moaned as her nipple hardened under his touch.

He slipped her other breast loose and let his fingers play over that feminine instrument. Carla lay back and gave him better access to her body. Quinn's hand slipped down to between her legs and felt the dampness that was seeping through her swim suit. He rubbed his hand against the fabric of her suit, feeling the pressure when she thrust against him. His other hand began to pull her suit down.

Carla suddenly found herself in Harold's arms. She remembered giving in to him and hearing him later, telling his wife how much he loved her. An anguished cry escaped her lips and she rolled away from Quinn, clasping her suit to her chest. Quinn raised on one elbow and looked at her, confusion on his face, with just a little hurt.

"Carla. What's wrong?"

"I... I can't. I don't know. I can't. Not right now."

"What is it? What can I...?"

"No. It's not you. I just can't. It's too soon..."

Carla could not bring herself to admit that she had been seduced and betrayed by a married man. She could not admit the depth of the hurt. The desire and pain were both evident in her eyes.

"Please. Can you take me back to town? I can't tonight. Maybe..." She left the promise? unfinished. She found that she was at war with herself. She wanted him, she wanted to give in and let him totally seduce her. Her ability to allow herself to be seduced had been damaged. Harold raised up in her mind and she hated it. The bastard had stolen her capacity for romance, the ability to trust.

Quinn was hurting. He wanted her and knew that she wanted him. Yet he decided to not force her. His memory was stirred. Melanie. He had tried to force her and now she was gone. That pain had not surfaced for a long while. He had wanted Melanie as strongly as he wanted Carla. He knew that he could not bear to lose her again. For the first time in a decade, he had found someone who took away the pain of losing Melanie, instead of just covering it up. If Carla left him, the pain would be redoubled. He wondered how he could gain her trust and convince her to stay, if only for a little while.

Quinn now realized that Carla's pain, whatever had caused it, had happened on the cruise ship. Could she come to want to leave the ship? As they gathered their things and drove to the docks, Quinn was sure that he could win her forever if she did not return to the ship when it left. But how to accomplish that first step? It turns out, sometimes people just get lucky, or unlucky, depending on your point of view.

Carla let Quinn know that she would be back in town after the cave dive. She cried the whole trip back to the ship. Her body ached with need and her heart yearned to touch another's. She despaired that she could not even seek the balm of sex to hide the pain. The other passengers sat apart from her, not looking. That night, she cried herself to sleep.

In the morning that pain had receded. Carla was looking forward to the cave dive that afternoon. She took breakfast in her cabin, not wanting to risk seeing Harold again. She arrived on deck for the dive 15 minutes early. Several of the other women in the dive group seemed to make a point to not be near her. Jasmine, the senior she had dived with earlier was the exception.

The group was smaller this time. Only those who had their qualifications were allowed to cave dive. After last minute instructions on cave and dive safety, the dozen divers and their two guides boarded the launch and set out for the underwater cave site. The plan was to dive the cave and then return to the town for any last day shopping or sight seeing.

Carla found the cave dive to be unlike anything she had done before. The environment of the confining cave was so different, yet still beautiful. It was as if they had entered another world, a world where light was the intruder and the sightless were at home. The two hours of the dive were over too soon. Once everyone was aboard, the launch took them to the town.

When Carla came ashore, she saw her. The woman that she had seen with Harold was at one of the booths looking at native wood carvings. She felt a twinge of responsibility and walked over to the woman. She had just finished her purchase when Carla arrived.

"Excuse me."

The lady looked up at Carla with an unfriendly countenance. "What is it?" came the unpleasant voice.

"He's married."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Harold. He's actually married."

The lady's faced flushed red. Her voice was unrestrained and carried far. "You conniving, manipulating bitch!" Carla was dumfounded at the unexpected attack. "He warned me you might try some cheap stunt like this. You cheat on your husband with him and then try to smear his character after he finds out." 

The lady's hand came out of nowhere and slapped Carla's face. Carla took two steps back, her hand over the red imprint of the hand on her cheek. Her mouth hung open in shock. Carla looked around and saw that everyone was looking at her. From their faces, they all believed that Carla was the cheating spouse and Harold was the innocent lover. Her eyes filled with tears and Carla ran blindly away from the town and the people's stares.

She seemed to run into a bQuinn wall that caught her before she fell. Looking up, she saw Quinn. Her tears became sobs as she clasped to him like a life ring on the ocean. Anger swelled in Quinn as Carla's pain rolled over him. He held her, letting her tears soak his shirt.

When her tears slowed, she tried to speak. "I can't go... They were all looking at me... I can't face..."

"Carla?" he asked, "would you like to come up to the plantation for the night?"

"Please, yes. I just can't go back to the ship, not tonight. Maybe never."

As he took her to his truck, he smiled a grim smile. She had come to him, though he did not want it to be this way. Never the less, he could try to win her now.

The drive to the plantation took half an hour. Her tears had stopped by then. The mansion looked just like the mansions that she had seen in pictures of the south in the days of slavery. Sprawling and white, it was surrounded by a stone fence on all sides. There were two entrances. One led to the fields themselves, currently full of tobacco plants at near full growth. The other was the one they were driving towards. There were several out building on the grounds themselves. The lawn was carefully manicured with decorative bushes forming natural walkways. She could see a couple of people about, doing things she did not immediately recognize.

He parked the truck in front of the main entrance and led her into the house. An elderly woman was standing in the entryway waiting for them.

"Master Quinn. You're back early," the woman noted.

"Good evening Bonita. This is Carla. She will be staying for dinner and the night. Would you make sure that Juan makes extra for dinner?"

"At once, Master Quinn." Bonita scurried off to pass the message.

"Welcome to my home, Carla."

"It's very beautiful, Quinn, and very large. How many people do you need to keep it up?"

"Not many, really. Much of the space isn't used these days. Bonita keeps the place in decent shape. Juan does all my cooking. Carlos is the grounds keeper. They are all that remains of the larger staff that was here when my father was alive. There are a dozen workers for the plantation, but they have their own house near the fields. Fifteen people plus the two of us."

"I was a little surprised that you're not a part of a larger conglomerate. I wouldn't think that an independent plantation could survive."

"If we tried to sell the tobacco to cigarette companies, I would never make it. We make gourmet cigars. With the ban on Cuban cigars in the states, we can offer faux Cubans and fill the hole in the market. I dread the day Castro dies. That will probably end the ban and undercut my ability to sell my product. I guess I'll have to sell the plantation once that happens, and become an employee instead of an owner."

"So this is a fairly small operation?"

"Yes. I think we make about a million cigars per year. With that low production, we can ask a high price and make enough to keep this place open."

"How do you get them to the states? You're not on the coast and the dock at the town is hardly suited to serving cargo ships. In fact, that small a production would not bring ships here."

"There's an airstrip on the far side of the fields. I have a small puddle jumper that can make St. Croix where I can sell them to a wholesaler. It's also how we get the supplies we need to keep the place running."

They had been walking the whole time they talked and had ended up in a library. The walls were covered with bookshelves. Books filled the room. Carla's eyes widened at the largest personal library she had ever seen. She momentarily forgot Quinn and wandered the room, taking in the titles. There were classics, pulps, new releases and every other type and style of book she could think of. There was even an entire shelf given over to romances.

Turning to her host, she whispered in awe, "Quinn. This is fantastic. Is this all yours?"

"It was my mother's, originally. I've added to it with things I like to read, but I'm not the reader she was. There's another room in the house with dozens of boxes with books in them. She would add books by removing some and storing them. She would also rotate the stored books back into the library. I remember seeing her in here with a box open, a book in her hand, the rotation temporarily forgotten as yet another book she loved once caught her attention again. I know you love to read, so I thought you'd appreciate my mother's passion."

"I do. I do appreciate it. I could spend an eternity here, enjoying each book, discovering the secrets locked inside each page of every volume." Turning to him again, "Quinn, you must have loved her very much to have kept her dream alive for so long."

Carla saw the first hint of the pain that Rhianna had mentioned move briefly across his face. She wondered what could have taken such love and linked it with such pain. She was almost sorry she was not going to get to know this man any better.

He showed her the rest of the house that was currently in use. The upper floors and the basement were not used by anyone. There were rooms for Bonita and Juan. Carlos had a small house on the grounds where he kept to himself. Carla got the impression that several of the main floor rooms were not really used either, but were maintained simply because there was no effective way to close them off. By the time his tour was over, dinner was ready.

They didn't eat in the main dining room. In fact, Carla wasn't sure it had been used in years. Apparently, Quinn did not have meals for a dozen or more people these days. Dinner was the last thing Carla expected to eat on a Caribbean island. The spaghetti and meatballs was scrumptious. The garlic bread had plenty of garlic to taste and the salad would have put an Olive Garden salad to shame. The conversation continued to flow easily between them over a wide variety of subjects. Even when they disagreed about something, the discussion never descended to the level of argument.

After dinner, Quinn asked, "Would you care to join me on the veranda?"

"I'd be delighted."

They sat on a suspended swing, looking at the stars in the sky. Carla, who had lived in a city for most of her life, was amazed at the sheer number of stars that were visible. When Quinn put his arm around her waist, she leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder. His hand lightly caressed the side of her breast. The fabric of her suit actually enhanced the sensations from his fingers. She let her hand rest on his leg, caressing lightly through his jeans.

Carla could feel her nipples swelling and moaned into his shoulder. Quinn pulled he closer, letting his fingers brush across the nipples hidden under two layers of fabric. Carla pushed gently against his hand to encourage him. Her hand moved closer to his crotch, enjoying the twitch in his leg as she did. Slowly, gently, they explored one another. Her other hand slipped under his shirt, running through the hair on his chest. His other hand caressed her arms, encouraging them to continue their own explorations.

"I can't Quinn. I'm sorry. Maybe..."

"Carla. Who hurt you so badly?"

"There was a man on the ship. I thought he was nice. We slept... He was married."

"Bastard!" Quinn's anger was somehow reassuring to Carla.

"It's worse. After I confronted him, he spread that I was the married one and that he was the injured lover. It's all over the ship now. I don't know how I can face being on the ship for another seven days."

"Don't. Stay with me. I can fly you to St. Thomas in a few days and you can catch a plane back to the states."

"I don't know. It's tempting."

"You don't have to do anything. Just relax here on the plantation. Visit the village if you like. Actually enjoy the rest of your vacation."

"Can I sleep on it? Let you know in the morning?"

"Sure. We will need enough time to get your bags off the ship."

"Thank you Quinn. This is a very nice offer, even if I decide not to."

"Let me show you to your bed."

Carla was able to sleep the night in relative peace. When she woke, she knew she could not go back to that ship for another six days. The humiliation and stares that would haunt her would be unbearable. She dressed and found Quinn.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, Carla?"

"I want to stay. How soon can we get to the ship to get my luggage?"

"We can leave now, if you wish."

"Good. The sooner this cruise is over, the better."

Quinn drove her to the town where she was able to catch the first launch back to the Mystic Queen. She first went to see the captain and let him know that she was debarking at the island permanently. He was disappointed, but not surprised.

"I'm sorry you feel the need to do so, Ms. Baxter. I understand why, but I wish you would stay. You do realize that there will be no other ships by here for at least a month?"

"I've made other arrangements to return to the states."

"For what it's worth, Ms. Baxter, the crew does not believe the rumors."

"I appreciate that Captain, I really do. It's not the crew that I want to avoid."

"I'll let the launch know to take you and your bags ashore."

"Thank you Captain."

Two hours later, Carla was back on the island, standing at Quinn's side as the last of the passengers boarded the boat to return to the Mystic Queen. The two returned to the mansion.

Over the next three days, Quinn showed Carla everything about the plantation. She met Juan and Carlos. He explained the history of the island and the plantation. She had to borrow a pair of shoes from Bonita. It seemed the vegetation near the plantation was hard on shoes. Barefoot would be impossible to do for anyone adverse to cutting the soles of their feet ragged.

They spent much time together. Just about everything was a subject of conversation at one point or another. Like she did with Harold, Carla found herself growing close to him. Months of dating were squeezed into just a few days. It didn't take long for the relaxed and carefree atmosphere of the island to dim the memories of the pain that the cruise had brought.

The third night found them on the veranda swing again. Carla was wearing a light pair of shorts and a tank top. Quinn was wearing his ubiquitous jeans and t-shirt. This time, when Quinn started his caresses, she was eager to return them. The bodily explorations of four nights ago were relearned. He leaned over and kissed her gently.

"Quinn, I want..."

"I know. Let me."

He leaned in and kissed her. She met his gentle kiss with a more passionate one. Their tongues probed and enjoyed what they found. Quinn's hands pulled her onto his lap, keeping their lips locked the whole time. One hand was now supporting her weight while the other explored the rest of her body. He roamed over her belly, her sides, her legs, brushing her mound briefly as he did.

Carla broke her kiss long enough to whisper, "Quinn. Don't stop. Take me and make me yours."

"I will. You already are, you just don't know it yet."

Her arms wrapped around his neck when they resumed their kiss. His hand found her pussy and rested there, rubbing slowly through her shorts. She gasped as the fabric of her suit caressed her folds and clit under his ministrations. She broke the kiss to pant and gasp in pleasure, only to have him pull her back into it. He locked her head to his while his hand increased its pressure on her pussy. Unbelievably, she was nearing her climax and he had yet to remove a single article of clothing.

"Oh God." Carla was beginning to wriggle on his lap but found that she was pinned in place by the relentless pressure on her cunt. "I'm going to... I'm so close... Oh God, don't stop!"

Quinn smiled at her pleasure, evidenced by not just her cries, but by the moisture that had soaked through the thin fabric of her pants, dampening his hand. A little more pressure and he sent her over the edge. As he felt her body stiffen, he kissed her again, locking his lips to hers and capturing her screams. Carla felt like she had exploded, leaving nothing behind except for her ecstasy. She humped his hand through her orgasm, trying desperately to extend the glorious feelings that were flowing through her.

As she came to her senses, Carla was aware that she was empty, not yet fulfilled. "Quinn, it's not enough. I need you. I need you inside me. Please, take me. I want you in my mouth and my pussy." Her dislike of cum in her mouth vanished as her lust overcame her. That rational part of her that knew depression would come after this one night stand, weighed the cost and found it a reasonable price this time.

Quinn picked her up. With seemingly no effort, he carried her to his bedroom. He placed her on the California king sized bed. She moaned as the silk sheets caressed her exposed skin. His hands reached for the bottom of her tank top and her hands went for the button of her shorts while he pulled her shirt off. She had not worn the unnecessary bra today. When he grabbed the legs of her shorts, Carla lifted her ass to ease its passage. Her hands pushed her panties off right behind her shorts.

Carla's aroma was released to act as the aphrodisiac it was. Quinn ran his hands up her legs and along her sides while she danced on the sheets, caressing herself on the silk beneath her. Quinn's hands continued their loving assault on her torso, teasing her with near misses of her breasts. Her hands went up and ran themselves against his chest, ending up at his cock, locked in his jeans. Her hunger for him peaked.

She slid herself down his body, landing on her ass with his enclosed cock up against her face. After she pulled his jeans down it disappeared quickly into the depths of her mouth which elicited a groan from him. Quinn began to thrust against her mouth and, with her head against the bed Carla could only accept the gentle brutality that his urgent need created. Her hands went around his waist, gripping his ass cheeks and pulling him in even tighter. As his cock thrust repeatedly against her, Carla let her tongue catch his foreskin and pull it back to expose his tip more completely. Her breaths were short and furtive, grabbed in those short intervals when her throat did not have a cock embedded in it. A small corner of her mind was surprised that she was not panicking at the near suffocation she was experiencing, but she had little awareness of it.




Island Slave Ch. 01



Carla had asked to be taken and she was feeling very taken. This moment was about his pleasure and she reveled in the fact that he was using her for that pleasure. It didn't even cross her mind to try to pull off when he was ready to cum. Instead, she took the sudden tensing that accompanies a man's near orgasm as a signal to take a deep breath (as deep as possible, at least) and pull him deeper. His hands came down and held her head tightly against him. She felt the cum travel the length of his cock and spill out against the back of her throat. Unable to breathe, she could only sit there and swallow the slimy fluid as it tQuinnled down her throat and fight off the impulse to gag against the mass of cock that was lodged against the back of her throat trying to suffocate her.

Even as his cock started to soften, he held her face close, staying in her. As her throat cleared, she was able to swallow and breathe. Her tongue caressed the cock inside her mouth, causing him to clench at the pain of his sensitive head being touched repeatedly. Only his moans of, "Yes!" prevented her from stopping. Her tongue milked the last of his cum from his cock, uncaring of the unpleasant taste.

He finally pulled out and lifted her to her feet. His arms embraced her tightly and his lips found hers again, kissing deeply. His tongue probed to its full length, freely tasting of himself in her. Carla's breath caught as his hand descended between them and cupped her pussy directly this time. He dropped her onto the bed again, lifting her by her pussy and sliding her along the silk. Her hands buried themselves in the sensuous feel of the silk, pulling the fabric over her breasts and belly.

She whimpered when his hand left her pussy, only to gasp when a stream of air rushed across it. When his tongue licked at her folds, her arms convulsed, pulling the sheets completely over her. Silk caressed every inch of her upper body while a tongue did its impression of a silk sheet as it caressed her pussy. Never before had Carla felt pleasure from every inch of her body. She exploded again, her body sinking into a lake of pleasure, becoming enveloped and lost in the sensations. Quinn didn't stop there. As her body clenched in the rigidity of its orgasm, he plunged his tongue deep into her cunt and literally drank from the juices she produced. When one hand reached up and thumbed her clit, a second orgasm started before the first could fade. Her lungs failed her and she could not breathe enough to scream. Still he continued, licking and fingering her pussy, prolonging her climax in a seemingly geometric increase of duration. Waves of pleasure rocketed through her body. She began to shake, her body unable to contain the sensations locked inside. Panting, she rode yet another orgasm that started at the peak of the last. Blessedly, he pulled his face away to watch the silk covered body in front of him writhe in ecstasy.

When Carla returned to the real world, she was purring. She felt both satiated and in need at the same time. Her body was floating from the effects of four orgasms in rapid succession, yet the aching emptiness in her pussy was still there. She felt the bed sink next to her and reach a hand out through the silk cocoon she had wrapped herself in. His body was there, lying on its side. Exploring, she found a cock, semi-hard, that throbbed at her touch. Another hand, Quinn's, pulled the sheets away from her face, letting him take in the glow of her face. He bent over and kissed her, leaving herself on her lips. His hand worked its way under the sheets to her breasts, caressing the erect nipples they found.

"I need more. I need you to fill me. My cunt is so empty. Fill me with all of you."

He didn't answer her, but slid the sheets off her body and started to caress her belly again. Her hand, freed of the silk glove, caressed his cock, encouraging it to new life. Without even being touched, Carla could feel her pussy lips engorging again, reaching out to gasp his cock as soon as it came within range. Soon, Carla was writhing again, reaching to pull Quinn down upon her, inside her.

"Fuck me, Quinn, fuck me hard. I want to feel you inside me and know that it's you every second you're there. I need you to take my cunt and make it yours."

He grasped her hands and held them above her head while he shoved his newly erect cock into her cunt with one massive thrust. Carla gasped and cried out at the violence of the penetration. Her arms struggled to caress him, but were unable to free themselves. His weight pinned her to the bed so that all she could do was receive the hard fucking she had begged for. As his cock ravaged her cunt, Quinn's mouth ravaged her face with equal ferocity. Her face was soon covered in saliva from open mouth kisses that were being forced upon her willing body. His chest rubbed against her breasts, adding yet another level of stimulation.

Carla was rapidly being overwhelmed by the raw diversity of feelings her body was subjected to. The silk against her back, the fucking of her pussy, the kisses on her face and the chest hair against her nipples all combined to propel her to another orgasm. He didn't stop when she was once again paralyzed by pleasure. Quinn's cock felt like it was growing to fill her entire pussy. Carla lay forgotten for the moment, all of his awareness focusing in his cock. It needed more time before it could climax again, yet it was experiencing nearly unendurable pleasure. He was growling with the need to explode, yet he knew that he was not yet close enough.

Quinn's thrust became even more brutal, literally pounding against her body as his speed increased. He was vaguely aware that her cries had changed from moans of ecstasy to whimpers of pain as her clit recoiled at the intensity of contact after several orgasms. Yet, Carla would not stop this desired assault if she could. She was being taken, as she had asked. The soreness she would feel in the morning would be a welcome price for the glory she was experiencing tonight. Carla had reached the edge yet again when Quinn roared and thrust one last time. His cock erupted, filling Carla's pussy with his seed. The feel of hot cum pulsing into her cunt was all she needed to cross over one last time to her own orgasm. Her body worn out, Carla passed out from the intensity as her body shuddered beneath Quinn's.

Afterwards, while Carla slept, Quinn lay beside her, contemplating what he was intending to do. He gazed on the sleeping form of one of the most passionate women he had ever met. He had wanted her from the moment he had seen her at Anna's. He wanted her, not just for the next few days, but for all time. Quinn was a man who was used to getting what he wanted. Only once had he failed to fill his desires, losing Melanie. Never again would he let that happen.



Once again, thank you D. for the wonderful editing job.

To my readers, I love getting your feedback, so feel free to leave your comments or send them to me directly. Unlike my previous stories, the various parts will be in different areas, depending on which area is best for the individual chapter. For example, I expect chapter two to be in reluctance/non-consent.



Island Slave Ch. 02



Chapter Two: Trapped

Carla woke up the next morning alone in the bed. She could feel and smell old sex all around her. She smiled at the memory of how Quinn had taken her with such abandon the night before. Her body remembered as well, in its own way. Her body was sore from its exertions. After lying awake for several minutes, she rolled out of bed and walked to the bathroom. Like the rest of Quinn's mansion, it was elegant. The bath was huge enough to allow one to stretch out in luxury.

She filled the tub, adding a generous portion of jasmine scented bath oil. The water soothed her muscles while cleaning her body. Partway through the soaking, she had a realization. The guilt she had been expecting was not there. It dawned on her that she felt an attachment with Quinn, a bond. It was too bad that she had to go back to the states, her vacation time exhausted. Given time, she was sure she could fall in love with the handsome islander.

After she had dried off, she noticed that the clothes she had stripped off last night were nowhere to be found. Figuring that someone had picked them up to be cleaned, she wrapped the large towel around herself and walked to her own room. She stopped just inside the door, puzzled. Her bags were missing. Pulling open the closet and the drawers in the bureau, she found no trace of clothing anywhere. More disturbing was the one thing she did find in the dresser. Three closable loops of metal, one large and four smaller, with an envelope under them. The presence of her toiletries and makeup meant she was in the correct room, but all her clothes, even her under things, were missing.

Carla was not totally naïve. She recognized the collar and cuffs as fetish wear used by people into bondage games. The envelope had her name on it. Opening it, she found a handwritten note. "Carla, put these on and come to breakfast." Her mouth hung open in shock. "Surely this is some sort of joke," she thought to herself.

Towel still wrapped around her, Carla walked back out into the hall, trying to find someone to ask about her things. She found the housekeeper, Bonita, in the library.

"Bonita?"

"Yes, miss Carla?" Bonita seemed nonplussed by Carla's appearance.

"Do you know where my luggage is? I can't find it anywhere in my room."

"Master Quinn has put them away."

"Put them away? Where?"

"You'll have to ask Master Quinn, miss."

"Where is Mr. Quinn?"

"I believe he is in his study."

The pleasant feelings of the morning were quickly being replaced by anger. "Just what kind of stunt is Quinn pulling," Carla thought to herself. "Hiding my things is not the action of a mature adult." She found the study and barged right in.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing, Quinn?" she demanded as she crossed the room.

"Carla. Good morning."

"Don't 'good morning' me. Where are my clothes?"

Ignoring her question, Quinn stood and brushed the side of her face. "I enjoyed last night. Did you?"

"Last night?" she asked, confused at the nonsequiter. "Yes, I did. Never mind about last night, where are my clothes?"

"I want you to stay here, Carla. Don't go back to your old life"

"Quinn, my vacation is over. I need to go home. I have a job and responsibilities. I can't just decide to spend another day, or week or whatever on a Caribbean island on a whim." Carla's stomach tightened. In a concerned voice, she repeated her question. "Where are my clothes? I need to get dressed so that you can take me to one of the bigger islands. I need to book a flight to Miami."

Quinn shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. "I'm not flying you anywhere. I want you to stay. I want you. I'm not going to let you go."

Carla stood there, dumbstruck. "You took my clothes." Quinn nodded. "That's... that's... Quinn, that's kidnapping. You can't hold me here against my will."

"Actually, yes I can. There's nothing you can do to stop me. You're everything I've ever wanted in a woman. Second chances are so rare, I'm not losing this one. Why haven't you put the collar and cuffs on?"

"Second chance?" she thought to herself. "My God! He's crazy." Out loud, she sputtered, "I'm not putting on those filthy things. Do you mean to say that you're going to hold me against my will and rape me any time you want to get off."

"No," he insisted, shaking his head. "There will be no rape. I will not force myself on you. When we make love, it will be because you asked for it. Until then, you have complete freedom in the house and the plantation grounds. However, you will not be able to eat unless you're wearing the collar and cuffs."

"You're going to starve me?"

"No. I'm simply not going to let you eat until you put them on. You'll put them on before you starve to death."

"Do you really think that I will agree to fuck the man who is holding me prisoner? That will be a cold day in hell. The only way you're screwing this body is if you take me by force. And you'd better tie me up, because I will castrate you by hand if you so much as lay a hand on me!"

"That's your choice. One thing though." Quinn grabbed an end of the towel and yanked on it, pulling it off the startled woman. "I took your clothes away so that you would be naked. You're not to wear any clothes. I may not be able to make love to you, but I can love the look of your body."

"You asshole!" Carla's voice was laden with anger and threat. "You like this body? Well, go ahead, look all you want." She spread her arms out, giving him an unobstructed view of herself. "Look at the body you will never touch again." She did a slow turn, letting his eyes linger over every inch of her body. In a dark corner of her mind, shadowed by the anger that burned within her, was confusion. How could he actually want to look at her? She did not have a 'looker' body.

Once she had completed her pirouette, she stalked off towards her room. When she passed Bonita again, she asked, "Bonita, would you bring me some breakfast in my room?"

"I'm sorry, miss Carla. Master Quinn has ordered that all meals must be eaten in the dining room and that you are not to be served until you are dressed appropriately."

"What?" she yelled. "Do you mean to tell me that I am being forced to walk about where everyone can see me, naked, in slave regalia?"

"No, miss. You can choose to stay in your room as much as you wish. It's just your meals must be in the dining room at the proper times. Other than that, you may stay in your room. You do have a nice body."

Without thinking, Carla corrected Bonita. "No, I don't." Bonita walked away, shaking her head. Carla stood in the hall for a minute, pondering what to do. She decided to try someone else and went to the dining room. The table was bare, but for a table cloth. Peeking into the kitchen, she saw that Juan was cooking breakfast. He looked up at her when the door cracked.

"Miss, Carla. Is there something I can help you with?"

"You could get me my clothes."

"I'm sorry. I don't know where they are. Even if I did, I would not defy Master Quinn." Juan looked at her with subtle pleasure.

Carla blushed at the look. Trying to distract both Juan and herself, she inquired, "Just what does Quinn have over all of you? You're abetting a kidnapping."

"He has nothing over me, miss. I have been the cook for Master Quinn's family for over 40 years. My grandfather was their cook before me. We have worked for Quinn's family for almost 100 years. You must understand, loyalty is a way of life on the islands. I would never betray him."

"Even when what he's doing is so clearly wrong?"

"I'm not so sure it's wrong." When Carla's face showed shock, he asked her, "Tell me, did you like Master Quinn yesterday?"

"Yes. But today changes everything."

"Why? Because he has expressed a desire for you?"

Carla, drawn into the conversation, had stepped fully into the kitchen, seemingly having forgotten her nudity. "I knew he desired me yesterday. It's not the desire that is wrong; it is the way he is forcing me to stay here."

"I think that perhaps you do him a disservice. There is no force here. If you wished it enough, you could leave."

Not deigning to answer such an outrageous claim, she wrote him off as useless. With an exasperated sigh, she asked, "Is there any breakfast?"

"Of course miss. It will be ready in 15 minutes. Make sure you are dressed correctly."

Carla walked back to her room. While she pondered what to do, she took stock of what was left of her things. As she had already determined, all her toiletries and cosmetics were still in her room. She found that all her books were also there, neatly arranged on a shelf in the closet. Of her clothes, nothing. Not even a sock or scrap of panty. Overwhelmed, she collapsed on the bed, tears brimming in her eyes. The knock on her door caused her to make an attempt to compose herself.

"Who is it?"

"It Juan, miss. Breakfast is ready."

"I'm not hungry." Carla refused to put on the accoutrements of a slave.

Carla washed her face, trying to eliminate the evidence of tears. She tried to read, but found that her interest simply wasn't there. She lay, curled up, on the bed until there was a knock on her door again.

"What is it?"

"Miss Carla," Bonita's voice sounded. "Lunch is ready."

"I'm not hungry right now."

"Very well."

The day passed both slowly and quickly. Carla spent the entire day in bed, lost in her anger and fear, her hunger barely noticed. She could not believe that she was here, now, trapped in a mansion, naked, at the mercy of what could only be a madman. She thought of how she might try to escape. Nothing seemed possible. She had seen no phone anywhere in the mansion that she could call for help on. She knew that Quinn had a computer, but had seen no evidence that it had an internet connection. Naked, without shoes, she would never be able to walk the several miles to the village, not through the brambles and sharp rocks that seemed so abundant on the island. The mansion was at the center of the island, making a trip to the coast just as injurious. Quinn had planned well it seemed.

It didn't help that she had come here willingly. Not only had she come willingly, but she had been quite forceful about it with the captain of the ship. It would be at least a week before anyone would start looking for her. Once they did, how could they find her? She had left no trail to follow. A few of the villagers might remember her, but none of them knew that she had come to the mansion to stay, if only for a short while. If they did contact Quinn, he would be able to tell them anything he wanted. He was a respected businessman here.

Dinner passed without Carla joining Quinn at the table. It was only late at night that hunger drove her out of her room. The halls were dark, the only light being that of the moon peeking around corners from the windows. She found that there was a night light on in the dining room and a small fire had been left in the oven. She tried to look in the refrigerator and found it and the pantry locked. A note was on the pantry. It said, "Remember, you must eat in the dining room, on time, in your collar and cuffs." She went back to her room and slept. In spite of her inactivity, she found that she was exhausted. The emotional roller coaster of the day had taken its toll.

By morning, Carla was extremely hungry. She showed up to the breakfast table. When she was not served, she asked, "May I have something to eat?"

Quinn looked up from his plate. "You're not wearing what you are supposed to be wearing. Until you put them on, you will not eat."

Carla slammed her hand against the table, standing as she did so. Ignoring the chair that fell over, she stomped back to her room. She pulled the drawer open and stared at the collar. Part of her didn't want to put it on. It was degrading and humiliating. Putting it on would be to cooperate with her kidnapper. But, she was already trapped. The only thing the collar meant was that she could eat. She picked up the circlets, her heart beating loudly in her ears. She saw that there were key holes on all five. Once she put them on, only Quinn would be able to take them off.

Tears filled her eyes as Carla bowed to the inevitable. The click of the lock on the collar was like the slamming of a prison cell door. The inner surface was lined with a soft material, felt possibly. The same was true of the cuffs. Once they were all on, she found that their weight on her wrists and ankles an ever present reminder of her captivity, even greater than her nudity. She walked back out and sat down again for breakfast, crying as she ate.

For the next week she avoided Quinn as much as possible, joining him only for meals. Except for meals, she stayed in her room, though after brooding for a day or two, she found she was able to read her books again. The only person she had regular contact outside of meals with was Bonita, who brought fresh linen every morning. They spoke little after Carla determined that she was in the same position as Juan, unwilling to even acknowledge that something wrong was going on.

It was in the second week that Carla realized that she was going nuts. Locked up in her room, seeing no one, was driving her batty. She had read every book she had with her, some of them twice. She knew she had to change the way she was coping with her involuntary existence here in the mansion. She went to breakfast as usual. Afterwards, however, she did not return to her room.

Remembering that she had complete freedom to explore the mansion and the grounds, she did just that. Over the past week, Carlos, Bonita and Juan had all seen her naked at each meal. Their reactions were amazingly placid, as if it was commonplace to see a somewhat overweight, naked, collared woman wandering the house. Carla was surprised that she no longer felt much in the way of embarrassment at being seen thus.

That first day, she wandered through the house, paying more attention to the rooms than she did when Quinn gave her his tour the first time. The mansion was deceptively large. In addition to the kitchen, dining room, and the two bedrooms that Carla and Quinn used, there was a large pantry, with enough space to hold three months of food, as near as she could tell. The library was as she remembered, very large and full of books. Three more bedrooms were present, two of them used by Bonita and Juan. Only Carla's and Quinn's had dedicated baths. Quinn's office was adjacent to a large study or sitting room, it was hard to tell for which purpose it was being used.

The most curious feature of the first floor was the two way mirror between the study and the unused bedroom. That fifth bedroom seemed to have a natural glow that prevented it from becoming totally dark. The study was the only room that had no windows to the outside. This meant that when the study was darkened, you could look into the bedroom with ease. Heavy drapes capable of being drawn open covered the study's side of the spying device. 

Her second day about the house found her ensconced in the library. Carla loved to read books. In a day when electronic media was increasingly popular, Carla found that she loved the feel of a book in her hand, turning the pages and letting her eyes linger on the print with no threat of computer screen induced eyestrain. The breadth of the literary works to be found in this room was amazing. There were leather bound volumes of many of the classics in English literature, as well as works in Spanish, German and French. One entire wall was given over to romance novels, both classics such as Jane Eyre and Wuthering Heights, as well as mass market novels popularized by publishers such as Harlequin.

Carla found herself drawn to the library again and again over the next few weeks. Try as she might, she could find no book that did not show evidence of someone having read it in the past. She thought of Quinn's mother and realized that this collection was not one put together for show, but one that was the very books that someone loved and had read. She recalled that Quinn had mentioned that his mother rotated the books in the library on a regular basis. Carla stood in awe at the thought of someone actually having read every book in this room, and then some.

On that second day of her explorations, she removed a book from the shelf, Crime and Punishment, and took it to her room to read. Every few days, she would swap books as she finished the previous one. The third day of her explorations was interrupted briefly by the sound of Quinn's truck firing up. She rushed out the door of the mansion in time to see him pull out of the grounds. Seeing Carlos in the yard, she ran up to him.

"Carlos. Where is Quinn going?"

"Miss, Carla. Master Quinn is going into the village. Another cruise ship is due in today."

"Does he go into town every time there's a cruise ship?"

"Yes, miss."

"Does he bring back a woman with him every time?"

"Almost miss. Master Quinn is a very handsome man."

"But I thought..."

"Thought what miss?"

"Nothing, never mind."

Carla was not about to complete that sentence, at least not out loud. "I thought he desired me?" she was going to say. Carla was shocked at the idea that she had felt a twinge of jealously. Quinn had kidnapped her! She was trapped on the plantation by her nudity and the natural features of the island. How could she have jealously for such a conniving cad?

Unbidden, the memories of their night of sex returned. The exquisite feelings and the glorious climaxes from that night seemed to surge through her body again. Carla felt her nipples stiffening and beads of lubricant forming on her pussy lips. In shame, she retreated from Carlos, back to her room. Tears erupted when she reached her bed. How could she feel this way? What was wrong with her?

She decided that it was the sex. Her body remembered the good sex and didn't care about what came afterwards. She put the desire she was feeling out of her mind and thought of the opportunity. Someone from the outside world was coming to the mansion and would be returning to the outside world. There was a chance to escape, or at least let someone know that she was here, against her will. Unless he was planning on kidnapping every woman he brought back for sex, he would have to let Carla go or face a visit from the authorities.

Carla spent the day on the veranda when she wasn't eating, reading one of the books from the library. The warm tropical weather made her lack of clothing easy to bear, comfort wise. She was still sitting there when Quinn's truck could be heard in the distance. She put the book down and stood up on the porch.. It didn't take long for the truck to appear at the gate. Other than Quinn, the truck was empty.

As Quinn got out of the truck, he waved at Carla, saying, "Good afternoon, Carla. Enjoying the sun?"

"Where is she?"

Quinn looked at her quizzically. "Where is who?"

"The woman from the cruise ship you're going to fuck. That's why you left, isn't it."

"Carla, I have no desire for the women on the ship," he replied, shaking his head. "You're the woman I want, and have."

"You don't have me. I will not agree to have sex with you, Quinn."

"Then neither of us will enjoy that gift again. Think about that, Carla. Can you live without sexual pleasure for the rest of your life?"

"I can get myself off. I don't need you."

"Have you tried recently?"

Carla stared at him, her mind going numb. She had been bluffing. Carla had never been able to orgasm from masturbation. She had always needed something more than mere stimulation. That connection with someone else was apparently vital to her ability to enjoy sex to the fullest. Worse, just thinking about sex was beginning to arouse her. Carla stood and retreated to her room, desperate to keep Quinn from seeing the condition he had sent her into.




Island Slave Ch. 02



She curled up on her bed and tried to ignore the feelings that had been awoken in her. Memories flooded her mind, memories of sex; very enjoyable sex with Quinn. His hands caressing her body, sending waves of pleasant feelings washing over her. His cock, large and hard in her hands, the precum sliding all over it. The feeling of her cunt being penetrated and taken, her body held tight in his grip as she shuddered in climax. Try as she might, she could not turn the flood of images off.

It had been two weeks since she had had sex. Never before had this been an issue. Carla had gone over a year without sex before and never experienced the burning need she was suffering from now. She did not understand what made now so different. Why was the mere absence of sex leaving her so frustrated now when much longer periods had never done so in the past? Her fingers had never been enough for her. She cried as she realized that Quinn might be right. She may well turn to him.

That night, Carla missed dinner, unwilling to show herself aroused in front of the others, especially Quinn. Her sleep was fitful, plagued by dreams; disturbing dreams. In one of her dreams, she found herself looking for Quinn, searching for him throughout the mansion. She was naked and chained, her wrist cuffs to her collar by three foot chains of small steel links, lying on the bed. There was an ache in her cunt, an emptiness that had become unbearable. As she looked for him, her arousal grew. Carla's hands tugged at the chains that prevented her from touching herself. She could smell her pussy, wet and dripping. As her search for Quinn continued, her desperation grew. She moaned as she walked, her very steps turning her on even more.

She found him outside, talking to one of the workers for the plantation. Humiliation burned her flesh as she noted the lustful leer the worker shot her way. She walked up to Quinn. "Quinn, please."

"Not now, Carla. I'm busy."

A groan escaped her lips. "Please. I need you so much."

"Carla! Go back inside the house. Wait for me in my study."

Carla went back inside to his study. She tried to sit in a chair, but the sensations on her pussy were driving her wild with lust. Pacing was no better. When her legs rubbed together, she not only felt her arousal grow, sending goose bumps all over her, she could hear her thighs moving together through the juices that coated them. The only position that seemed to offer any relief was kneeling with her legs spread apart. She stayed aroused, but didn't get any worse.

It seemed like hours before he came to her. He stood in the doorway, looking upon her kneeling form, open for his viewing pleasure. His smile sent tingles through her body. She looked up at his face, desire naked in her expression. Carla raised her chained hands up.

"Please Quinn. I need you. Please."

"What do you want, Carla?"

"Make love to me, Quinn. Make these feelings go away. I can't take it any more."

Quinn walked up to her. He took her hands in his, pulling her to her feet. He pressed her hands against her own breasts, rubbing the nipples with the back of her hands. Carla gasped and tried to pull her hands away.

"No, my darling one. We can do this my way or you can go back to your room to suffer."

A tear crept down her cheek as she stopped resisting and let Quinn have his way. Her hands were at her own breasts again. Carla was whimpering at the increase of arousal this caused her. Her body was trembling with need. When his hands released hers, Carla looked up, pleading with her eyes. His hands roamed across her body, dragging sensations out of her she had no concept she was capable of. Her feet became unsteady and Quinn had to hold onto her to keep her from falling.

Holding her body against his, he caressed her back while pressing his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. Against her will, Carla's mouth responded, opening up and inviting his tongue inside. Her mouth seemed to have become an erogenous zone, every contact with his tongue sending sparks through her body. Carla realized that she was weeping and moaning while her hands cupped her breasts and pinched at the nipples. She could feel little rivulets of juice, or was it perspiration, running down her legs. She was humping against his body, telling him what she so desperately needed.

Quinn's hands moved to her shoulders and pressed downward. Unsupported, Carla had no choice but to sink to her knees, her face staring at the bulge in his pants. Tilting her head up, she saw a look of lust in his eyes. Cowering beneath him, she undid his pants, freeing the erect cock contained there in. Precum glistened on the head. Carla ran her hands along the length, enraptured at the throbbing she caused. She cupped his balls, squeezing gently. One hand caressed his cock while the other massaged his balls. His moans were like music to her ears.

His precum seemed to multiply and soon she was running a slick penis through her fist. She brought her mouth lower and licked at his sac. She slowed her hand down at the jerk this caused. Holding his cock still in her hands, she sucked one of his balls into her mouth. After massaging it with her tongue, she let it slip out and drew the other in for a twin performance. When she released the second one, Quinn's hands reached down to grasp her head, guiding Carla's mouth to the tip of his cock.

Her tongue snaked out and caressed the tip, tasting the precum that was still oozing from it. Freeing his cock from her hands, she swiped her tongue along its length. The pressure on her head from his hands increased. She responded to this not so gentle hint and took him into her mouth. Her pussy protested that it should have this pleasure. Her mouth, greedy for its own pleasure, ignored the aching need from below and caressed the cock in it. Carla sucked on Quinn's cock, wrapped her tongue around it as much as she was able. She took him deep, letting him hit the back of her throat.

When he came, he forced himself all the way in and held himself there, his cum splashing against the back of her throat where it trickled down to be swallowed. Carla dared not breathe, lest she choke on the fluids that were making their way past her windpipe. When he finally pulled out of her mouth, she was shocked, and pleased, to find that he was still hard. He grasped her hands and roughly pulled her to her feet.

He dragged her to a light fixture that was on the wall, one of those decorative things that curved gracefully. Putting her hands on the metal, her ordered, "Don't let go, no matter what." Carla grasped the light as Quinn sank to his knees, his face brought level with her cunt.

When his tongue first touched her folds, she cried out loud. Her legs opened of their own accord, giving him better access. Each swipe of his tongue pulled a sound out of her; a mew, a gasp, a cry, a whimper. Carla's pussy was on fire, a fire that spread quickly to the rest of her body. She was trembling again, her need rendering her helpless. Soon she had taken most of her weight on her arms and was leaning back against the wall. When his tongue left her cunt, she whispered, "Please, please."

Quinn stood, and in one fluid motion, impaled his cock in Carla's pussy. He captured her screams with his mouth as he plunged into her again and again. Carla bucked back against him, driving herself towards her long awaited orgasm. All felt right with the world, her cunt filled at last, her body being ravished, being taken like a slut. As her climax began to wash over her, she awoke from her dream.

Carla woke up screaming, the dream fuck vivid in her mind. She was damp everywhere, with sweat, saliva and pussy juice. The aching emptiness in her cunt was stronger than ever. She was vaguely aware of a knocking a her door.

"Yes. Who is it?"

"It is Bonita, miss. Breakfast will be ready in an hour."

"Thank you."

Carla realized that she could not bear the thought of appearing before anyone in her current state. Back home, she would have taken a cold shower. The mansion had no showers, only baths. There being nothing for it, she ran a cold bath, spending the time it filled, psyching herself for the unpleasant plunge that was coming. Every movement was torture, as she was more aroused now than when she had fallen asleep. Once the tub was full, she sat on the edge of the large marble bath for a minute, and then slid herself in, stifling the scream that tried to erupt from her.

As she sat in the cold water teeth chattering, she sighed with relief at the success. Her arousal had vanished in a burst of intense cold. She quickly lathered where she could reach and finished her bath in record time. In the more than two weeks she had been collared like this, she learned that the collar and cuffs were not affected in any way by being immersed in water. As she combed her hair, she was struck by a feeling of loss. It took several minutes to realize that she missed the arousal. No matter, she was certain it would return, probably faster than she wanted.

When she reached the breakfast table, Quinn was missing. "Where is Quinn?" she asked.

Miss, Master Quinn had a problem come up on the plantation. He will not be here for breakfast."

Breathing a disappointed sigh of relief, Carla ate her breakfast and pondered what to do. She didn't feel like reading today. Instead, she ventured into parts of the mansion that were unused. Climbing the stairs to the second floor, she was startled at the layers of dust she found. It seemed that Bonita did not venture up here to clean. She looked over the railing to see the maid looking up at her with a strange look on her face, possibly of trepidation.

"Bonita?"

"Yes, miss."

"Do you never come up here?"

"No, miss. It is forbidden."

"For me as well?"

"I... I'm not certain miss Carla. I can't go upstairs or down to the basement."

"Why not?"

"I can't say, miss."

Carla turned back to the hall at the top of the stairs. Her curiosity was piqued. There was a mystery here and Carla was determined to solve it. Looking down at her feet, she saw that the dust had quickly left her feet a mess. A bath would be needed if there was to be any exploring. Taking a deep breath, and sneezing at the effort, she walked down the hall to a set of double doors.

When she pushed them open, she was struck first by the darkness. Even though this room should have an eastern facing, there was no trace of sunlight. Or, rather there was, just barely outlining heavy drapes that shielded a large picture window, if the size of the drapes was to be believed. The second thing she noticed was the dust. Inside the room there was even more dust than there was on the balcony and hall (she would later learn that Bonita swept the hall twice a year when Quinn was away on a business trip).

Once her eyes had adjusted to the near darkness, she saw that there seemed to be no lights, at least no electric lights in the room. She did see an oil lamp sitting on a table. She could not make out enough details to tell what the room had been used for. It did have a 'crowded' feel to it. Carla shuffled to the lamp and found, no surprise here, that it was empty. Taking the lamp with her, she backed out and shut the doors behind her.

Carla never was able to explain why she shut the door again. It just seemed the thing to do. She had a sense of privacy in that large room, privacy that should be invaded with care. She carried the lamp to Quinn's study. There, she knew, he had an oil lamp that he used for decoration. A quick search revealed the location of his oil supply. She filled the lamp and left it to sit on the dining room table so that the wick, a long length of canvas, could soak up enough oil to work properly. While it sat there, she sought out Bonita.

"Bonita? Where are your cleaning supplies?"

"What needs cleaning miss? There is no need to bother yourself with anything like that."

Carla had not yet gotten used to the strange mix of decorum and respect for her privacy that was mixed with her full time nudity and captivity. Other than her lack of clothing and inability to leave, Carla was treated as an honored guest in the mansion. She had lost the ability to remain angry at Juan, Bonita and Carlos. It was as if they were simply doing their jobs, one of which was to keep her captive, yet comfortable.

"It's upstairs, Bonita."

"Please, miss Carla, I can't clean up there."

"I'm not asking you to. I will do it myself."

"Miss, Master Quinn will be so angry."

"Then let him be angry at me. If he doesn't want me prying into the upstairs, he can let me go. I won't live in a house that has such filth in it."

Bonita's eyes widened in horror. "Please, don't say that where he can hear you."

"What is it, Bonita?"

"I cannot say. I just cannot. Please do not hurt Master Quinn."

Carla realized in a flash, that this was the third time she had seen or heard of pain in Quinn's life. Maria had mentioned a great loneliness. She had seen pain in his face at the mention of his mother in the library. Now Bonita was pleading for Quinn to not be hurt, and it was clear from her face that she meant, not to hurt him again.

"Bonita. Quinn has hurt me. I don't want to hurt him, but I won't grieve if I do. He may force me to live the rest of my life here. I won't do that in ignorance. There's a secret, maybe more than one, upstairs. I can almost feel the ghosts grieving for something lost when I was up in one of the rooms. I intend to find that secret. And I can't do that if I sneeze with every step. So, where do you keep the cleaning supplies?"

Bonita sighed in resignation. "This way miss Carla." She led Carla to her supplies, letting the naked woman help herself

Carla filled a basket with rags and cleaner, took a Swifter duster and two boxes of sheets and a dust buster mini-vacuum. Back in Quinn's study, she added several bottles of lamp oil and went back upstairs with her one lamp lit. The first thing she did was to find and fill every lamp in every room. Two of the rooms were obviously bedrooms. The beds had no linen and the bathrooms were not connected to any modern facilities, both having wood stoves and a kettle for heating water. Most of the rooms were of indeterminate function, having been used for storage. The room that brought tears to her eyes was full of boxes, dozens of boxes. One box was open and revealed dust covered books.

She knew that she had found Quinn's mother's oversupply of books. The neglect that they had been subjected to was in direct opposition to the care that the library experienced. In her soul, Carla could feel pain, gut wrenching, soul tearing pain. Only that level of pain could explain the dichotomy between the two rooms full of books. It occurred to Carla that since Quinn had showed her the library, she had never seen him in it. She started her cleaning in this room.

Whatever the problem on the plantation was, it occupied Quinn for the entire week, seemingly from sun up to sun down. Her only awareness of her captor was hearing him go to bed in the late evening. The week passed slowly for Carla, yet seemed to not be long enough. She took her meals alone, covered from head to toe in dirt and dust. She limited her bathing to the end of the day, unwilling to lose any time from her self appointed task. Something, she was not sure what, was pushing her to finish the upstairs while she could. She hadn't been serious when she told Bonita about almost feeling the ghosts, but now she was not so sure. Something, or someone, kept telling her that this needed to be done, and quickly.

She was happy to discover that, except for the open box of books, the boxes were sealed tight with duct tape. While the boxes themselves were covered in dust, there was no sign that the dust had gotten inside. She resisted the temptation to open them before she had finished cleaning. She was reminded of her first job when she was just 15 years old. She had, through her father, been hired on at a cleaning service. The manager, irked at having to hire a, "snotty nosed, teenage brat," gave her all the worst jobs. She would come home each night, filthy with the dirt from public restrooms and a coffee processing line, and spend an hour in the shower trying to feel clean. Washing the accumulated dust out of her hair was almost as hard as removing the coffee grounds had been.

On the seventh day, after having taken an extra half hour to finish the last room, Carla was late to dinner,. Expecting to find she would go hungry, she was surprised to see Quinn still at the table. They stared at each other for over a minute. Quinn was shocked at her appearance. Carla was embarrassed by it. Quinn recovered first.

"What happened to you, Carla?"

"I was doing a little cleaning," she understated.

"Since when do you do Bonita's job? No, where did you find so much...?" His voice trailed off as his head lifted towards the ceiling. His face blanched as he realized where she had been. A single whisper escaped his lips. "No." He turned his gaze back towards her. Carla met his eyes and did not flinch. "Don't go up there again," he ordered.

"I'll go where I please, unless you intend to take these," she shook her cuffs at him, "even further. I will know the man who keeps me prisoner."

"Why do you care?"

"Three weeks ago, I went to bed with a man I thought I'd gotten to know. I was wrong. You're a stranger, Quinn. I know nothing about the real you. The only chance you have of fucking me again, is for me to know who you are and to like that person." Even as she said the words, she knew she was lying. In the short time she had been in his presence, the arousal she had banished for a week had returned. Her desire for his body, his touch, had resurfaced with a vengeance.

Quinn, pain etched in his face, rose and left. The brief pang of pity she felt was quickly squashed as she sat down to eat her dinner. She spent the evening after her bath, reading for the first time in a week. The next morning, Carla woke aroused. Her dreams eluded her this time, for which she was grateful. It wasn't a crippling level of arousal, merely the awareness that she wanted sex, sex with the hunk of a man who would be sitting across from her at breakfast. She took another cold bath, but knew that she would soon tire of this method of quenching her desire. Worse, it would soon stop having an effect.

As it was, the effect was short lived. By the end of breakfast, her nipples were erect and her pussy was showing the first glimmers of moisture. When she rose from her seat, Quinn put a hand up.

"Where are you going today?"

"I thought I'd see what the other vacant half of the mansion looked like." She pointed to the floor as she spoke.

"I'm afraid you'll find it in as bad of shape as the upstairs."

"Then I have another week of cleaning ahead of me."

"You're not going to honor a request to leave my past alone, are you?"

"Just as well as you've honored my requests for freedom."

"I'm going to have to replenish our cleaning supplies and lamp oil soon."

"Forgive me, but I haven't noticed any lack in this household. I'm sure you can afford it."

With that, Carla stalked off to find her lamp and supplies and explore the basement. Like the upstairs, the basement was overrun with dust, but added to that was a layer of oily grime that coated everything it touched. The rooms in the basement were larger, more spacious. The stairs descended into the largest room, an old fruit cellar, by the looks of it. There were patches of mold and mushrooms that she was sure were the remains of years old fruit and vegetables. Dead bugs seemed to litter the floor and cobwebs were visible in the ceiling rafters.

She spent the next two weeks cleaning the basement. Every morning, she woke with a pressing need for sex. She gave up on the cold baths, their effects not lasting through the morning meal. Quinn insisted she show up for meals clean, so she skipped lunch every day. In spite of her disgust for the conditions she found below, she enjoyed the quenching effect that such filth had on her body's desire for sex.




Island Slave Ch. 02



By the time she was done, she had determined that the basement consisted of a fruit cellar, an attached wine cellar with over 100 bottles of wine still in it, a room she mistook at first for a coal chute, but later realized was for fire wood, not coal, and a fourth room that was locked with a very modern master brand padlock. The lock had been covered with just as much grime, so she knew Quinn had not locked it recently. She saw no immediate means of gaining entry to this room.

Carla knew, given his discomfort with her being down there at all, that Quinn would not answer any questions about what she found, let alone give her a key to a room that had been locked for who knows how many years. She wasn't sure why, but Carla was certain that the key still existed and was in the house, somewhere. She just needed to find it. That night, she stayed up late, until she was sure everyone was asleep. She used the oil lamp to see her way to his office and make a search for the key.

Quinn never seemed to lock anything. This was probably the result of having lived alone on an island for so long, surrounded by people he trusted implicitly. His personal key ring only had four keys on it. One was his truck key. A second was another vehicle key, though she could not tell for what. The third was the key to her collar and cuffs, which there was no point in removing. She found no house key to the mansion, but had never seen the mansion locked in any way. The fourth key was a Master padlock key. A quick trip to the basement, however, showed that it was not the right key. Carla found no other keys in his office.

Now she put some thought into the problem. The lock had been there, untouched, for as long as the basement itself. Maybe Quinn knew nothing about it. That would mean that the key, if it existed, would be in storage, upstairs. That meant searching the upstairs. Since she had been planning to do that anyway, she just made the key the center of her search efforts.

One problem she faced was the return of her slow torture in arousal. Her cleaning done, nothing remained to quench the slow burning fire in her belly. At first, it would come and go in relation to her proximity, time wise, to meal time. It seemed that his presence was the trigger. Her erotic dreams had returned as well, at least her ability to remember them had. As the days passed, she found the length of time she spent with a wet pussy and erect nipples increasing. Six days into her search for the key, she found that her pussy had stayed wet the entire time between breakfast and lunch. Quinn's presence at lunch merely heightened her need.

Now she was not only aroused, but incredibly needy. The aching emptiness in her womb was back. She knew that something had to give, or she would herself. After finding herself looking through the same box for two hours, she realized that she would not be able to concentrate on anything until she had relief. She was in one of the bedrooms, sitting on the canopy bed that was one of the only three articles of furniture. Looking at the bed post, she grimaced. "Maybe this time I can," she thought to herself desperately

Carla stood up and grasped the upper portion of the post. She pulled herself tight against the post and began to rub herself up and down like she had seen strippers do in cheesy movies. The intricate carvings on the post rubbed against her cunt lips and she moaned in pleasure. She could feel the trail of wetness she was leaving on the post. She had to bite her tongue to control her voice and not cry out loud at the pleasure she was providing herself. She shifted position, letting the corner of the post ride into her pussy and rub against her clit.

She heard herself whimper with desire. Her gyrations against the bedpost grew increasingly frantic as she careened towards her goal. She reached a plateau, unable to breach that great divide that separated her from her climax. It was happening again. With a groan, Carla dropped to the floor and wept. She had never been able to masturbate to orgasm and today was no different. She knew that if Quinn had walked in at that moment, she would have begged him to fuck her, to give her that ravishing that her body craved. But he wasn't here, so she lay there and wept, her body descending a little, just enough to let her face Quinn at lunch without falling to pieces.

After lunch, she retreated to her room, lying in bed, trying to ignore the demands her body was putting on her. She took another cold bath, hoping to drown the rampant arousal that had her on the edge. It was only partially successful. The intensity was reduced, but the desire and physical need remained. After the bath, she returned upstairs to continue her search for the key to the mysterious basement room.

By dinner time, she had discovered two things. First, the key was not in an easily accessible place, meaning she would have to go through storage boxes one by one. Second, her need for sex had drastically increased. Not only was she highly aroused, but she could not get her mind off of the subject of sex and being fucked. Worse, her thoughts seemed to be focused on Quinn.

"Good God, woman! He wasn't that good," she told herself. In her heart, however, she knew she was lying. He had been that good. He had been the best fuck she had ever had. Her body knew that and wanted more. Carla feared that the incessant cravings for him would drive her batty. Her body's desire for him was reasserted at dinner. As soon as she saw him, she felt that blasted tingle in her pussy intensify (again!) and her breath caught in her throat. By the end of dinner, it was as if she was moaning under her breath.

Over these past few weeks, Quinn had treated her with kindness and respect. He never invaded the privacy of her room. He allowed her free reign of the mansion and grounds, even when she insisted on going places that brought him pain. He made polite conversation at the meals they shared, refusing to be goaded by her silences or one word answers. She had grown so used to her nakedness that she had to remind herself repeatedly that she was a prisoner here. All this made it even more difficult to quash the attraction she had to his body.

That night, Carla huddled on her bed, trying to ignore the desire that burned in her loins. Her tears flowed freely as she lay in her bed. Eventually she fell asleep, but that was no respite. Asleep, she was easy prey for her dreams. Her dreams were driven by her needs.

In them, she found herself on the Mystic Queen once again. Carla was on the ship's launch, being taken to a site to go scuba diving. Once there, she dropped herself into the water. She swam alone in the warm, tropical waters. Along the coral reef, she spotted a cave. In the depths of the cave, she could make out a light of some sort. Curious, she swam into the cave, towards the light. With the entrance to the cave lost to her sight, she found herself in a grotto of some sort. The light was coming from above the water's surface.

When Carla broke the surface of the water, she saw a bed with silken sheets. She walked across the floor (there was no confusion at the abrupt change from ocean to bedroom) and ran her hand across the sheets. The slightest contact with the silk caused her to tremble and moan. There was an attraction here. She wanted to be in that bed, between the sheets, letting the silk caress her body. She climbed in, trembling as she did. She was afraid, of what she did not know. The sheets pulled themselves back when she reached for them. Once she had lay down, they pulled themselves, as if guided by an unseen hand, over her body, covering her from head to toe.

The sheets, those silken lovers kept moving against her. Her body responded to the embrace and the caresses. Her nipples hardened and her pussy began to moisten. It was as if 100 hands were caressing her with gentle touches. Tingles ran across her skin and her body began to undulate with the motion of the sheets. She tried to return the affection being lavished upon her, but a light pressure kept her body pinned to the bed, to receive the magic touches of the silk helplessly.

In her dream, Carla's arousal grew stronger and stronger. Yet, she did not cum. The invisible hands that made love to her ignored her pussy and clit. After a seemingly endless passage of time, she was writhing in pleasure, a pleasure so great that it was as agonizing as the worst migraine. She began to cry out. "Help me, please. I need to cum, I'll do anything to cum. Please, anyone, help me." Over and over she cried out. She could not know if anyone was there to hear her.

A hand pressed through the sheets onto her cunt. Carla gasped and whimpered, thrusting her hips against the pressure. The hand, she was sure it was a man's, rubbed her through the silk, even while the silk itself continued to caress the rest of her body. Wantonly, she ground her pussy against the hand, forcing fingers between her lips. Her moans grew in volume as her climax neared. As she reached the point of no return, everything stopped. The hand pulled away and the sheets stopped moving.

"No! Please, let me cum. I'll do anything."

"But Carla, you already have done anything." The voice that spoke struck terror into her heart. She pulled the sheet from her face and saw him, Harold.

"No! Get away from me. I won't do it. I'm not that kind of woman."

"But you are, my dear. You are an adulterer. You're married and slept with another man."

"No," she whispered. "You're the one who was married. You lied to me."

"But, that's not what everyone believes. Everyone thinks you're married, not me. What people think, that's what's true. See, there's your wedding ring."

As she stared in horror, a ring faded into view on her finger, a diamond wedding band. She wrenched at it, trying to pull it off her finger. "No! I'm not married. It's not true. This is not me."

"No one believes you, Carla. You're married. You have three children." Three small children appeared next to the bed. "Admit it. You're an adulteress."

"No! Someone believes me, I know they do." Carla was sobbing, barely able to believe herself.

A voice, a strong masculine voice called out of the shadows. "I believe you, Carla." It was Quinn, walking towards her. As he approached her, repeating his belief, the children and the ring slowly faded from view. Soon, Quinn stood face to face with Harold.

"Your belief is not enough. No one will believe you. You took her against her will."

"No one but Carla needs to believe in me. That is enough. Carla came to me willingly and she will stay with me willingly."

Harold looked at Carla. "Choose Carla. Would you be with a liar who will let you go, or with an honest Master?"

As she pondered the devil's choice in her dream, Carla woke with a scream. She was covered in sweat and her pussy was wet. Her breath came in deep gasps. Shaking her head, she whispered to herself, "There's another choice, there has to be."

Quinn's voice sounded through the door. There was an edge of fear in his tone. "Carla! Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine," her tired voice called back. "I just had a nightmare. Go away, please." As she said those words, her heart wrenched. She did not want him to go away. She wanted him to burst in and take her by force. She wanted him to rape her. Then she would be able to hate him enough to not desire him, or so she told herself.

Quinn's footsteps padded away from her door. Placing her face in her hands, she wept. Her body trembled, partly from tears, partly from arousal. Mostly, though, she cried at the thought that she had finally allowed to coalesce in her mind. "I'm going to go to him. I'm going to ask, no, beg Quinn to fuck me. I need him. I want him. I don't want to, but I know I will."

A while later, Carla feel asleep again. This time, she did not dream; not that she remembered. When she woke, sadness had descended on her. She bathed normally, no longer concerned with the arousal and desire she felt. Steeling herself to ask Quinn to fuck her, she went to breakfast.

His place at the table was not even set. She turned to Juan. "Juan, where's Quinn?"

"He had to fly to the big island. We are low on some supplies and he had some business to attend to as well. Are you ready for breakfast, miss?"

Absentmindedly, Carla said, "Yes, that's fine. When will he be back?"

"He normally takes three or four days on these trips."

She sat at her place, relieved, yet strangely dejected. She felt like she had received a reprieve from execution. She knew that she would still ask for sex when he returned, but it felt somehow less like losing. Giving up on the key for now, at least as a specific target for her search, Carla spent the day upstairs, going through the things that had been stored there. 

Many of the items were clearly valuable heirlooms. There were works of crystal and ivory, obviously imported from some distant land. One box contained a complete set of china, enough for 24 settings. Clearly, at some point in time, someone had "put on the Ritz" very well indeed. There was a significant quantity of jewelry. While there were the seemingly obligatory gaudy pieces, most of it was elegant and understated. None of it looked less than priceless as far as Carla could tell.

In one of the jewelry boxes there was an empty space. All the items were placed in the velvet lined boxes with great care, each piece having its very own spot. This box had an empty space. From the indentation, she could tell that there should have been something there, a brooch, perhaps. The rest of the things in this box made up a set. She was struck be the incredible beauty of each piece. All the pieces were sterling silver with a small emerald setting. While Carla did not have an expert's eye for gems, she had the impression that all the emeralds were exactly the same shade of green, as if they were originally the same stone. There were two earrings, one ring, a necklace with a single emerald opposite the clasp and the missing piece.

Putting them on, she looked in a mirror and thought that any woman wearing this set would never need another item of jewelry again. The ring was too small and she had to put it on her pinky. When she took it off, she noticed an engraving on the inside of the band. "M, with love, Q." Carla gasped. "Q," she thought. "Quinn. This was Quinn's gift to someone, an M." Shaking with nervous embarrassment, she put them back, wondering, "What happened to M? Did she die? Did she leave him? Where is the brooch?"

It took Carla the whole day to inventory this one room. It being the smallest, she realized that she would be at this for some time. Whoever had packed these things clearly cared for them. Yet, there was no sign that the boxes had been marked for later identification. Everything she had encountered so far spoke of hiding. Someone was hiding these things away where they would not be found. Who? Why? Who was M? What about Quinn's mother? For a brief time, the mystery and the search distracted Carla from her need.

The next day, Carla sought out Bonita again. "Bonita, I need to ask you something."

"Yes miss Carla."

"Were you here when the boxes upstairs were packed?"

Bonita looked at her feet, nervously twisting the ties to her outfit. "Yes, miss, I was." It was clear that Bonita was uncomfortable with this line of questions.

"Was there a woman in his life? Someone whose name started with M?"

"Please miss Carla, don't ask about her. It will just cause pain."

"For whom? What happened to her? How was Quinn hurt? Is she the reason why he is holding me prisoner?"

"I can't say. Please miss, these questions, they will only bring heartache. Please leave it alone."

"I need to know, Bonita. I need to understand Quinn. It's the only chance I have of him letting me go. If it doesn't happen soon, I won't have a life to go back to. Tell me about her, I'm begging you."

Bonita turned away, tears in her eyes. She ran away from Carla, leaving her with a mystery, one she knew in her heart was central to why she was here. She also realized that it was more than loyalty that kept Bonita here. Bonita loved Quinn very much. Why? Quinn was a kidnapper, a man who obviously believed that he was entitled to whatever he wanted, including people. How does such a man inspire such deep love in someone? Carla was sure that Carlos and Juan were the same. She needed to understand how a man that was so beloved by so many (Carla remembered the joy at his appearance at the village) could hold her here, against her will, in what amounted to slavery.

Carla spent the rest of the day going back through the boxes she had searched through yesterday. Taking a notebook from Quinn's office, she made a written inventory of everything. She also went through the jewelry, looking for engravings. As far as she could tell, M had only the one box of jewels, or at least, only the one box of engraved pieces. She kept the notebook in a drawer upstairs, certain that Quinn would never come up here by himself.

The next day, she began to go through the things in the other rooms. With Quinn gone, her pressing desire faded somewhat, though she was aware of it in the back of her mind. It galled her that the arousal and need seemed to be keyed to only Quinn. Juan, Carlos and the foreman, a man named Lashan, did nothing for her. That day, at dinner, Quinn was there. As soon as she set eyes upon him, Carla's body pulsed with desire. By the time she had finished dinner, her pussy was damp and that ache in her belly was back. She knew it was just a matter of time before it became unbearable.

After dinner, Carla followed Quinn into his office. He sat down at his desk and looked at her expectantly. Carla stared at him, trying to see into his mind, his soul. All she saw was an utter lack of hostility or threat. He was just there, looking at her with an admiration that boggled her. Carla knew that she was not pretty or desirable, yet when he looked at her, all she saw was admiration and a little bit of lust. It galled her to admit it, even in her head, but she saw the man who had seduced her so many weeks ago, not a vicious kidnapper.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Why are you doing this? What am I to you?"

"Like I told you before, I want you. I mean to have you, willingly."

"No, you said more. You said I was your second chance. What second chance? Who, or what was your first chance?"

Quinn's eyes grew vacant. "That was a long time ago. I will not talk of it." The pain in his voice was clear.

Carla looked him in the eyes. There was an emptiness there that was painful to behold. Something or someone had torn out a part of Quinn's soul. She found her hatred of him waning, vanishing in the face of the evidence of loss. She realized that he was trying to fill a void that had been in him for who knows how long. He was going about it the wrong way, but the desire was something she understood. Four times in her own past, she had given her heart to someone and had it broken. She could not hate the heartbroken. She spoke before she could change her mind.

"Quinn, I'll have sex with you." As his eyes brightened and he started to stand, she held her hand up. "Let me make one thing clear. There is no love here. I'm agreeing to let you bed me in the same way that a captive in antiquity might agree to fuck her captor. Essentially, I'm agreeing to be your sex slave. I won't initiate anything. If you want me, you tell me when and where, and I will reluctantly comply. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Carla, I understand. It's no more than I can expect, under the circumstances. It is my hope that you will enjoy our trysts. I will certainly try to make sure that your body enjoys them." He pulled his key ring out and started to approach her with the key to her bindings.




Island Slave Ch. 02



Carla smiled inside. At least that aching need would be satisfied. "No. I never want to forget that you are keeping me here against my will. Until you let me leave and return to the States, I will wear these cuffs and this collar. You have a sex slave, not a lover."

"If that's the way you want it, fine. I will treat you like a slave then. Go to my bedroom and wait for me. First, however, do you intend to continue your invasion of my privacy upstairs?"

"Unless you chain me to your bed permanently, yes. I intend to know the man I've agreed to fuck."

"Fine. I don't have the time or inclination to keep you from doing so. However, since you wish to be treated as a sex slave, I expect you to be perfectly obedient and pleasing in my bed. If you fail at that, I will bar you from the upstairs for a week. Other than that, you still have free reign of the house and grounds. Now, wait for me in the bedroom."

Carla left the office and walked to Quinn's bedroom. Her cunt was already lubricating in anticipation. Her thoughts were all over the place. "This is going to be so good. What the fuck am I doing? Sex slave? I've agreed to be a sex slave? God, I so need to be fucked. I am going to regret this in the morning. Why did I do this? Why does he want me? It's not like I'm great in bed or particularly good looking. Do I look like this M person?"

Her heart leapt at the sight of his bed. She had not been in this room since that first time weeks ago. She moaned while remembering the feel of his cock in her mouth and pussy, his mouth on her breasts and cunt. She recalled the feeling of being taken by him and the way she had been helpless to stop him, even if she had been so inclined. This was what she had been craving for these past weeks. She wanted to be fucked.

She lay on the bed, face down, letting the silk sheets caress her body. Carla ran her arms and legs across the silk, letting the smooth fabric send shivers of need through her body. When she took in a breath, she smelled Quinn, his masculinity and his own desire. Her body craved the real thing, anticipating the feel of his hands running over every inch of her skin. The door opened behind her.

Quinn walked into the room. Without a word, he approached Carla, watching her breathing increase as her hands clenched at the sheets. He ran his hands over her ass, watching her writhe under that oh so gentle touch. When she tried to turn over, he placed one hand against her back, holding her in place. The hand on her ass delved deeper between her legs with each pass. Carla's legs spread wider, inviting him in. His hand brushed against her pussy.

"Oh God! Please..." she pleaded, unwilling to form the words she wanted to say. The touch of his hand against her wet pussy lips magnified the emptiness inside her. All the accumulated need and desire of the past weeks came crashing down upon her. Carla realized that she would do anything to feel his cock in her cunt. She was his and there was nothing she could do to escape. She wasn't sure that, at that very moment in time that she wanted to escape. Not if it meant leaving without his cock impaling her.

"Undress me. Worship each part of me that you uncover," he ordered.

Carla let herself slide off the bed, turning as she did. Quinn was in his usual attire, short sleeve cotton shirt, jeans, work boots. She untied his shoes and pulled them off. His socks were next. Released from their captivity, she bent over and kissed his feet. She forced herself to ignore the pungent odor created by spending a hot day confined in leather, not wanting to give him any excuse to send her away. Forcing herself to her feet, she unbuttoned his shirt, kissing her way down his chest as each fastening was released. Sliding it off his shoulders to fall to the ground, she followed the shirt to his back, where she lavished kisses .

She undid his belt and pants by reaching around his waist. She groaned at the sensation of his back rubbing against her breasts. The repeated contacts with him were causing her pussy to produce enough juice to start dripping onto her thighs. When his pants fell to the floor, she kissed her way down the back of one leg, moved around to the front and back up. Switching legs, she bathed the front of the other with kisses, only to move around to the back and kiss her way back up to the bottom of his shorts.

Holding her breath, she slipped her fingers into the band of those shorts. Slowly, she pulled them down over his waist. She could just make out his balls through his legs. Grasping his hips, she started to kiss his ass. Each cheek was bathed in her spit as she used her tongue as an integral part of each kiss. Once both ass cheeks were glistening in her saliva, she pulled them apart and brought her tongue to his dark opening. Pleasantly surprised at the lack of taste, she rimmed his hole, enjoying the groan she evoked.

Crawling around to in front of him, she gasped at the erect cock that stared her in the face, its head glistening with precum. Quinn stepped back and pulled something out of the drawer of his nightstand, two three foot links of fine chain with clips at the ends. He used them to chain her wrist cuffs to her collar. He stood in front of her again, his cock in front of her face. Barely controlling herself, she took each of his balls into her mouth, massaging them with her tongue. More precum escaped his cock to drip down the shaft. Releasing him, she swiped her tongue up his cock, catching the stray drop of fluid, following its track all the way to the tip.

Once her tongue hit the tip of his cock, Quinn growled from deep in his throat. His hands grabbed her head and he forced himself into her mouth. Carla fell back against the side of the bed, her legs splaying. Quinn thrust against her trapped head, forcing himself deep into her throat with each thrust. She struggled to control her throat and not gag each time he hit the back of it. Her hands fumbled for a purchase, unable to reach the floor, thanks to the chains she wore. She could feel spit dribbling down her chin and dripping onto her breasts. It was all she could do to time her breathing with his thrusts, to keep from suffocating. Fortunately, it didn't take long before he thrust in one last time, holding himself deep, his cock pulsing with cum. His seed was pumped straight down her throat with no need on her part to swallow, though she did on instinct, her throat muscles milking his cock with each swallow.

After what seemed like an eternity of not being able to breathe (though it was less than a minute), Quinn stopped cumming and pulled his cock out. Carla gasped in relief, air flooding back into her lungs. Quinn stepped back and looked at the woman at his feet. More than his climax, he enjoyed the knowledge that she was his. His cock, having gone without relief for as long as she had, never fully softened. He lifted her from under her arms and dropped her onto the bed.

Climbing on after her, her grabbed her hands and held them above her head with one hand while the other caressed her body. Carla was writhing like a snake within minutes. Her already aroused body was sent into sexual overdrive. She felt like things were under her skin, teasing her with pleasure. While his hands tortured her front with gentle caresses that ignored her breasts and pussy, her own gyrations added to the torture by causing the silk sheets to caress her backside. As her moans became more frantic and her body took on a deep red flush, Quinn's cock regained its rigidity.

Carla's body was covered in a sheen of sweat, mixing with pussy juice between her legs. Her nipples ached in their firmness, needing touch of some sort. Her cunt was almost in pain from the ache inside her. Her pussy lips were engorged and protruding, trying to catch something, anything to touch them, penetrate them. All the frustration she had felt during this long drought paled before the desperation she was feeling right now. Finally she could take it no more.

"Quinn, please, fuck me, I need you in me."

"Are you begging me to fuck you?"

"Yes! I'm begging. Fuck me Quinn. Fuck me! Fuck me!"

Quinn rolled onto her and thrust into her with one violent stroke. Carla was instantly in an orgasm, screaming at the top of her lungs. Her body shuddered under his and her pussy clenched at the cock that was pounding into her. Quinn released her hands and grasped her to him in a bear hug. Her own hands returned the move, the two of them pulling close to the other, trying to become one.

Her orgasm faded and she became aware of his chest rubbing against her nipples causing electric like jolts to course through her body. They thrust against each other, their hips slamming together. Sensitive from the last orgasm, her clit was on fire, a fire that spread through her until she climaxed again. Her convulsions dug her chains into his back, leaving deep marks. His second orgasm came in the midst of hers. His cock poured more cum into her cunt

As their climaxes faded away, Quinn collapsed on top of Carla. Carla held him close, not wanting to let him go right then. In spite of everything, his weight felt comforting. She was aware of his cock slowly softening and extracting itself from her pussy. She didn't like that she felt this way, but she could not deny the feelings. What was it about this man, who kidnapped her and held her captive, naked and chained, that inspired such comfort? Who was this man? More than ever, she was determined to find out. Just as she strove to understand the people she used to do business with, she needed to understand this confusing and complex man. She decided then and there, that she would acquiesce to his every desire in bed to be allowed free reign of his past. Carla would come to know Quinn in much more than the biblical sense, even if it took her the rest of her life.



Island Slave Ch. 03



Chapter Three 

A Deepening Mystery

Carla woke. She was lying in Quinn's bed. Quinn was gone. She wondered how he did that? He seemed to waken before her every day. He must need far less sleep than she did. As she became aware of her surroundings, she realized two things. She was surrounded by the smell of old sex and sweat. Her chains had been removed. For a brief moment, she felt a pang of disappointment at the lack. They had somehow made the sex all the more exciting.

Rolling to her feet, she made her way to the door. It was a sign of how used to her current circumstances she was, that she never thought twice about walking out into the hall in her present state to go to her room. That was where her bathing supplies were and that was where she needed to be. She met no one on the way and didn't even realize what she had done until she was in the tub soaking.

Quickly determining that her clothes were still gone, she padded to the dining room. She knew from the fact that she could not see the sun through her window that it was well after breakfast, but she was hoping to arrive in time for lunch. The dining room table was empty and clean. Peeking her head into the kitchen, she saw Juan fixing something.

"Juan. How long until lunch?"

"Miss Carla. Good morning. Lunch is still two hours away."

"Thank you. Could you ask Bonita to come and get me from upstairs when it is ready. I don't want to miss two meals in a row."

"Yes, miss. I will have her do that."

"Is Quinn in the house?"

"No, miss. He is in the fields."

"Thank you Juan."

Carla walked upstairs to the rooms of secrets, secrets that would hopefully tell her who Quinn was. She went over what she knew so far as she made the short trip. Quinn was a man who believed that he was entitled to whatever he wanted. That was clear from the way he kept her captive. He was also a man in pain. There was an M in his past, someone he apparently lost in some way. Carla was his "second chance." Quinn had loved M, that was clear from the jewelry. The missing piece; what was the significance of the brooch from the set of jewelry that was gone? What happened to M? What was behind the locked basement door? How did Quinn's mother fit in to everything?

Carla had searched only one room of boxes so far, and that was the smallest. She decided to leave the room with the boxes of books for last. Not only did it have the largest quantity of boxes to search, she knew that she would be unable to resist perusing the books themselves. It also struck her as unlikely that a woman who loved to display her books so openly would have a secret that needed to be hidden behind locked doors.

There were seven rooms on the second floor. Two were bedrooms with en suite baths, including the one that she had already searched. One, located in a corner, was entirely glass on every exterior wall. She mentally called that room the conservatory. The fourth room she labeled the gaming room, since it had a pool table, a casino style card table and a dart board in it. The fifth room became known as the exercise room, thanks to several modern pieces of exercise equipment stored in it. The last two rooms were full of boxes. The one with all the books she named the library and the last room, based on the presence of three separate walk in closets (all empty) was christened the changing room.

The conservatory seemed to be the easiest room to go through. It only had five boxes in it. The heavy drapes that had covered the windows were already gone, placed on a shelf in the changing room closets when she had cleaned. Opening the first box, she found clay pots, dozens of clay pots stacked inside one another. Lifting one out, she saw that it had holes in the bottom. It seemed this may well have been a conservatory. Looking around, she saw the numerous shelves along the walls in a new light.

Not certain why, just knowing that it was what she should do, Carla unpacked all of the pots, setting them on shelves. At the bottom of the box, under the pots, were shallow clay dishes of various sizes. She quickly put two and two together and recognized the bases for the flowerpots she had just unpacked. In short order these were placed under the pots.

Opening the other four boxes, she found two more full of flower pots, more than the shelves could accommodate. The other two had an assortment of chains, planks and metal in them. Sorting the chains, she realized that they were in triples and must have been intended to hold flower pots. Looking closer at the ceiling, she noticed hooks. "Ah," she thought to herself. "Hanging flower pots." She set each chain hanger and a pot for it aside, unable to reach the ceiling right then.

Laying out the planks and metal items, she tried to make sense of them all. A close look at the planks showed that they all had screw holes in the sides. A memory came to her and she rearranged the pieces she had. There was everything needed to create three sets of shelves, five feet high, three shelves on each. Everything, that is, except for screws. Whoever had packed these things away had not kept the screws. Why keep the shelf materials but not the screws to rebuild them with?

Carla left the room and headed downstairs. She met Bonita on the stairs.

"Miss Carla. Juan asked me to tell you that lunch is ready."

"Thank you Bonita."

Quinn was there for lunch. He seemed somewhat subdued, less talkative. He was clearly distracted by something. She didn't say anything and after lunch, went outside. She found the man she was looking for outside. Carlos was using a hand trimmer on the shrubbery along the fence.

"Excuse me Carlos. May I ask a favor?"

"Yes, miss. What can I do for you?"

"Do you have any screws and a screwdriver in your tool shed?"

"Yes I do. Is there some repairs that need to be made?"

"No. It's for a project of my own. May I borrow them?"

"Of course miss. Come with me."

Like the other members of Quinn's staff, Carla's nakedness seemed to have no affect on Carlos. The apparent obliviousness to her state was just another of the mysteries that begged to be solved at this plantation. Carla was tempted to walk to the fields and the bunkhouse just to see if that immunity to her body extended to the workers as well.

"Here we are Miss. Help yourself to whatever you need."

"Thank you Carlos."

Carla noticed the padlock on the shed and wondered if the lock was opened by the fourth key on Quinn's key ring. She made a mental note to try it out one night soon. She took four boxes of screws off the shelf, estimating the size she needed and a screwdriver. She made sure she had Phillips head screws in all the boxes so that she would only have to carry one tool.

Back in the conservatory, she was able to quickly assemble the shelves. A careful examination of the floor showed traces of indentations that matched the legs of the shelves. Once they were set up and the last of the flower pots placed on the shelves, she could see how lovely this room could be, if there were any flowers in the pots. Remembering that there had been a step ladder in the shed, she started back outside. The tool shed was unlocked, allowing her to take the step ladder and hang the remaining pots.

Standing in the center of the conservatory, she slowly spun in a circle, imagining all manner of plants in the pots. In her mind's eye, the room blossomed into beauty. Someone had enjoyed this room. So many plants would need a great amount of care. Only someone who loved living things would go to the trouble to maintain such a room. Who was that person? What happened to her? She wasn't sure why, but Carla was sure that a woman kept and enjoyed this room.

Quinn was not at dinner that night. Carla ate alone and spent the night in her own bed. The next several days saw little of Quinn. Carla spent them going through the boxes in the second bedroom. The boxes contained many works of art; paintings, statuary, porcelain plates. Most were of decent quality. Some were, to Carla's eyes, quite good. The subject matter of the art was widely varied. It was on the third day of going through the art (she was using great care, as many of the items were fragile) that she encountered the painting.

The painting was clearly meant to be erotic. The woman in the painting was naked. She was bound. Her hands were tied together, over her head, to a ring of some sort. She was painted in a rear profile, her head turned over her shoulder. Her back was covered in red stripes, the kind that might remain after tying a cord too tight around one's arm. The look on her face was what drew Carla's attention. She was in pain, great pain. Yet, Carla was certain that there was pleasure in that expression as well. How could she be experiencing pain and pleasure at the same time?

Even more disturbing to Carla was her reaction to the painting. Her thorough fucking by Quinn a week ago had satiated her lust. Now her desire had returned. That it returned while looking at this strangely captivating picture was disturbing. She knew that she could not possibly be aroused by the thought of being chained and in pain. It hit her then. Those red marks were from some sort of whip.

Carla forgot her arousal. Staring at the painting, she wondered why anyone would want to preserve such an image. What kind of person would wish to look at this, to gaze on a regular basis upon someone in such pain. She looked closer at the painting, searching for something that would indicate who painted it and when. There was a signature on the painting, but it was illegible. The back of the frame has a manufacture's mark indicating a date of manufacture 10 years ago. That would not place the picture then, but did give a ballpark estimate. She carefully removed the backing on the picture, revealing the backside of the canvas. There it was, the artist's mark. "S. Leoni, 1996" 11 years ago.

"Damn!" she thought to herself. "No title." She needed some clue to who this was, why she was and who wanted this remembrance? Was this something of Quinn's? Was this the mysterious M? Why was she like this and why did she seem to derive pleasure from the pain? As Carla continued to look at the painting, she realized there was a third emotion in the woman's expression. There was a longing. There was no trace of what, but she was longing after something or someone.

Carla had never given much stock to ghosts and psychic phenomena. She would later swear that some instinct told her to hang the painting instead of repacking it. All during her cleaning and search of the upstairs, she had the impression that she was being watched; watched and encouraged. It was as if someone or something wanted the secrets of this house found.

With her desire renewed, Carla was not going to let herself suffer like she had before. She bided her time until Quinn was at dinner again, three days later. By that time, her physical need had grown significantly. Even more, her psychological need had grown as well. In addition to her body's desire to be fucked, she wanted to feel Quinn hold her and caress her. As was his normal habit, Quinn retired to his study after dinner. Carla followed him there.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, Carla?"

"Would you fuck me tonight?" Carla was a little surprised at how much easier it was to ask him the second time. 

Quinn put down the pen he had been writing with and looked at Carla. He took in the hint of moisture on her pussy and the slight blush of her body. "Yes, I would like that, on one condition."

Carla took a breath, nervous about what he would want this time. "What condition?"

"Give me cart blanche. I want access to your body for sex anytime the fancy strikes me, not when it strikes you."

Carla let her breath out in relief. Truth be told, she thought she had already done that. "Fine. You may fuck me any way you wish, anytime you wish."

"Very well. Expect to be used often. Go to my room. In the drawer of my nightstand you will find some lengths of rope. Use them to tie yourself to the bed."

Carla's breath caught. She had not expected this, though, in retrospect, she should have. She had made it clear that she would submit to his advances as a sex slave, not as a lover. She nodded without a word and left the office. In his room, she found four lengths of rope where he said they would be. She pondered how to bind herself. She didn't know how long he would be and wanted to be comfortable, or as comfortable as possible when tied.

She rejected spread eagle. She could not think of how one would do it to one's self without using slip knots. She had a vision of her hands turning purple with the circulation cut off that she did not want to see come to pass. She tied two of the ropes to the corners of the bed and tied her ankles on the other ends. This forced her legs apart with her cunt exposed and open. Using the small rings that he had used the last time with the chains. She tied her hand to her collar by one foot lengths of rope. Then she lay back and waited.

Over the next half hour, Carla became sure of one thing. Bondage turned her on. Laying there, legs forced apart and hands mostly immobilized, her arousal grew with leaps and bounds. She could feel lubricant forming in her pussy and her nipples hardening. Images of being ravished flooded her mind, causing her to feel the caresses of her mind. He began to writhe in the silk sheets. By the time Quinn entered the room, Carla was practically incoherent with lust.

As Quinn watched Carla walk out of his study, he smiled. "She's made herself mine," he thought. He believed that she would never leave now. She had not mentioned being freed in weeks. Her obsession with the rest of the house had seen to that. That thought brought a moment of pain. He had boxed all those things up because they reminded him too much of Melanie. He kept them because he could not bear to part with any of her. He could still see her, standing on the dock, waiting for the boat that would take her away from him forever.

A tear leaked from the corner of one eye to flow down his cheek. He could see her on the post as well, bound, marked and pleading with her eyes for more. He knew why Melanie had left him, he just refused to think of it. He told himself that would not happen with Carla. She was different. He was different. They would not make the same mistakes again. As he thought of Carla, his pain faded and he smiled again. Rising, he went to use his slave.

When Carla heard Quinn enter the room, she turned her head and tried to extend her hands towards him. She was unaware that her face had the same expression on it that the woman in the painting did. Quinn saw that look and his breath caught. His memories careened upon him and he was no longer in 2007. It was 12 years ago, and the woman bound on the bed was not a brunette, but a blond. She was reaching out to him with longing and fear. His whisper of, "Melanie," was barely audible.

Shaking his head, Quinn stepped up to the woman on his bed and traced a finger down her shoulder and along her side. Carla shuddered at the contact. She closed her eyes and tried to absorb the feelings washing over her. His hands caressed the outside of her legs with feather light touches that made her twitch and strain against the ropes holding them apart. He reversed course and caressed the insides, stopping short of her pussy. These teasing touches had her in agonizing need. She had tied her legs far enough apart that she could neither open nor close them.

Carla's breath increased in rapidity as the sense of helplessness grew. She had never thought that helplessness would be so erotic. She knew of bondage sex games, but had never felt drawn to them before. It hit her that she really could not stop him from doing whatever he wished to her. This level of vulnerability had been her nightmare for so long. Yet, with Quinn, she was aroused by it, not frightened. No, that wasn't quite accurate. She was afraid of what he might do. There were things that she did not like and there was the painting. The fear, however, seemed to reinforce the arousal, not quash it.

After torturing her legs for almost ten minutes, he moved to her torso and arms. His touches were just as light on these regions and, again, he ignored her obvious erogenous zones, her breasts. Carla soon learned to not make use of what mobility her hands had, after he responded to her hands touching him by pulling away and waiting a minute of two. By the end of another ten minutes, she was moaning and writhing, her hands grasping at nothing and themselves.

Her face was the next center of attention. He brushed at her cheeks and hair. He caressed her lips. When she tried to kiss his hands and fingers, he pulled away. Amazingly, with all he did to her, Quinn had yet to remove a single stitch of clothing. Carla was forced, by his actions and her desires, to remain passive under his caresses. When he had finished, he started all over again with his mouth.

Every inch of her skin was treated to kisses, wet kisses that left traces of moisture to cool her body as the attention heated it. Each toe was taken into his mouth and given a miniature blowjob. His tongue washed the soles of her feet. Part of Carla wondered just who was serving whom. Except for being bound, Quinn was lavishing sexual attention on her that she had only dreamed of. Later, she would remember thinking, "I could get used to this."

When he reached her torso again, each finger was treated to the same attention that her toes had been. Her palms were licked with lavish, sensuous strokes. He even tongued her armpits, causing her to giggle at the tickling sensation. As he began to kiss her face, Carla was trembling with more need than she had ever felt before.

"Quinn, please, fuck me."

Quinn put his finger to her lips. "Shhh. You're my sex slave. That means you exist for my pleasure. I will fuck you when I feel like it, when I need it, not when you do. Your pleasure is an afterthought to mine. You may go the night with your lust unsatisfied."

Carla started to cry at the thought of being left unsatisfied. She had never considered that she might be treated that way. Her legs strained to close, to open, to generate some sensation on her cunt. The empty ache had grown to monumental proportions and was almost painful. Her nipples were harder than she could remember them being. It felt like they were itching and she could not scratch them (she could reach them, but her own touch only inflamed her need for his touch).

Quinn, smiling, licked her tears away and kissed her. His tongue probed into her mouth and captured hers. Carla responded with an intensity that shocked her. She felt as if his mouth, his skin, was food that she could not survive without. Her hands reached up to grasp his face, pulling him closer. When he pulled away, he stood and began to remove his clothes. Each revealed part of his body was like a feast on sliver platters being uncovered one by one, while she was tied to the bed, unable to help herself to the bounty being displayed to her.

When Quinn's cock was revealed, hard and the tip shining with precum, Carla could not help but to lick her lips. Quinn chuckled at her reaction. Holding his prick, he waved it at her. "Do you want a taste of this?"

"Oh yes. Please, Quinn, let me have it."

"Scoot over to the edge of the bed."

Carla did, though it was not easy. When her head was on the edge, he placed his cock at her lips. Carla's tongue snaked out and licked the moisture of the tip. It pushed itself closer and she took it in into her mouth. Her hands reached up and cradled his balls, massaging them gently. She could feel desire flare up in her jealous pussy. She engulfed his cock, taking the entire length into her. Her tongue swirled around it. The taste of precum filled her mouth.




Island Slave Ch. 03



Quinn's hands grasped her head, holding her in place. He did not fuck against her face, but simply gave her no choice but to keep him inside. Carla suck, licked and massaged Quinn until he was on the verge of exploding. Then he pulled out.

"Jack me off onto your face," he gasped.

Carla moved her hands up and down his shaft until he came, spraying cum all over her face. She had closed her eyes (once in the eyes, a long time ago, was quite enough for her, thank you) and was aiming the cum to every part of her face.

"Rub it all over your face. Keep it out of your mouth."

Carla did as she was told, covering every inch of her face with the slimy fluid. She could smell its sensual aroma. Her eyes stayed closed as her rubbed it over them as well. Soon, she could feel the cum drying, pulling gently on her skin, trapping her eyelids shut. She held her hands up a little when she was done, not sure what to do with them.

His hand's touch on her breasts was a shock. Carla lifted her arms higher, giving Quinn more access to her needy nipples. Those feather light touches were back. Her chest thrust forward, trying to increase the sensation, but he kept pace with them, never changing the firmness. She was unable to hold still, writhing, thrusting, gasping at the touches she had longed for for so long.

Suddenly, there was pain in her nipples. He was pinching them tightly between his fingers. She cried out in pain, whispering, "No," over and over again. He ignored her, and instead, pulled up on them while pinching, adding to the pain. Her hands dropped to his, grasping his wrists. Her struggles against him were futile and seemed to merely increase the force he was using. When he let go, she snapped back and the pain, which had eased to a dull throb, flared. Her hands went to her tortured nipples, massaging them, trying to ease the pain.

"Oh, God, yes!" she screamed when something touched her pussy.

It was light, barely felt, yet all the more intense for its gentleness. The touch left, then returned. She could not see what it was; a finger? (her eyes were stuck shut by dried cum) There was a soft sound between the contacts, but she could not place what it was. They were wet sounds with a light pop at the end. After several minutes of this slow, intermittent caressing, Quinn spoke.

"You taste delicious, my dear. I could do this all night."

"Please, I need more. Fuck me Quinn, fuck me hard."

"I intend to, my dear Carla. Although, only after you are sobbing and begging me ."

Carla moaned in agony. Quinn was true to his word. For over an hour, he kept up a varying pace of caresses to her entire body. She eventually managed to pry her eyes open and had to watch his newly hardened cock ignore her pussy, leaving all the attention it was getting in his hands. He did drive her to tears. Not just tears, but deep wracking sobs of frustration that had her begging and whimpering for him to fuck her.

Only then did he plunge into her, forcing a scream from her lungs at the filling of her cunt. Once he started, he was fast and furious. Quinn pounded against her, withdrawing almost the entire length with each outward pull and shoving in brutally with each thrust. Strangely, she did not cum quickly. It was as if she was past the point where she would normally cum and had to find a new plateau to trigger her orgasm. When it hit, she screamed again, even louder. Tremors wracked her body for what seemed like an interminable length of time.

As she was coming out of it, she realized that he was still fucking her. She knew she should be experiencing discomfort, but was instead, being propelled towards another climax. Her breath was coming short and there was darkness on the edges of her vision. In no time, she was shuddering again, vaguely aware of his voice being added to hers and the flood of warmth in her pussy from his cum.

Carla became aware of her surroundings. She was still in bed, bound, with Quinn resting on top of her. "I must have passed out," she thought to herself. "I've never done that during sex before." She noticed that Quinn was looking at her.

"Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Thanks. That's never happened before."

"Too bad. Being fucked until you pass out should happen to everyone at least once in their lives."

"It was certainly intense. Will it always be like this with you?"

"No, not always. I won't even tie you up every time."

"I see. Am I going to sleep like this?"

"Do you want to?"

"I don't think so. I roll around enough that I would keep myself awake."

Quinn rolled off her. "Feel free to untie yourself. That is why you chose this binding, right?"

"Yeah, I guess I did."

Carla worked the ropes loose, freeing herself from the bed. She sat on the edge, looking at Quinn's body. He was sexy, there was no doubt about that. When he didn't say anything, she rose and left the room, heading for her own room. She was asleep quickly. While she slept, she replayed the night in her dreams. It was then, while her mind sorted everything out, that she was able to make out his word when he entered the room, "Melanie."

When she woke, she knew she had an important clue, several actually. M was Melanie. At some point, she had been bound, much as Carla had been, enough so that Carla reminded Quinn of Melanie. It was a painful memory as well. What had happened? Where was Melanie? Did she leave him? Did he send her away? Was she dead? Carla had to know, had to find out the truth. She needed to know what made this man she was so fascinated with, click.

With her overt approval of his taking her sexually whenever he wanted, Carla found herself in Quinn's bed much more often. It wasn't each day, but it was close. The only nights he didn't take her to bed were the ones he was not in the mansion by the time she went to bed. There were days when he spent the entire day with her, taking her three or four times over the course of the day. All during this time, she continued her explorations of the upstairs and the search for the basement key, though that was no longer the only, or even main, goal. Now, she wanted to learn as much as possible about Quinn and his past life.

Carla continued to be surprised at the courtesy she was treated with by Quinn and his staff. Other than her inability to leave and her nakedness, the staff acted as if she was the mistress of the house. Their nervousness at her activities on the second floor faded once they realized that she left upstairs, upstairs, not bringing that pain to Quinn's constant attention. Quinn was a contradiction. When they were not having sex together, he was unfailingly polite. When they were in bed, he was demanding, always satisfying himself before she was. Yet, he never failed to bring her to orgasm either.

Her search remained her obsession. Not only did it remain, it grew. It would be some time yet before she was aware of how much, and when she did, it would mark a turning point in her time with Quinn. The exercise room had much of what one might expect to find. The boxes contained all manner of workout equipment; barbell sets, a stepping system, even a set of isometrics gear. In the bottom of one small box that contained jump ropes and other small exercise equipment, however, she found two notebooks.

In the first one, she found notes made in Quinn's handwriting. Clearly a record of workouts, it seemed to stretch for a 20 year period. Carla could not imagine keeping a record of 20 years of workouts. Then she noticed the dates. They ended ten years ago. It seemed that everything of importance happened ten years ago. Then it hit her. Based on his age now, that would have put him in his mid teens when it started. Quickly calculating from his current age of 45, she figured he had been 15 when he started the notebook. Obviously, he had a passion for fitness. Flipping through, she noticed that his routine became less vigorous when he turned 23. That fit with when he said he inherited the plantation.

Nodding her head, she realized that made sense. Once he was having to make daily trips to the fields, he would have less time or need to work out. There was another change when he was 32. She could not tell what, since his notes were abbreviated in some code only he knew, but the types of exercises changed then. Instead of entries with notations like, "BB 25/75: SU 50: JR 50: IM 10/2," there were entries like, "BB 25/75: WM 25: PM 25: BT 15/5: PT 10/4." (whatever BB was, he seemed to be dedicated to that) This new regimen was less scrupulously followed, several days between sessions being common. Those entries continued until less than a year before the end of the notebook. After that, entries were less frequent and reverted to the previous format.

The second notebook was in a much more delicate handwriting that practically screamed, "woman." It seemed to start 13 years ago and ended 11 years ago. This record seemed to be even more detailed, or at least recorded a regimen that was more thorough. Entries in this one typically looked like, "TM 25/25: SS 25/10: W 25: P 25: BR 15, PS 10: BJ 2: PF 2: AF 1." Carla was unaware of any exercise that showed benefits with only one or two repetitions. The notebooks left her more confused afterwards than before she found them.

The gaming room was the least informative of the rooms she had searched so far. The few boxes contained a wide assortment of gaming materials; decks of cards, poker chips, board games of every type, boxes of carefully painted military miniatures, containers of polyhedral dice, even a few adult games. Carla found the two dozen decks of Playboy cards humorous. The various games and materials were from dates that extended back for four decades. Not all were in English either.

It was during this portion of her search that the key turned up. Quinn had called her into his study after dinner, the usual preliminary to his calling upon her sexually.

"Carla, go to my bedroom. You will find in the top drawer of my dresser, a couple of clips. Use them to bind your hands together behind your back and your ankles together."

Carla went to his room and opened one of the top drawers (there were two). The clips were not readily visible and she started to dig through the socks that filled the drawer. In the back, she found a small (1 inch by 2 inches) manila envelope, brittle and the seal long since failed. Inside, she found a Master padlock key. Her heart clenched. Even without testing it, she knew this was what she had been looking for. She quickly put it back, not having anyplace to hide it.

She found the clips (D-rings actually) in the other drawer and soon had her hands and feet bound as he requested. The sex that followed was as intense as it always was when she was in bondage. Afterwards, she pondered how she could get the key and see what was in the room. Unfortunately, in the months since she had arrived, the plantation took less and less of Quinn's time. He frequently spent the entire day in the mansion and was never away at night anymore. During the day, there was too much chance of being caught by Bonita and Juan. She would have to wait.

Carla was unaware of it, but she had grown used to living as she did in the mansion. Thoughts of escape had faded from her mind, for the most part. She came face to face with this truth when, four months into her captivity, she started her search of the changing room, as she called it. She opened the first box and found it full of clothes.

Carla gasped. Quickly, she opened all the other boxes, finding every one full of clothes; men's clothes, woman's clothes, children's clothes. She stood in the middle of the room, looking at dozens of boxes of clothes. Unbidden, the thought came to her, "You can leave now. You have clothes, shoes. You can walk to the village and go home." In response, she whispered, "But, I don't want to leave now."

Carla collapsed to her knees, crying. Somehow, some when, her desire to escape had gone. She could rationalize, and tell herself that her life, her job, her apartment, they were all gone now. But it would just be a rationalization. She would not be declared dead for seven years. Until then, her bank accounts would be safe, her money available to her. She simply did not want to go back there, not now.

Carla lay on the floor and cried off and on for over an hour. She felt like she had lost something, yet she could not describe a feeling of loss, a sensation that left her confused. Only later would she realize that she felt like she should feel a loss and didn't. Finally, resigned to what she wanted, she stood and started the long process of sorting the clothes and putting them away.

The process took her a month (she was still recording everything in her notebooks, she had long since had to pilfer more). Whoever had packed them had paid no attention to who the were for. She had to sort the clothes on the basis of size, gender, type, age. Children's clothes she stored in the dresser in one of the bedrooms. She sorted them for gender and apparent size. The sizes ranged from newborn to teen, clearly the progression of at least two children into adulthood. She thought she saw some evidence of Quinn in some of the teenage clothes.

In the adult clothing, there were three distinct women represented. One was about Carla's size and she could not help but try them on, feeling clothes against her body for the first time in months. Strangely, it felt a little wrong, even when it felt wonderful or sensuous. That woman's clothes she put away in that first bedroom, where she had found the jewelry box. The other two women's clothes were placed in the walk-in closets in the changing room.

Four distinct men were represented in the clothes, one of them Quinn's size. Quinn's clothes, as he came to think of them, were placed in the first bedroom as well. There was a selection of leather clothes that could only be described as fetish in nature. They would need treating before someone could wear them, if at all. The other men's clothes were stored in the second bedroom with the children's clothing. If that one set of clothes were Quinn's, his tastes had changed drastically. Those clothes, apart from the fetish wear, were much more formal. Absent were the jeans and t-shirts that he wore now. It was too bad, since he would look incredible in these.

Partway through the sorting of the clothes, Carla noticed a new addition to the main hall. A wooden wall hanging of a house, this mansion in fact, with 24 little doors or windows, numbered from 1 to 24, was there. She opened one of the doors and found a hand written passage. "And this shall be a sign unto you, the virgin will be found to be with child."

"Oh my God!" she said out loud. "This is an advent calendar. It's Christmas season."

"Yes, it is Miss Carla. Tomorrow is December 1st. Master Quinn always has the advent calendar for Christmas." Bonita had walked up behind Carla.

"I had no idea so much time had passed."

"Do you celebrate the Christ's birth, ma'am?"

"Kind of. I have no family nearby…" Carla's voice broke at the knowledge that she would not see or hear from her friends and family this season.

Bonita put her hand on Carla's shoulder. The older woman empathized with her, but knew she could not do anything to relieve the pain. Several minutes later, Carla dried her eyes.

"I usually didn't do much for Christmas. I didn't have family near and didn't want to intrude on friends. I mailed gifts and cards, but I didn't even set up a tree."

"Miss Carla, you are welcome to be part of our family, here at the mansion."

"I appreciate that, Bonita. I'm not sure though. Celebrate Christmas with the people who are keeping you prisoner?" There was a hint of humor in her voice.

"I can think of no better time, other than the resurrection. We are to love our enemies, are we not?"

"Yes, I suppose we are. Don't tell Quinn, but I'm not sure how much an enemy you are."

Carla walked away before Bonita had a chance to ask any uncomfortable questions. She had been honest. It was very difficult to treat people who were so unfailingly polite as enemies. As the day passed, she realized she needed something to make this season bearable. That night, at dinner, she broached the subject with Quinn.

"Quinn, I'd like a favor."

"What would that be, Carla."

"I would like to send out Christmas cards to the people I knew in my other life."

"I see. You wouldn't be planning to send a message out in those cards, would you?"

"I might have. But, I would be willing to let you read all of them to make sure I'm not. I just don't think I can enjoy the holidays without at least letting my friends and family know that I'm alive and healthy"

"That sounds fair. What will you need?"

"Mainly, I need my PDA. It has all the addresses for everyone I would be sending cards to. That and the cards, of course."

"I'll get those for you tomorrow. I'll have to fly to the big island to get the cards. We don't have much call for them here."

"Thank you Quinn. I really appreciate this."

The next morning, there was a small ceremony at the advent calendar after breakfast. Juan opened the first door and read the inscription. The five people present, Quinn, Carla, Bonita, Juan and Carlos, sang a carol in Spanish. Then the day proceeded normally. Quinn left to fly to the big island. Part way through the day, Carla realized that she would have her chance. He always stayed overnight when he flew. She could sneak the key and look in the mystery room.

She had a hard time concentrating the rest of the day, her thoughts turning to the basement room that had stymied her for the past few months. She had no trouble staying awake that night. After about two hours, the time it usually took her to read a romance novel, she cracked her door open and looked out into the hall. It looked clear. She padded down to Quinn's room and found the key right where she had left it. Key in hand, she grabbed one of her lamps and headed to the basement.

Trembling with nervousness, she slipped the key into the lock. Her heart seemed to skip a beat when the key turned and the lock opened. She cracked the door open and let the light from her lantern illuminate the room beyond. Carla's hand flew to her mouth and she nearly dropped the lantern. The room beyond could only be described as a dungeon.

Her eyes were drawn immediately to the pole in the center of the room. It had a ring mounted on it. Her mind conjured the image of a woman, hands bound to the ring, looking back over her shoulder. This room was the picture. Setting the lamp down, she walked over to the pole. Her arms raised of their own accord and grasped the ring. She had to stand in her tip toes to do it, but she could. Looking back over her shoulder, she imagined she could see Quinn standing there, a whip in hand. Her body shuddered and her stomach clenched. She flinched a time or two as she pictured a whip hitting her body, leaving a deep red mark behind.

Carla shook her head, shaking the imaginary scene from her eyes. Looking around, she saw several other contraptions in the room. There was an X-shaped frame against one wall. Another wall had numerous hooks and eye-bolts mounted at both the seven foot level and at floor level. Stretching against them, she noted that someone her size could be bound spread against the wall, quite tightly bound in fact. The third wall had a work bench along it with several storage drawers. There was also a gymnastics vaulting horse with eye-bolts added to either side, a saw horse with a smooth and rounded top edge, some mounting hooks in the ceiling, and a table that resembled a gynecologist's exam table made of covered wood.

Looking back at the door, she realized that it was quite thick. The wall to the main basement area was just as thick. Sound would not carry out of this room, she suspected. She walked over to the workbench and opened on of the drawers. By now, finding a coiled whip was not a surprise. After all, what was a dungeon without the implements of torture? A quick peek at all the drawers showed a wide selection of whips, floggers, paddles and canes, as well as numerous devices whose nature she wasn't sure she wanted to know about. The blindfolds and gags were obvious, though some seemed far too large to fit in one's mouth (Carla was, in fact, lumping the plugs in with the gags). Everything seemed designed to either restrain, inflict pain, or go in some orifice (she did recognize the dildos and vibrators).




Island Slave Ch. 03



Carla found that she was not as bothered by her find as she expected to be. Part of it was the anti-climatic nature of the find. After the painting and Quinn's fascination with bondage, this was to be expected. What did disturb her was the curiosity she was feeling. "What would it feel like?" she would find herself asking as she looked at each item in the drawers. The thought of looking like that woman in the picture scared her. Yet, she found she was aroused as well. "What is happening to me?" she whispered.

She wandered around the room, placing herself against the devices in the room (she bent over the horse instead of straddling it). She picked up whips, finding them in far better condition than the leather clothes upstairs, possibly because of the sealed nature of the room and the drawers. The ever present dust kept her from experimenting with the gags. It was only when the lamp started to flicker that she realized how long she had been in here. The lamp had been a quarter full and now was near empty.

Hurrying, she closed the door and set the lock to look as if it was locked. She returned to key to its hiding place and went to bed. She slept well past breakfast in the morning, telling Bonita that she had trouble sleeping the previous night, not entirely a lie. Quinn returned in the afternoon with her cards and PDA. She spent the rest of the day writing out greetings and assuring anyone who would have reason to miss her that she was alive and well. Once the cards were addressed, she gave them to Quinn for being checked over and mailing.

That night, Quinn asked her to come to his study after dinner.

When she entered, Quinn was sitting at his desk, as usual. "Quinn?" she asked.

Quinn stared at her for a minute. Carla could detect a different look on his face, almost predatory in nature. Carla shivered under that gaze. Yet she was feeling arousal as well.

Quinn slid his chair out from his desk. "Carla, come over here."

Trembling, unsure of what she was frightened of, Carla walked over and stood next to him.

"Lay yourself across my lap."

"What are you going to do, Quinn?"

"I'm going to spank you."

"Why? What have I done? What gives you the right?"

"Carla. You agreed that I could do whatever I wanted."

"I meant sex!"

"This is sex. Spanking you will turn me on. It might turn you on as well. I'm not taking 'No' for an answer. Lay yourself across my lap." The last sentence was spoken with great force, something Carla had not heard from him before.

Carla felt tears coming to her eyes. She had been afraid of this ever since she found the dungeon. Had he discovered her knowledge? Was this his way of telling her he knew? Fearfully, she draped herself across his lap. She wasn't even sure why she did. She should have ran to her room, hidden in that one sanctuary he seemed to allow her. Instead, she submitted to his demand.

Quinn pinned Carla's legs between his own and grabbed her hands to hold behind her back with one of his hands. That hand also pressed her against his knee, holding her in place. He rubbed her ass with his free hand, feeling Carla tremble in his grasp. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding her pussy wet. Smiling, he caressed her cunt until she was moaning and writhing on his lap. Then he slapped her once.

"Ow!" Carla's cry of pain was as much from surprise as from pain. His slap was not that hard, but she was not ready for it and she was sensitized by her arousal.

Quinn's hand impacted her ass again. She tried to jump but was held firmly in place by his hand and legs. Again and again, Quinn's hand hit her ass. The sharp stings were blending into s single sensation that was part pain, part heat and part… arousal? It was that last sensation that sent Carla into a crying frenzy. The pain was not enough, but the very thought of being aroused by being spanked was anathema to her. She was not that kind of woman!

Yet, it seemed that she was "that type" of woman. Even as the slaps against her butt burned into her senses, she could feel moisture forming on pussy lips. Her clit was sitting right against his leg, pushing into it with each blow. She wasn't sure just when it happened, but the spanking itself ceased to be painful, as if she had gotten used to it. It was now merely sensations, erotic sensations. Carla realized that she was nearing an orgasm. Desperate to not cum from a spanking, she started to struggle, to try to get loose. Quinn was too strong, though, and she had no leverage. Before she knew it, she was lost in a climax, her body trembling under the waves of pleasure that emanated from her pussy and rolled over her.

When she came down from her orgasm, she noticed that she was no longer being spanked. Instead, Quinn was rubbing her ass with gentle caresses. Her tears continued to flow from the shame she felt.

"Carla, why the tears? Didn't you enjoy this?"

"I'm ashamed. I came from being spanked. It's not right to enjoy pain like this."

"The only thing wrong is to be ashamed of enjoying an orgasm. Tell me, did I truly hurt you?"

Carla wiggled a bit, still pinned by Quinn's legs and hand. "No, I don't think so. My butt still stings, but I don't think it's damaged."

"Our body is far tougher than most people give it credit for. Now, don't think about the answer, just give the first response that comes into your head. Do you want me to do this again?"

"Yes!" As soon as she said it, she started crying again. "No, please. I can't. I feel so ashamed."

Quinn reached down and stroked her pussy. It was juicing again and Carla moaned at the touch. "Carla, you're aroused by the very thought of another spanking. Don't deny yourself something that you clearly enjoy."

"It feels so wrong, Quinn."

"That's part of what makes it so attractive. It's that taste of decadence. We all find the forbidden enticing. Just go with the flow. After all, you've already said I can do what I want. Let yourself enjoy what I want."

Quinn continued to lightly stroke her cunt lips as they talked. Carla was soon wriggling on his lap again as sparks of pleasure arced through her body. She was tempted to give in, accept the pervert she was becoming. Already, the restraint she was under was a turn on, had been for many weeks. Unable to respond to the sensations he was inflicting on her in any other way, Carla moaned and pleaded for him to continue.

Suddenly, Quinn stopped. As Carla started to protest, he said, "Shhh. Go to my room. Arrange yourself on my bed in any way you like."

"Please, Quinn. I can't go out there looking like this."

"Looking like what?"

"Like I've been spanked and am so in need of being fucked."

"It's okay, Carla. No one will care. They've seen you naked and in need before. They will again. Go, prepare yourself for me."

Quinn released Carla and she stood, unsteady. Her ass was still tingling from the spanking and her pussy was aching, wet and swollen. She left the study and walked down the halls to Quinn's bedroom. As she did, she thought about how she wanted to present herself. It would only occur to her later, that she had become so accepting of being for his pleasure and use. Her thoughts were concerned with how to make herself look enticing to him, not with what she might like or enjoy.

She rummaged through the drawers he stored the lengths of rope in, finding several longer pieces. She used two to tie her feet spread apart between the head and foot of the bed, still standing on the floor. A third, much longer piece was tied to the rings in her cuffs. The long loop that was formed was tossed over the bed posts on the opposite sides of the bed. Once that was done, she was unable to rise her chest off the bed more than a foot and she could not lean back to stand. The blindfold she had put on, setting on her forehead, was slipped over her eyes by ribbing against the sheets.

Carla was now strapped to the side of the bed, her waist bent across the edge. Her legs were wide apart and incapable of being pulled closed. Her hands were stretched away from her body, which was lying on the bed. She was unable to see anything. The sheer helplessness was keeping her highly aroused and she had just enough freedom of movement to wriggle her pussy against the edge of the bed. Her breath came up short when she heard the door open.

She could hear someone undressing and then moving across the carpet to the far side of the bed. The ropes on her hands tugged and she found them tighter, her freedom of movement gone (Quinn had looped around the bedposts on each side). Now she was pressed tightly against the bed and unable to wriggle her body at all. She tugged at the ropes holding her and was shocked to find her nervousness easing as the lack of freedom was confirmed.

"Carla. Can you feel this?"

Something made of leather was pulled across her back. It felt thin and long. She nodded.

"This is my belt. Would you like me to spank you with it?"

Carla gasped at the thought. She felt her pussy clench in anticipation. In her head, she was screaming, "No!" but outwardly, she gave a little nod of her head. Biting her lip, she tensed as she waited for the first blow to land. It landed with a loud, "Slap!" and Carla groaned. Her already sensitive ass felt less pain than it should have, more like the feel of a baseball hitting the heel of your hand inside the mitt than the expected agony of a belt.

Every slap of the belt was like that, painful impacts that were, surprisingly, not as bad as she remembered receiving for discipline as a child. Each shoved her clit into the bed. Soon she was moaning and lifting her ass slightly to meet each strike. Her entire body was tingling. She could feel another orgasm approaching, only this time it was different. It was like her entire body was her cunt. The intense tingle was growing all over and when she exploded, it had no center. Her body pulled against the ropes in its gyrations. Except for the ropes holding her, she would have shaken herself off the bed.

"I can't believe it happened again. I can't believe I respond like this. What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you. You've simply discovered a part of yourself you didn't know about before."

"But, what will I want next? How far will this go?" Carla's vision was dominated by the memory of the painting, the whip marks, the longing mixed with pain, the ecstasy. She was terrified that she would actually crave that much, would willingly go that far.

"I don't know. There's no place you can go that will be too far, Carla. What's happening tonight isn't wrong, it's merely different than what you've been taught." After a pause, Quinn continued. "It's my turn. Now!"

His hand probed between her legs, coating his fingers with the copious fluids there. He brought them up to her ass, spreading the lubricant between her spread cheeks. Carla panicked.

"No! Please, I've never done this. Please don't Quinn."

"Shhh. It'll be all right. You can take this, just like everything else."

Carla whimpered and tried to clench her ass shut. The spread of her legs prevented her. Her asshole stood revealed and open for intrusion. Quinn's finger rubbed juice into the opening and then pushed against it. In spite of her struggles, the finger entered. For a minute or so, it just rested there, not moving or pulling out. Then it left, only to return with more lubricant, forcing in. This time, the finger worked its way in and out, to be joined by a second one when the passage was easy enough. More juice was added, more motion and then another finger.

With his fingers still embedded in her ass, Quinn's cock entered her pussy, coating itself with her lube. Once he was thoroughly soaked, he pulled out and replaced his fingers with his cock. With steady, firm, but gentle pressure, he forced himself into her. Carla strained against the massive seeming intruder to no avail. Her ass could not clench. His cock was soon fully in her ass, resting there, throbbing as the pressure inside pulsed with each attempt by Carla to force him out.

Eventually, her struggles stopped and she realized that it was not anywhere near as painful as she expected. It was full, very full, but the pain from the initial spanking had been greater. Once he was sure of her acquiescence, Quinn began to thrust. The first dozen or so thrusts were a return of pain, but Carla was soon stretched enough to feel the pushes and pressure without the pain. She shocked herself when she discovered that she was thrusting back against him, cooperating with her own sodomizing.

Just as with the belt, each stroke was pushing her clit against the bed. Before she realized what was happening, Carla found herself in the throes of a third orgasm. She wailed, loudly, trembling in a combination of exhaustion and pleasure. As her spasms pinched the cock in her ass, it came, filling her bowels with cum.

As Quinn pulled out of her, Carla collapsed on the bed, panting in exhaustion. Her body, overloaded by the intense sex it had experienced, twitched in its bonds. Still blindfolded, Carla could not see Quinn walk around to her hands. The loosening of the tension on her wrists was the first clue that she had that he was releasing her. Freed, she collapsed to her knees. She slowly became aware of the lingering pain in her ass and the aches in her legs and hips.

Carla pulled her blindfold off and looked around the room. Quinn, naked, was looking down at her with a smile on his face.

"So tell me, Carla, did you enjoy yourself?"

Unable to even think of lying, she simply nodded her head.

"Here," he said, extending a hand, "I'll help you to your room. I suspect you'll sleep for quite a while tonight."

Quinn helped Carla to her room, his shoulder taking much of her weight. She was asleep within a minute of reclining on the bed. Quinn looked at her as she started to snore softly. "So much like her, so much like Melanie." He left the room, returning to his own room. Quinn was tired too, though not as much as Carla was.

Quinn was right. Carla did sleep late the next morning. Her dreams were of the woman in the painting, being whipped and shuddering in ecstasy. They ended with someone out of the scene pulling a rubber mask off, just like a Mission Impossible episode, revealing that the woman had been Carla all along. The most disturbing part of the dream to Carla was how much it did not feel like a nightmare. There was no waking in a cold sweat or screaming in terror at the ending of the dream. It was as if a part of her had accepted the truth of the dream.

By the middle of the advent calendar, Carla was down to a single room upstairs. She had managed to avoid returning to the dungeon, her dream and the spanking episode (which had yet to be repeated) scaring her away. She could feel the draw, though. The boxes of books were a relief after the discoveries in some of the rooms. As she went though the books, she, as expected, found herself losing time as she perused book after book that caught her eye. The books had been packed with no apparent order, mysteries mixed with romances and science fiction. Other than the lack of order, they were packed with the care that a lover of books uses. Only the books in the lone open box had any dust build up, the other boxed being sealed tight.

They ranged wildly in age as well. There were leather bound books from the turn of the 20th century all the way to books published as late as 12 years ago. Each one showed evidence that someone had at least cracked the covers, if not read the entire book. More than once, Carla found herself looking around and marveling that anyone could have read all these books, as well as the ones in the library. "If only I had that much time to read what I wanted," she mused.

Each box received its own page from the notebook, detailing the titles, authors and publishing dates of each volume it contained. Carla was constantly thinking that it was a shame that there were not enough bookcases for all these books. The person who had assembled this collection meant for them to be read, not to sit in boxes. They would be better served in a public library or a school than sitting forgotten in this house.

There were a total of 27 boxes, each large enough to hold a 23 inch TV, full of books. It was at the bottom of the 17th box that she found them. Two journals. One was the classic girl's diary with the locking cover. The name on the cover had apparently been written in magic marker and faded so much that it was illegible. It was still locked, and while it would be easy to open these cheap locks, she started to set it aside. It just did not feel right to read a little girl's diary. 

As she did, however, she felt a breath of air across her face. It was warm and scented with banana. Carla looked around for the source of the breeze. The windows were closed and there was no fan. Carla struck a match, hoping to catch the direction. The flame went straight up, just as another breeze brushed her face, leaving the match unmoved. Carla's heart seemed to stop when she head a feminine voice, the softest of whispers, say, "Read."

"Who are you?"

There was no response, only the fading of her discomfort at the thought of reading the diary. She could not explain why, but Carla was certain that it was necessary that she read it. She went to force the lock on the diary and fond that it was no longer locked. Her breath was coming quickly. Looking around again, she opened the diary and started to read. Most of the writing was child like. 25 years ago, a twelve year old girl who signed her name Melanie started writing a diary. Like many preteens, she wrote to it as if it were a friend whom she named Roxy.

The girl in this diary needed that friend too. Her mother had just remarried to a man that the girl had described at 'wonderfully nice.' He had a son, older than she was, who was not so nice. The first three years of the diary was the girl telling her 'friend' about the abuse that was being done to her. Nothing was recorded to make Carla think that there was anything physical, but the words she recorded him calling her were appalling. Both parents tried to encourage her with "sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you." Too bad that they do.

When she was fifteen, her entries were much less frequent. The step brother had left for college. Her writings were much brighter and happier. There was seemingly no lasting damage from the verbal abuse she had suffered, at least none that was recorded. What made this diary unusual was that it continued well into her adult years. The last entries were from 13 years ago. She had gone on a cruise and fallen in love with an islander named Quinn(!). She left the cruise ship to stay behind with him. The last entry in the diary was on the last page of the book.

"Dear Roxy, This is the last page, so I'll have to start writing to a new friend. I will miss you my imaginary friend. You've helped me tremendously over the years. I could never have trusted anyone else with my secrets. It seems appropriate to end you here. Quinn has asked to take our love to a new level. It's something that I've longed for, I think. It's a little scary, but I have to try. He wants me to keep a journal of my feelings and experiences. Good bye, my friend. Melanie."

Carla picked up the other book. It was a journal, kept in a composition notebook. On its cover was, "My Journal of Exploration by Melanie Thiesman." At 4:00 in the afternoon, on Dec. 22, 2007, Carla opened the journal and began to read…

*

I want to thank D. for another fine editing job. To those who have written me, afraid that I had stopped the story before it was finished, I want to reassure you that I will finish this story and any others I start. I'm teaching full time again and have less time to write than I had during the summer. They will be farther spaced, but they are being written. Look for chapter four in letters and transcripts. 



Island Slave Ch. 04



Chapter Four

Melanie Thiesman

Carla picked up the other book. It was a journal, kept in a composition notebook. On its cover was, "My Journal of Exploration by Melanie Thiesman." The script was in a delicate and neat handwriting. Carla was sure that someone whispered, "Read. Understand," yet, no one was there with her. At 4:00 in the afternoon, on Dec. 22, 2007, Carla opened the journal of Melanie Thiesman and began to read...

* * *

June 17, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I know it seems strange for a 24 year old woman to be writing to a diary like she was a prepubescent girl, but this is how I've always written my journals. I feel comfortable writing to an imaginary friend. I'm Melanie Thiesman and I am madly in love with Quinn Sanchez. I met him a little over a year ago on a cruise. He wasn't on the cruise, he was, is, a local who swept me off my feet. I stayed behind with him and have never left. He has taken me places that I never believed I could go. I finally found someone who does not think of me as a freak.

I suppose I should explain a little about myself. I like sex. That doesn't make me unusual. What makes me a freak in most people's eyes is how I like sex. I want to be controlled by my man. I want to have no say in anything that happens to me. If he wants to tie me up, I want to let him. If he wants to spank me, I want him to. I know this is shocking, but it's who I am. I don't remember when I first felt these types of desires, but I've had them for as long as I've felt the desire for sex.

Quinn has been wonderful about it all. I think he may have desires for controlling women. If so, we make a perfect couple. Last night, Quinn asked me to consider something new, something deeper in our relationship. He has always controlled my sex life. He's demanded sexual things from me that many, if not most women, would consider degrading and perverted. Being tied up in uncomfortable positions; being spanked until I'm in tears; being peed on and drinking his pee. What he's asked for is different. He wants me to be his slave.

I'm frightened, Betsy. Quinn is talking about total slavery, not just my sex life. If I agree, I will be his property, bound to obey him at every turn. Not just for sex, but in every area of my life: clothing, food, who I see and talk with, where I sleep, everything. I am scared of how much I want this. When I think of being at his mercy every minute of every day, of turning all my possessions over to him as well as my life, I feel a burning need in my belly for that feeling of...I don't know how to describe it. It's like all my submission during sex was just the tip of the iceberg. That this is what I've craved all my life. Will I lose myself in this, or is this the way to finding myself? I just don't know.

June 19, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I've made up my mind. Ironically, what cinched it for me was Quinn telling me that if I say yes, I can't take it back. When I heard that, my heart leapt and my belly became tied in knots. There was something so right about it. Of course I couldn't take it back, I would be agreeing to become his slave. Slaves don't get take backs. I'm telling him tonight that I will be his slave. I'm still scared, but I won't let that stop me from doing something that seems so perfect for me. My life is going to change.

June 24, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

The last few days have been intense. As soon as I agreed to be Quinn's slave, he ordered me to strip. I haven't been clothed since then. I wasn't ready for the feeling of humiliation that came with being naked in front of Bonita, Juan and Carlos. They had become good friends over the last year and now I am naked and collared in front of them on a regular basis. I could tell that Juan and Carlos were eying me every time we were in the same room. They never touched me or even acted like they wanted to.

In spite of the humiliation, I know I've done what is right for me. There's a strange sense of safety in knowing that Quinn is responsible for everything in my life. The sex we've had has been terrific, the best I've ever experienced. He has fucked me in every hole I have: mouth, pussy and ass. Sometimes he doesn't let me have an orgasm, sometimes he does. I've been bound in some way every time. I like this change in my life.

June 30, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

We completed the last of the transactions today. Everything I owned is now Quinn's. Even if I wanted to back out, there is nothing left for me other than Quinn. If I didn't trust Quinn so much, I could never bring myself to do this. I am without any resources, naked and collared, trapped in a mansion that is surrounded by terrain that would cut my feet to ribbons. I am truly Quinn's.

I suppose I could take some of Bonita's clothes and make my way to the village. I'm sure Maria would help me if I asked. I don't want to, though. This is a dream come true. I exist to serve my Master in all things. I am with him at all times, usually on a leash. The plantation workers ogle me when we are inspecting the crops. I kneel at his feet when he is working in his office. I sleep with my arms chained to the head of the bed. I eat on the floor, sometimes without the use of my hands. I know many would find it so degrading, but I find it so right. I would have it no other way. Each day, I look for some new way to serve him. I am so happy.

July 2, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I'm in pain right now. Quinn took me to a room in the basement that did not exist before. He called it his dungeon. It reminded me of something I had seen in low grade medieval movies. He tied me to a wooden "X" shape, pulling me tight enough that it hurt. I was frightened of what was to happen next. I pleaded with him, asked him to explain how I had displeased him. He said, "You haven't displeased me. I simply want to whip you." I think I was shaking, at least as much I could, given how tightly I was bound.

This was not the first time he had whipped me. He had tied me up on the bed and whipped me before. In the past, though, I knew that I could stop it with a safe word. I couldn't this time. This was part of being a slave that I had not thought of, though I should have. Oh my God! The pain was horrible. He struck me again and again. There was no warm up and no gentleness. It felt like liquid fire was poured on my back and legs. I was screaming for mercy, but he ignored my cries.

Afterwards, while I was still tied to the cross thing, he pulled my head back by the hair and whispered, "Now you understand what being my slave is all about. You are mine to do with as I please. I won't always do this, not even often. But, I will from time to time, to make sure you know whose you are." He took me down and led me to his room. I must have laid there for hours, waiting for the pain to ease up. He did put something on my back and legs. I'm assuming it was something to keep me from infecting.

July 3, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I had to stop last night. Quinn came in and wanted to fuck me. He bound me to the bed, on my back, and used me to bring himself off. My back ached with every touch from the sheets. He gave me no pleasure, simply fucked me until he came in my cunt and then fell asleep beside me. I spent the night spread out, unable to move. When I woke, I was sore all over.

For the first time since I enslaved myself, I'm not with him. He left me to recover. A warm bath took the aches out of my body. I saw my back for the first time since it was whipped. It's a mass of red stripes, many of them actual welts. A few looked like they had been bleeding at some point in time. I still can't stand anything touching them. I hope he gives me a chance to heal.

In spite of this, I still want to be his slave. In a weird sort of way, it feels like he cares about me. He cared enough to let me feel the full weight of my slavery. I truly am his and he will make sure everyone knows it. I think Bonita was holding back tears when she saw my back at breakfast. I had to eat it on the floor out of a dog dish. At least it wasn't dog food.

July 12, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn wants me to keep a log of my exercises. By that, he means both my physical workout and my purely slave duties. I'm a bit worried about this. I have no trouble recording how many minutes I use the treadmill or stair stepper at what grade. But he wants me to record my torture and use at his hands. I can just see someone finding a notebook that says, "Quinn whipped me 25 times today, fucked my cunt once and my ass twice." I think I'll use a code, something like W# for the lashes from the whip and BJ# for the number of blow jobs I gave him.

Yes, he really does have that kind of stamina. He doesn't use me sexually every day, but when he does, he can take me repeatedly. I really love that about him. I've even had him stay hard after cumming. Just last night, he had me tied to the bed. I was kneeling on the mattress with my arms pulled towards the headboard, my ankles pulled towards the foot of the bed with my knees pulled in the same way as my hands. This forced me to kneel, head down, with my legs spread wide.

He then took a paddle to my ass. This one was wooden with holes drilled in it. I remember seeing something like it in Animal House being used to initiate some of the hoity toity frat pledges. God that hurts! The holes make it worse, giving that many more edges to inflame. I have to count each stroke and ask him for another. This time, he hit me 25 times, slow, hard smacks that took the breath out of me. I was in tears by the time he was done. I was also dripping on the bed. When he goes all macho on me, I just melt into a puddle of aroused flesh. At the end, I was tearfully begging him to fuck me, to fuck me hard and fast.

He did too. He practically jumped onto the bed and plunged his cock into my cunt. When his groin hit my ass cheeks, I cried out from the pain and from the pleasure. Tied as I was, I could thrust back against him and I took full advantage of that ability. God damn! I'm creaming with desire just writing about this. He came inside of me in a matter of minutes, leaving me hanging, or so it seemed. He didn't go soft, however. He was still hard when he pulled out. I felt his hand plunge into my pussy, wetting itself on mine and his fluids. Then he used them to lube my ass. It's been over a year and I'm still not used to his taking me there. I gasped when he shoved himself into me. Since I enslaved myself, he doesn't take his time back there anymore. He just plunges in and I have to deal with it.

I'm sure I was gasping with each stroke, but I was also pushing back against him, forcing him deeper into me. Everything in me wants to make him happy and satisfied. It's like it has become my reason for existence. I was moaning with need, as ass fucks never bring me off. I need that contact with my pussy and clit. It wasn't happening. He came in my ass with a cry, and I started to cry when I felt him start to go soft and pull out of me. He climbed off the bed.

The pain of the whip shocked me out of my tears, or at least sent me into a new type of tears. My back had exploded as the multiple strands impacted my back. I barely had the presence of mind to start counting again. Twenty five more strokes hit me. Some of the lashes wrapped around to hit my belly and breasts. It was all I could do to get the numbers out. I was incoherent by the time he had finished.

Then he was back on the bed and in my pussy again. I felt the pleasure building up amidst the pain. I pushed against him, even though every push aggravated the pain in my back. This time I came first, my body shaking in its bonds, me screaming at the top of my lungs. He kept pounding into me, his thrusts taking on a savage mien. I could hear him growl as he gripped my hips hard enough that I could feel his fingernails digging into my flesh. I had barely started to come down from my first orgasm when the second one hit me. My pussy clenched at his cock and my mouth hung open, drool spilling out. As this one crested, a third one hit and I could feel his cum splashing into my cunt.

We were both spent after this. He collapsed on the bed right after untying me. I was asleep soon afterwards. That's what sex with Quinn can be like, now that I'm his slave. Before, there was some bondage and pain play, but nothing really intense. Some over the knee spanking and breast pinching. We do still have plain sex, just not very often. It's almost like a vacation when we do, something nice and relaxing as a break from the usual

July 17, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn has introduced something new into our sex lives. He calls it breast and pussy torture. He received these new toys from some mail order place. They are called tit clamps. I'm not sure why, since they can be used anywhere, including my pussy. When they clamp onto my nipples or lips, the pain is intense. They can be adjusted for different levels of pressure. He was experimenting and had one so tight that the nipple was squashed flat. To make matters worse, they have chains on the ends that he can hang weights on! He fucked me doggie style while they hung from my tits and the swinging weights kept sending new surges of pain through my breasts.

Would you believe that I came from that? It's like my body is responding to pain differently now. I can't imagine what they will feel like, swinging from my pussy lips or, God forbid, my clit. The worst part, though, is removal. I'm not sure what causes it, but the pain from those things being released is ten times worse than from them going on or swinging. I can't wait to find out what being whipped while these things are on me feels like.

July 27, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn had to leave on a business trip today. He expects to be gone for a week. He has instructed me to not masturbate while he is gone. I'm not sure I can do that. I've been getting sex from him almost every day for over a month now. I'm horny all the time. There have been times when I've gone to him begging for him to use me sexually. We'll see what happens.

July 30, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I couldn't do it. I masturbated to a wonderful orgasm this morning. Afterwards, I felt so guilty. I don't know what's going to happen. This is the first time that I've directly disobeyed him since I became his slave. I'm scared that he will send me away.

August 2, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

In for an ounce, in for a pound, I guess. I masturbated three times yesterday. I just lost control. I've been so horny that it's not funny. Ever since I enslaved myself to Quinn, my need for sex has been nearly uncontrollable. I seem to be aroused almost constantly. There is an aching emptiness in my pussy. I miss Quinn so much. It's so hard when he's not around. He gets back tomorrow, so I guess I'll see what he's going to do about my inability to control myself then.

August 4, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

It was bad, really bad. Quinn was not mad when I told him that I had masturbated four times while he was gone. He was disappointed. The look he gave shot me through the heart. I never want to see that look again. He took me to the bedroom and tied me to the bed. He had me stand at the foot of the bed, tied my feet to the legs and pulled my hands towards the head of the bed before tying them off. I couldn't move a muscle. Then he took the whip to me with a terrifying viciousness. The strokes were slow and methodical, working up and down my entire back and along my thighs. Each lashing hit with the same force as the one before it.

I almost wish he had been furious with me, that he had lost control and whipped me until I passed out. Instead, I felt the hurt in him with every stroke. I felt his disappointment in me. I was sobbing the entire time, only partly from the pain. I would take those pleasures back in a heartbeat if I could. Afterwards, my entire back side, from just below my neck to the tops of my ankles were a solid mass of red. Every motion I made was agony as my sore and bruised flesh was forced to move.

The worst part was that he did not use me for his pleasure. He had an erection when he returned home. Instead of fucking me or demanding a blow job, he masturbated and made me watch, still bound to the bed. My punishment is not over yet. My hands are to be chained to my collar by a pair of one foot long chains. My hands will barely be able to reach my breasts, let alone my pussy. I won't be able to feed myself, I won't be able to masturbate (the whole point), I won't even be able to wipe myself after using the bathroom. I will have to ask someone else to do all that for me.

Quinn says that this will train me to resist the desire to seek pleasure for myself. He hasn't told me how long this restraint will last, only that I will be this way long enough to learn that I don't need release, ever. This is not what I envisioned when I made myself his slave. I had visions of being used for sex over and over again, giving and receiving pleasure equally. I guess I'm learning better. I won't be able to journal again until he releases me from my bondage. This will be so hard.

August 27, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I'm not sure where to start. I'm not the same woman I was three weeks ago. For three long weeks, I've been unable to do anything for myself. The feelings of helplessness have been nearly overwhelming. Quinn hasn't touched me sexually during this entire time. He has made me watch him masturbate. Each time, it leaves me in tears. Being ignored by him, sexually, has been even worse than having to have him or Bonita wipe my ass every time I have to use the toilet.

But that all ended today. My hands are still tied to my neck, but he fucked me this morning. He was so fast that I didn't cum, but he fucked me! I was in tears, tears of happiness. My punishment is over, and it has had the effect I think he was looking for. I want to serve him so much more than I did. I can feel my body's need for sexual release, but it seems so unimportant to me now. I want to see him happy. I think I understand what he was asking me for when he asked me to be his slave.

It wasn't about more intense domination and submission play. It was about a fundamental change in our relationship. I didn't get it then. I think I do now. All I should care about is what he wants. My wishes are not important. What's more, I don't want them to be. Over these past three weeks, I've come to the conclusion that I really want what he wants from me. I want him to be the center of my life, the reason for my existence. I know that some would be shocked and horrified by this. But, every time I've let go of what I desire, everything has been so much easier.

I know that I will screw up again. I'm only human. I hope he punishes me severely every time I do. I want to reach the place where my every action is based on what will make Quinn happy. There will be times, I suspect, when I will rebel. I hope he is harsh with me when I do. I don't want to fail him again.

August 31, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Today has been very frustrating. Quinn woke me up by putting those nipple clamps on my tits. I discovered that he had tied me spread eagle while I was sleeping. Once I was awake, he took a riding crop and started whipping me with it. This is the first time he has inflicted pain on me before breakfast. He worked me over very methodically, covering every inch of my body, except my face, with little red marks. Only when he finished did he let me up to use the toilet. Once that was done, he tied me face down and repeated the process on my backside. Needless to say, I was in tears most of the time.

I was also very aroused. He did not fuck me then, but took me to the dining room for breakfast. Bonita looked uneasy at the plethora of whip marks on my body and the streaks of tears on my face. I tried to smile at her to let her know that I was not only all right, but all right with what was happening. I'm not sure she believed what I was trying to convey. The fact that Quinn ordered me to stay silent all day did not help.




Island Slave Ch. 04



The rest of the day was one of constant unpleasantness. If I wasn't bound in some painful contortion, I was being struck with one of his many tools for inflicting pain. I had no idea that one could experience such constant pain without passing out. Even when Quinn had sex with me, it was painful, since those welts don't stop hurting just because he stopped whipping me. He never let me cum, either. I found myself on my knees at the end of the day pleading with my eyes for release. I find that begging is what I hate the most about being a slave. When we were just playing BDSM, I knew that I would get off on it by the time we were done. Now, he let's me go unsatisfied for days at a time. I've cried myself to sleep in his arms from the frustration. I'll probably do that again tonight.

September 2, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I spent the entire day in the new dungeon yesterday. Where yesterday was a constant barrage of little pains, today was incredibly harsh. I spent a good part of the day on that cross shaped thing that he called a Saint Andrew's Cross. He whipped me over and over with great force. I was sobbing uncontrollably for hours, it seemed. Then he would fuck me while I was still on the cross and leave me there with his cum running down my legs. The only time I was not in that dungeon was when I had to use the bathroom.

Between each session under the whip, he was more gentle than I've ever seen him before. He would put a soothing ointment on my new welts and massage my arms and legs as they tried to cramp from being stretched so much for so long. I was not allowed to eat all day. It's just as well, I suspect. I doubt I could have kept anything down with all the intense pain I was put through.

The last whipping was with a new device, a thin bamboo cane. I can't believe how much it hurt! I was screaming at the top of my lungs with tears flowing down my face. I was truly trying to get away from that wicked thing and the agony it caused. I passed out from it. When I came to, I was in the bed, on my belly. Quinn was rubbing more ointment into my back and legs. Once he knew I was awake, he told me how proud he was and how much he loved me.

Never before has someone's words meant so much to me. I made him proud! He was happy with me. Any pain would be worth that feeling. His hands slipped between my legs and rubbed my pussy. I moaned and spread my legs for him. He caressed and fondled my cunt, bringing my body to a quivering mass of desire. When he penetrated me with a finger, I came, shuddering on the bed and soaking his hand with my juices. He told me to remain still and took me again, not just once, but many more times. By the time he stopped, I had cum so many times that I had exhausted myself.

September 23, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

The last few weeks have been pretty normal. It still seems strange to think of spankings, collars and bondage as normal, but that's where I am right now. There has been nothing incredibly painful since the day in the dungeon at the beginning of the month. I find that I'm looking forward to the next session of intense pain. I guess I'm becoming kind of a pain slut.

I had a talk with Bonita a few days ago. It has been really hard for her to see me in the wrecked state Quinn leaves me in when we have those monster scenes. She struggles with accepting that what Quinn does to me is not abuse. I discovered that she has secreted my old clothes and ID away so that I can still leave when I want to. I tried to explain that I won't ever want to. This life I have now, as Quinn's slave and fuck toy, is what I want more than anything. I actually feel incredible fulfillment after a session of hard use and abuse. As I lay in bed with my backside or breasts throbbing in agony, I can only smile at how much Quinn is showing me that he loves me. It's hard to fathom that I was so scared of this when he first asked me. My only fear now is that he will tire of this and stop using me, stop owning me.

Bonita told me that she is frightened for me. She has noticed that Quinn has become harsher with me than when we started. There are more welts being given to me more frequently than three months ago. Her mouth hung open when I smiled at that. I asked her if she noticed anything else about Quinn over the last few months. She admitted that he seemed so much happier than he had been before, even during our first year. She also admitted, when I pressed her, that I seemed happier as well. I confirmed that for her. I am happier now than I ever have been in the past.

I don't know if she understands, but I think she believes me. Bonita is incredibly loyal to Quinn. She's been with his family for three generations now. I do appreciate her concern. The only thing that keeps what I experience from being abuse, is the fact that I truly want this and that it fulfills some need inside of me.

September 27, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn is away on another business trip. He expects to be gone for over a week. I'm not supposed to masturbate while he is gone. The memory of my last failure is still fresh in my mind. I have no intention of failing him this time.

September 29, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

This is not good. The last cruise ship of the season stopped by several days ago. Today, we received word that one of the passengers who visited Crisobos is showing signs of measles. His visit was during the contagious period. It turns out that most of those on the island have never had measles. Everyone has been quarantined and there is a palpable fear running through the mansion. Adult measles is nothing to laugh about. The only modern medicine we have access to is the doctors who visit from the ships.

I am one of only three adults that have had measles in the past and are thus immune. It doesn't help that a local bug is already going around, weakening everyone's immune systems. If this hits as hard as I expect it to, people may die. The problem is that anyone who has caught it has already had a chance to spread it while not showing symptoms. All we can do now is wait and pray.

October 1, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

It has started. The first cases of measles have shown themselves. I've retrieved the clothes that Bonita saved for me and drove Quinn's truck into the village. I don't have a lot of medical training, but I do remember how to deal with measles, one of the advantages of having contracted it as a teen. There is no one else who can go from hut to hut safely. Thank God that they already know about washing and other sanitation issues. I don't want anyone to die.

October 7, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I'm so tired. There are 37 people with measles, 12 of them adults. The adults are suffering far worse than the children. One died last night. He was so hot that he tried to cool off in the ocean and was swept out to sea because he was too exhausted to fight the currents. I know I can't be awake all the time, but I feel like I should have been awake for him. Entire families are sick, the parents refusing to be separated from their sick kids and becoming sick themselves. The only bright side is that there have been no new cases in the last three days. If only these will survive.

October 17, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

I guess the epidemic is over. I didn't see the end. Quinn tells me that I ran myself ragged and managed to catch that local bug myself, though it was not measles. I am told that I spent three days asleep and feverish. I'm weak right now. I do remember that a ship showed up at the end, something from the US Navy. They had doctors and supplies to try to save as many as they could. I'm told that only three more adults died and none of the children.

It was apparently, touch and go for me as well. That local bug is normally harmless, but hit me like a freight train because I had weakened myself. I will be weak for another few weeks and Quinn refuses to use me for anything except ordinary sex while I'm on the mend. I had to beg for the sex, as it was. I am not going another three or four weeks without sex!

November 21, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Between healing and the run into the holiday season, I've been busy. I am still Quinn's slave and he has returned to using me as such, though there has been nothing harsh since the epidemic. They don't celebrate Thanksgiving on the island, but they have their own festival about the same time to celebrate the end of hurricane season. There will be a party and lots of food. This year will be more subdued, as they remember those who died from the measles.

I've gotten used to being naked in front of others. I know it's been that way for months, but today, we had a visitor and I was blithely unaware of my nudity until I noticed her reaction. The look on her face was simply precious. When Quinn explained that I was his willing slave, she became mesmerized by me. The party was very enjoyable, though there was one small disappointment.

The woman, her name was Grace, managed to corner the two of us a little before midnight. She asked Quinn if she could take me to bed. She was fascinated by the idea of someone with whom she could do anything she wanted. I could not believe my reaction. I'm not a lesbian. I've never felt any sexual desire for another woman. Yet, when she asked, my pussy went wet instantly and my nipples hardened. Quinn's refusal was so disheartening.

I thought about it as the party continued and I think I understand what I was feeling. I can't imagine anything that would make me feel more like a slave than being passed on to another person to be used for their pleasure. When Quinn refused, I felt less a slave. I know it makes me sound degenerate, but I want to be shared, to be commanded to please others. I wish he had said yes, made me do something that I don't have a desire for.

December 15, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

While they don't celebrate Thanksgiving on the island, Christmas is a very big deal here. I'm not the most religious person in the world. Hell, I'm not religious at all. I don't believe in God, not really. Nothing more than the prayer tossed heavenward when things aren't going well. Quinn and the staff though, are believers. You can tell if you spend any time with them at all. Christmas is the holiday of holidays here.

The mansion has been a flurry of activity. Quinn hasn't used me much in the last couple of weeks. He has been flying in and out, bringing a lot of supplies back to the mansion. I've been helping him wrap a horde of presents. I think he has purchased something for everyone in the village, even the children. There's nothing really expensive. Quinn says that many of the villagers would take expensive gifts as an insult. They are very proud people. I remember that from when I first arrived here.

I wish I could give him something for Christmas. Part of being a slave, however, is that I don't own anything and can't buy anything. I'm going to have to give it some thought. What can a slave give her Master when he already owns everything about her? That is the $64 question.

December 24, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn was crying tonight. I've never seen him cry and it scared me. He was also in the library. I've never seen him in the library. He showed it to me the day I arrived. He said it was his mother's. She was a voracious reader. I love books myself, but read slowly. I tried to encourage him to share his feelings and thoughts. He wouldn't share. He had a book in his hand, but I could not see the title. I love him so much, it hurts to see him hurting this way. I missed this last year. He flew me to St. Croix so that I could visit family for the holidays.

I snuck in after he was asleep and looked for the book. At first, I couldn't find it. It seemed to not be there at all. Then I found the hidden space. The book was a diary. That's why I recognized it, or at least thought I did. It was written by Quinn's mother. I couldn't help myself, I read it. It was less a diary than a composition book. She wrote poetry, beautiful poetry. Quinn's mom was one of those authors who can pull at heart strings with a single word or phrase.

I think she might have killed herself. Towards the end of the book she was writing some pretty sad stuff. Something had left her life, something or someone that was the center of her existence. The weird part is that I think Quinn left her. That doesn't make sense though. Quinn is alive. He may not like it, but I'm going to ask Bonita and Juan about Mystique. They have to know something, they have been with the family for decades.

December 30, 1994

Dear Betsy, 

Christmas was wonderful. Quinn gave me lovely new collar and cuffs. They're made of alloyed silver and have his name inscribed on them. That night he took me to the dungeon and whipped me for hours, using a crop, paddle and a whip. I was sobbing uncontrollably for most of the night. He fucked me several times as well, making my hurting legs and back feel even worse as he slammed into them. He also made me cum at least three times. There may have been more, but things became a little fuzzy after a while. I haven't written about it until now because I was too sore to sit at the desk.

I am still amazed at times by how much I crave his hard use of me. It's a sign of how much he loves me. I want more, so much more from him. I want to give him so much more. I'm not sure what more I have to give him. I never managed to find something I could give him for Christmas. My life feels so complete, yet there is something missing. I don't know what it is.

January 2, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

I've done it now. Quinn is furious. I asked Bonita about Mystique. She told me that she died of cancer. I guess she knew she had it for a while before she died. Quinn was gone from the island when she worsened and died. Bonita said that they had had an argument and he flew off in a huff, staying away for two months. When he came back, she was gone. For over a year, Quinn was inconsolable.

I guess Quinn heard the tail end of Bonita telling me. I've never seen him so mad before. The worst part was how he treated Bonita. The foul things he said to her and the way she stood there, unresponsive, was terrifying. I haven't seen him since then. He told me that I was to sleep in the second bedroom from now on. He has ignored me ever since. I may have ruined everything.

January 15, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

After two weeks, Quinn finally took me back to his bed. He tied me down, gagged me and fucked me repeatedly. Afterwards, he took a whip to me, lashing my breasts, belly and legs until they were a solid mass of red. I could tell he was trying to purge the anger towards me from his system. I'm making myself write this even though it hurts so much.

After he whipped me, he collapsed on the bed in tears. I think he hurt more than I did. He cried himself to sleep while I was still bound. I couldn't sleep, I hurt too much and my limbs were trying to cramp. He woke up a few hours later and released me. We talked for quite some time. He shared about his mom, reading many of the poems. He has been carrying a lot of guilt around. I guess his last words to her were, "I hate you." I can't imagine how hard that must have been to bear all these years.

He promised to tell me more, to help me get to know this important woman in his life. I wonder what she would think of his keeping me as a slave, albeit a willing one?

March 27, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

I know it has been a long time since I wrote last, but there hasn't been a lot to write about. After the incident with his mom, Quinn and I have been back to normal. He whips me regularly, fucks me a lot and keeps me naked all the time. I hate to say it, but I'm feeling bored. Is it possible to be bored with slavery? I would not have thought so.

Part of it is something I wrote about earlier. There is so much more I want to give Quinn. I just don't know what it could be. I can't shake the feeling that there is some part of me that is not fully his, yet there is nothing that he does not control in my life. He tells me what to do, when to do it and I don't have any right to question him. He has made me shave my pussy. I don't wear clothes unless he tells me to (when he does, they are the most naughty things!). I wish I could figure out what it is.

There is one new thing to tell you. We bought a computer today! I know, being without a computer in 1995 is like being without a TV in 1960. It has only been in the last year that reliable electricity from the generator station that Mystic Cruises built for the villagers has been available. Now we have internet access and modern record keeping software. With my knowledge of computers and their applications, I am in charge of keeping the books and teaching Quinn how to as well. I wonder if I can convince him to buy any games?

April 20, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

This has been a busy month. All the records for the plantation are now on the computer. Or at least the current ones are. Neither of us feels there is much to be gained from putting the past data on disk. Quinn is a quick study and can run the software almost as well as I can. I understand now, just how he can support his lifestyle on the small crops the plantation produces. People pay top dollar for the cigars that are produced here. When I first arrived, Quinn told me that they are as good as Cubans, but I had no idea what that meant in terms of money. Quinn's not a millionaire, but he is comfortably well off.

I also found a web site that is about voluntary slavery. I plan to do some reading now that I'm not so overwhelmed with the computer things. I had no idea that others were also into this life that we live. Maybe they can tell me what I'm missing, why it seems like Quinn doesn't have all of me. I hope so.

May 3, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn has left on another trip. He takes these every so often to pick up supplies for the mansion. He expects to be away for a week. He has ordered me not to masturbate again. After the pain of disappointing him the first time he ordered this, I think I'm going to be able to resist the temptation this time. I miss him when he's gone. It's not just the sex, though he uses me for sex almost every day and whips me in some way at least twice a week. When he is gone, it's like the center of my world has left. He's everything to me and it's painful to be apart from him.

That slavery web site I found is fascinating. There are articles by Masters and slaves about how they live in this kind of relationship. It's a little confusing, though. Some of the articles contradict each other. Slaves should always be collared. Slaves should be kept naked. Slaves should wear provocative clothes. Masters should always be called Master. Slaves should call Masters what ever they want. Slaves should only do what they are told. Slaves should anticipate their Master's needs. It's like no one can agree what it means to be a slave.

Some of the people that contribute to the site can be pretty vehement about what's right and wrong. I've seen some awfully venomous diatribes flying back and forth. No one seems to want to just talk about slavery and how to be a slave. While it is interesting there, I need to find a friendlier place. There are several links on the site. I'll start following them and see what turns up.

May 9, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn will be back tomorrow. I've stayed obedient this time. I can't wait for him to return. I need him to use me, to make me feel like a slave again. When he's gone, I feel like I'm free. I know I'm still his slave, after all, I'm still naked, wearing a collar and can't masturbate. It's just that his presence, his demands of me help me feel so subservient. He is my master and I am his slave. This is more than just a statement of what is going on, it is becoming the entirety of my existence.

This slave web site search has been an exercise in frustration. Every site seems to advocate one true way to live as slave and Master. Yet, they seem to disagree all the time. I just want to know why I feel like there's a part of me that is not Quinn's. I want to be entirely his, mind body and soul. What is missing? What have I not given him? I need to know.




Island Slave Ch. 04



May 10, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

Quinn returned today. It was fabulous. He took me to the dungeon and tied me to the cross. For hours he used whips and paddles on me, making me scream in wonderful agony. I was sobbing uncontrollably long before he finished. My back is beet red and feels like it's on fire. My cunt is also sore and leaking cum. He fucked me on that cross four times, I think. I had at least one orgasm each time. I'm exhausted, but happy. Waiting is definitely better than disobeying.

Today is the first time I've felt fully his in months. It seems that the more he treats me like a toy to bring him pleasure, the more fulfilled I feel. I can just imagine how my family would react if they were reading this journal. "Melanie, get out. He's abusing you and will end up killing you if you stay." They just would not understand. This is what I was meant to be. I will never leave him, ever.

June 1, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

I think I found what I'm looking for on the web. There's a blog that is jointly written by a slave and her Master. They talk quite openly about their activities, thoughts and emotions as master and slave. There was a lot of stuff they have written over the last two years of their journal. There are even pictures, though none show faces that aren't blurred out. She really lets him do anything he wants. Many of the things he does are not things she enjoys.

For example, she writes that she hates anal sex. She says that it is painful and gross, yet when he orders her to submit to it, she does, crying the whole time. He even forces her to suck his cock clean after he has fucked her ass. That sounds so disgusting, yet, when I read about it and imagine that Quinn is forcing me in the same way, I just juice up and find myself incredibly aroused.

The Master has marked his slave as his own. She has a couple of tattoos that show his ownership as well as piercings on her nipples and pussy lips. Their latest entry talks about his plan to have a piercing put in her clit hood. Just the thought of it makes my knees weak. Having my clit stimulated 24 hours a day would be so intense. She has truly given her body to him with no reservations. I want to give Quinn my body the same way. I will be spending quite a while trying to read about their relationship from the beginning.

June 15, 1995

Dear Betsy, 

This slavery journal I'm reading is very...I don't know what to call it. I've gone back to their first posts. They started it about three months after they started living as master and slave. I guess they agreed to a three month trial period first and now have gone to something more permanent. After they had gone permanent for a month, he did something to make sure she knew just how much a slave she was. He brought three men home with him and let them use her as a sex toy.

Her recounting of that was fascinating reading. She describes how desperately she didn't want to obey him and how she pleaded on her knees, in tears, to be spared that fate. He refused to relent. The only requirements he put on the men were that they had to use condoms if they fucked her and he had to be present. The three men spent the next four hours using her sexually in every conceivable way. She was fucked in all three of her holes. They all spanked her with their hands and a paddle. She was tied up in a wide variety of positions. Her master even saved all five of the condoms they used and fed the contents to her at the end.

She wrote that she was in tears afterwards for hours from the shame and humiliation. She also said that she had never felt more his than she had before. The event made her slavery so real to her, that being lent out to total strangers like she was some object was such a turn on for her. I was thoroughly wet by the time I had finished reading the account. I wish Quinn would do something like that with me, make me feel that used. Maybe he could give me to some of the plantation workers as a reward for good work? That sounds so degrading and hot.

June 27, 1995

Dear Betsy,

I'm about a year into that web journal I found. He gave her to others again, only this time, they were people she knew that did not know she was living as a slave until that day. He sprang it on everyone during a get together on a Saturday. In the middle of the barbeque, he ordered her to strip, in front of everyone. When she balked at the order, he swatted her ass and commanded her to, "Strip your sorry ass, slave!" Needless to say, everyone was shocked by the way he treated her, no less by her obedience.

He then explained, with her kneeling naked at his feet, that they had been living as Master and slave for over a year and he wanted their best friends to know the truth. I guess that there was total silence at first. No doubt! Then one of the women there (there were two couples present) asked if it was really true that she would do anything he commanded. He proved it by ordering her to masturbate in front of everyone, holding none of her reactions in check. With tears in her eyes, she slowly aroused herself, then, with increasing passion, hurled herself towards an orgasm.

He ordered her to stop, just short of orgasm. There she was, dripping, flushed and on the edge in front of their two best friend couples. She describes just how mortified she was at the sight she was presenting. Then he told the couples that she would even submit to a spanking for his pleasure. He ordered her over his lap, locking his legs around hers so that she could not wriggle loose. I guess one of the ladies asked why she was allowing him to do this. Through her tears, she said, "Because I love him and want him to be happy. I am his to do with as he pleases and if I'm not making him happy, then I'm not happy."

That describes my feelings so well! That's exactly what I want with Quinn. Anyway, he then spanked her until her ass was a bright shade of red. Then he offered to let any of the four guests spank her as well! One of the men took him up on it right away. She had to crawl on her hands and knees and drape herself over that lap. His swats were not as hard as her master's, but she felt them, through her shame, just as much. Then, to her surprise, one of the women said she wanted to.

She had never been with a woman, sexually, before. Crawling to that lap was the hardest thing she ever had to do. When the woman started, her hand actually hit harder than her master's hands had. The woman also went longer. She was sobbing uncontrollably by the time the woman stopped. Then the woman went even farther. She started feeling her pussy and commenting on how wet she was. The woman took her to the edge of orgasm and kept up a running commentary the whole time.

The second man also spanked her, though not for long. She had the impression he was uncomfortable with inflicting pain on her. The second woman took her and her master by surprise and asked if she could have her pussy eaten out by the slave. It turned out that this couple was into threesomes and had, in the past, taken other men and women into their bed. The master gave his okay and the woman pulled her dress up and her panties down. The slave crawled over and licked at the woman's cunt. The husband had his face right in there, directing her as to what things his wife liked the best.

She described how humiliating it was to have a man tell her how to go down on his own wife. The man's hands roamed over her body, keeping her aroused as well. Part way through the pussy licking, the man went behind her and started fucking her pussy (the couples were such good friends that no one was worried about diseases). The slave described how that is when she passed beyond simple humiliation at what was happening to her, to deep mortification at how she was responding to it. She was thrusting back against the husband while she licked at the cunt with an enthusiasm that shocked her. During the whole process, her Master kept her from experiencing an orgasm, going so far as to have the husband stop the fucking until she calmed down a bit. The husband and wife reached their orgasms almost simultaneously, each leaving their juices on her body for all to see. Her Master forbade her to clean it up.

The rest of the day, she served the five as a slave, obeying every order (most were non-sexual) with evidence of her sexual use displayed on her body. By the time the day was over, both men and the one woman had used her for sexual gratification more than once. The last woman, apparently with no same sex leanings at all, simply fingered her to the brink of climax several times. The day ended with her kissing the feet of the guests and pleading for permission to have an orgasm. By a three to one vote, she was allowed to orgasm, so long as it was in front of everyone (the one who kept fingering her voted no, apparently enjoying the torture she was inflicting). By then, she was so desperate that she didn't even think of being seen, but plunged her hands between her legs and jacked herself off, screaming unabashedly in pleasure.

The slave writing the journal went on to describe how much more she felt her slavery after that. Simply knowing that she could and would be passed around to others, that there was nothing left of her modesty and privacy, reinforced how much she was his, completely and utterly. That's what I want! I want to feel that owned, to feel utterly helpless and exposed, totally his to do with as he pleases. I shudder when I think of having my slavery revealed to total strangers and made to satisfy them. At the same time, I am finding that I crave this public use. I find myself dreaming about being taken into the village, collared and on a leash, for everyone to see my fate. I imagine Quinn giving me to his workers to be used as they wish and I cream my cunt while I'm shivering in fear and humiliation. I'm tempted to ask Quinn for this. I need it.

July 12, 1995

Dear Betsy,

I told Quinn about the journal I've been reading. He thought that reading it was a good idea, that it might help me be a better slave. When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he wants more form me as a slave. My heart leapt at that. I want to give him more in my slavery as well! Then I asked him what more of me he wanted. He told me that he wanted me to be proactive, to anticipate his needs and desires. A good slave obeys her Master. A great slave gives her Master what he wants before he can ask for it.

I've thought of doing that in the past, but have been afraid of Quinn becoming angry for my taking liberties with the freedoms he allows me. I explained that and he simply told me that I shouldn't be. If I do something he doesn't like, then I will be punished, but I should not shy away from things because I might be punished. After all, there is a difference between how I will be punished for doing something displeasing and for disobeying.

Looking back, that seems true. In fact, there are times when I think the things that "displease" him are more for him to have an excuse for whipping me, though Lord knows that he doesn't need an excuse for that. The few times that I have disobeyed him resulted in to worst things I can imagine as punishments. I promised that I would try to anticipate his desires and act on what I thought he wanted.

I also asked about being passed around and used by others. He was so angry at the thought. He yelled that I was his and that I was never going to be used by anyone but him. This is not something I expected from him. I know that Quinn used to pick up women from every cruise ship for sex. Somehow I thought that made him willing to show me off, much like a child shows off a new toy. I guess I was wrong. It's kind of sad, actually. Ever since reading about it in the journal, I have been fantasizing about just that. I feel like a part of my slavery has been cut off from me, that I'm not fully his if he can't brag about owning me.

August 2, 1995

Dear Betsy,

I'm scared. There was a new posting in that journal I'm reading. The Master took her to the shop where they have had tattoos and piercings done before. This time, however, he didn't have her tattooed or pierced. He had her branded! The slave is an incredibly good writer and her descriptions made me feel like I was there. She said the pain was worse than any whipping or beating she had ever endured in the past.

They strapped her to a table like they usually do when she is being marked for him. The gag, however was new. It was much like a bit for a horse, only thicker. It forced her tongue down while holding her teeth apart. Only then did they bring the branding iron out. It wasn't like a cattle brand, an iron symbol that was heated to glowing. It was more like a soldering iron, electric powered with a tip that glowed. When she saw it, she started to struggle and plead through her gag.

Her Master had given her no warning that this was coming. They let her struggle until all her resistance was gone. Then her Master told her that it was going to happen. The only choice she had was whether to prolong it or not. They added straps to her leg (it was going on the inside of her thigh) to hold her leg totally still. Plastic had been placed under her ass and pulled over her torso. The woman who was doing the work sat down between the slave's widely spread legs and literally wrote the brand with the branding iron.

The slave said she screamed louder and longer than she ever had before. She lost control and soiled herself on the plastic sheet. She kept wishing to pass out, but didn't for whatever reason. The smell of her own flesh burning made her sick to her stomach, though she managed not to throw up. After that, everything was a haze for the slave. She doesn't remember any of the care afterwards, just a blur of pain and tears. When she went home, she was cleaned up, so someone must have cleaned up the mess she made.

As much as she hated being branded, she said that nothing has made her feel more like his property that that experience. She could never have brought herself to ask for it, but she would never give it back, if she could. I get the feeling that she is fulfilled in some way, that this has made her a complete woman.

What frightens me is my own reaction. I want to be branded. There, I've said it. Being marked like that, such a permanent thing, I find that I crave it with a hunger that is overwhelming. Yet, it frightens me. It is so permanent. You can remove a tattoo and a piercing. You can't take a brand off. And I find that I don't want to be able to take Quinn's ownership off of me. I want his mark in such a way that it will be forever.

This is what I'm frightened of.

August 12, 1995

Dear Betsy,

I am still haunted by the desire to be branded. I haven't told Quinn about it. Given how opposed he is to exposing my slavery to others, taking me to be branded won't sit well with him. In spite of the brutality that he uses when he whips me, Quinn is a very sensitive person. I don't think he would do anything that would truly hurt me. Yes, he gives me pain, but that is not hurting, not really. I find I want the pain. It makes me feel my slavery and intensifies my orgasms.

Quinn's birthday is coming up soon. Well, a couple of months from now. I want to give him something for his birthday and I think I've figured out what. One of the links on that journal is to a fetish artist. He paints. He specializes in portraits of people in fetish and bondage gear. I've e-mailed him and asked if he would be willing to travel here and paint a portrait of me. At the end of every September, Quinn goes on a business trip to arrange buyers for the cigars. Mr. Leoni has agreed to fly out when Quinn is gone and paint the picture.

Paying him will be a little tricky. I don't have access to money any more. I generally don't want it either. It would detract from my slavery. I do need to pay him, though. I've offered him a compromise. I will let him paint three more pictures of me in addition to the one I will keep. He is free to sell those pictures himself to recoup his loss from me not being able to pay him.

August 15, 1995

Dear Betsy,

Steven wrote back. He accepted my proposal and will fly out the same day that Quinn leaves. I am so excited about being able to give Quinn such a wonderful gift. I checked with Quinn's schedule and he leaves on the 25th of September and will be gone for 12 days.

September 4, 1995

Dear Betsy,

Yesterday was my birthday. Last year, Quinn gave me earrings. It was kind of silly. I don't think he thought much about how little reason there is to wear them. This year, he asked what I wanted for my birthday. I told him I wanted to spend the entire time I was awake in the dungeon being used by him or suffering pain for him. He made both of us go without sex for an entire week before the day.

I woke up to a belt landing on my ass and the burning pain of being spanked. He pulled me out of bed by my hair and dragged me to the dungeon. I was bound over a padded saw horse and whipped with a cat for I don't know how long. Afterwards, he fucked me hard and left me hanging without a climax after he came in my cunt. Then he put weighted clamps on my nipples and left me there while he went to breakfast.

When he returned, he pulled the clamps off. He didn't take them off, he pulled them off while they still grabbed my tits. The pain as they pinched less and less of the nipple was excruciating. Once they were off, he took me off the horse and hung me from the ceiling with me legs locked apart by spreader bar that was anchored to the floor. After putting a blindfold on me, he took a leather strap, I think, to my entire body, from just below my neck to my ankles. By the time he was done, I was sobbing like a baby.

It continued like that for the entire day. I was forced to relieve myself into a bucket while he watched. I was not allowed to eat anything the entire day. He bound me to every device in the dungeon and used every one of the implements we own. At one point, he used a vibrator on me until I had cum seven times. My clit was so sore that the last couple of orgasms were agonizing.

Each of my holes was fucked at least twice, though he came only four times. One of the mouth fucks was after he took my ass first, forcing me to taste myself. Both times in my mouth, he kept forcing his cock into my throat so I couldn't breath. One of those times, he came while he was lodged between my tonsils.

Today, except for my neck, head, and the soles of my feet, I am a solid mass of purple and red. Everything aches and it only gets worse when I move anything. This was the best birthday present ever.

September 25, 1995

Dear Betsy,

Steven Leoni arrived today. His plane flew in two hours after Quinn's had left. We will start the first painting tomorrow. Today, we talked about what I want in the painting I am going to keep. I want to be bound and recently whipped, looking over my shoulder at Quinn. I'm hoping to be able to convey my desire for and pleasure at suffering under his hands.

He will need to take the whip to me. Steven was not ready for that part. The only person here that can apply the whipping is him. I certainly can't ask Juan or Carlos to whip me! They are upset enough that I invited someone here without Quinn knowing. Fortunately, Mr. Leoni has some experience with BDSM and knows what to do. In some respects, this will be much like Quinn having lent me out.

September 26, 1995

Dear Betsy,

I spent the entire day tied to the whipping post. Mr. Leoni did not whip me terribly hard, which caused him to have to whip me several times as the marks faded too fast. I think it helped with my look. I could tell he had an erection and wanted to do more with me than simply paint me. Down here in the dungeon, bound as I was, I couldn't have stopped him. I didn't think of that in my desire to give Quinn the perfect gift. Steven will be binding me three more times for his own pictures.




Island Slave Ch. 04



September 28, 1995

Dear Betsy,

He spent all of yesterday putting the finishing touches to the painting. Today, he started one of his payment pictures. He tied me to the cross and whipped my front side with a crop. He kept it up until I was in tears. Every time the tears dried up and could not be seen again, he repeated the process. I am so sore and very glad that he will take tomorrow to work on the painting without me. He is an amazingly fast artist, yet still very good. I suspect he has an amazing memory.

November 1, 1995

Dear Betsy,

Payment number two was today. This time he put me into a hog tie and came on my face. He didn't tell me what he was going to do before he did it, he just whipped his cock out and masturbated until he covered my face with cum. When I tried to complain, he reminded me that his pictures could be anything he wanted, and he wanted a cum soaked face for this one.

I guess what bothered me the most was how aroused I was by the feel and smell of his cum on me. After it had dried, I found that I wanted him to paint me with himself again. I didn't say anything, but the desire was there. I had a lot of time to think, while lying tied there on the floor. The desire to have Quinn pass me around is still there, though I've ignored it. I had hoped that this painting would somehow satisfy the need to be more fully Quinn's slave. It seems that it is only making me crave even deeper slavery.

November 3, 1995

Dear Betsy,

What have I done? For his third picture, Steven chained me to the rape rack. He gagged me and then fucked me. He wanted a painting of me with cum dripping from my pussy. I didn't even struggle. I knew what he was going to do as soon as he directed me to the rack and I did nothing to stop him. It was the single most humiliating and submissive thing that has ever happened to me. I came twice while he was fucking me.

I feel so dirty inside. After he took me down, I spent the rest of the day trying to clean myself, but nothing seemed to make me feel clean. I told him to leave tonight and to never come back. I have my gift and he has his payment. He can finish the last painting back in the states.

I can never tell Quinn of this. It would break his heart and he would send me away. I will still give him the painting and explain how I paid for it, but he will never know that Steven fucked me and that I enjoyed it. I will take this to my grave. Between now and then, I will be the best slave that I am capable of.

November 18, 1995

Dear Betsy,

It's Quinn's birthday. He loved the painting, though he also punished me for inviting the artist to the mansion without permission. It was a small price to pay. It hangs in our bedroom. Overlooking the bed where he frequently enjoys me.

I've thrown myself into my slavery. He seems so joyful at the change in me, the way I fawn over him and treat him like the king of the world. If only he knew that this new subservience comes from guilt. I think I might be depressed. Nothing seems to make me happy anymore. I fake it well enough and I still enjoy being whipped and fucked by Quinn. I don't feel like his slave, however.

I gave myself to another and that is so horrible. I need to know that I'm his again. He needs to take me in some special way and make me his. I want him to brand me, mark me as his property. Maybe that will help drive the guilt away.

November 20, 1995

Dear Betsy,

Quinn refused to even consider branding me. As he put it, "I will not mar your beautiful flesh with such a hideous thing." When I tried to explain my need to feel more his, he said that I will never be anything but his. His use of me, his feely given pain, should be enough to make me feel like I belong to him.

It isn't. Steven gave me pain and used me. I need to give Quinn something that no one else has had from me. But I can't explain that, not without telling him of my betrayal. What am I going to do?

December 21, 1995

Dear Betsy,

It has been a sad Christmas season for me. I don't feel like a slave anymore. Quinn still enjoys me, but I don't enjoy him anymore. He won't make me his. I feel like some slut who will put out for anyone. Why shouldn't I. That's what I did. The first man other than Quinn that tried to have me, I rolled over for. I don't deserve Quinn.

January 4, 1996

Dear Betsy,

I'm leaving. I can't bear to stay with Quinn after my betrayal. I've pleaded with him to mark me, to brand me as his personal property, but he refuses. He has forbidden me to bring it up again. I've been trolling the web when I can't sleep. There is a man who advertises in an alternative online dating service for slave/sluts. He promises to treat them like property and force them to serve his every whim. He's very up front about what he wants. He wants a total slave who will give up everything to be with him. She must agree to give up all rights to safe words and the ability to refuse anything. I've e-mailed him and asked him to take me.

I can't be Quinn's, not with what I've done to him. I can't go back to what I was before. I've tasted slavery and I need it. Master Greg promises that I will be used for people's pleasure, both sexually and sadistically. He says that he will train me to be a perfectly obedient slave, share me freely with men and women, some simply because they pay him. When I no longer please him, he will sell me to another.

I can't think of a better punishment for my betrayal than to be reduced to a piece of meat that no one gives a damn about. Tomorrow, I will retrieve the clothes that Bonita saved for me and walk to the village. Every year on the 5th, the cruise people stop by and make sure that the equipment they installed during the last cruise season is working properly. I will leave with them for the states. I'm sure that $1000 from Quinn's cash box will be enough to bribe my way onto their sea plane.

This will be my last entry. I no longer deserve to have opinions and feelings. I will miss this. I've been recording my thoughts and feelings ever since I was twelve years old. I still love Quinn and always will. Goodbye.

* * *

Carla was crying as she read the last words of Melanie's journal. Shaking her head, she whispered, "He would have forgiven you, Melanie." There were a few loose sheets of paper in the back of the journal. They were two newspaper clippings and a letter from a private detective agency. Reading the letter, she was brought to tears again.

* * *

Dear Mister Sanchez,

As per your instructions, we started the investigation into the whereabouts of Melanie Thiesman. Our initial inquiries were fruitless. To all appearances, Ms. Thiesman had disappeared from the face of the earth. As you may know, this is very difficult to do in our modern society. Everything we do leaves an electronic trail that an experienced investigator can follow.

The computer you sent us gave us the lead we needed. Just before her disappearance, Ms. Thiesman was in communication with a person describing himself as a "slave trainer." Starting from that lead, we tracked down this Master Greg and determined that, yes, Ms. Thiesman did indeed turn herself over to him to be trained as a sex slave. I'm afraid that there is nothing that can legally be done about this, however. Ms. Thiesman signed a contract that made it clear that she was doing so of her own free will. While such a contract has no legal force, it does protect Master Greg form legal repercussions.

I regret to inform you that Ms. Thiesman died six weeks ago from an aggressive form of breast cancer. All the records indicate that Master Greg spared no expense in trying to have her treated for the cancer, but all treatments were to no avail. When told that we represented someone from earlier in her life, Master Greg gave us this journal and asked that it be forwarded to you, someone he seemed to know of already, but not how to reach you.

Enclosed is our final bill for the completed investigation. I'm sorry that the results were less than what you wanted to find. Please accept my condolences on the loss you have suffered. Sincerely, Thomas Payne.

* * *

Carla saw that the articles were from alternative newspapers. The first was a review of a scene at a local sex club. It praised Master Greg and slave M. for an enjoyable scene and first rate submission. It was obvious to all that M. truly enjoyed the humiliation she was subjected to. The second was an article on branding. Melanie's picture, with a prominently displayed brand, was in the article.

Carla put the journal and the included papers down, her heart breaking for Quinn and Melanie. She wondered if Quinn had ever read the journal. It might have been too painful. She realized now what prompted Quinn to take her prisoner. He had been trying to sooth the ongoing pain of his loss with sex for years. Carla was the first woman that he felt could heal the pain, not just sooth it. As the clock downstairs struck 10:00 on December 21, 2007, Carla continued to cry softly and wonder just what she was going to do now that she knew the truth.

Thanks D. for another great editing job. To my readers, I do value your feedback, both the good and the bad. If there is something that makes these stories less enjoyable, I want to know what it is. If there is something that makes them particularly enjoyable, let me know about that as well.



Island Slave Ch. 05



Chapter Five

Lost Souls

Carla had not figured out what she could and should do an hour later. She had been reading Melanie's journal, and crying afterwards, for seven hours. She knew that she and Quinn could not continue like this. The two had been dancing around Quinn's past for months now. Carla had grown, in spite of herself, to enjoy the bondage and discipline that Quinn seemed to need to include in their sex. She would never, she believed, desire the level of pain that Melanie had come to crave.

It occurred to her, in fact, that Quinn did not treat her anywhere as roughly as he treated Melanie. It was clear from the journal that Melanie developed her cravings in response to Quinn's initial heavy hand, yet, that heavy hand was not present in her own experiences with Quinn. She wondered why that was so. If he had read the journal, he would know that Melanie left, in part, because Quinn would not treat her as brutally as she believed she deserved to be treated.

That was why Carla was sure that Quinn had not read the journal. If he had, he would not be as gentle as he was being, fearing the loss of another woman he loved from not giving her what she needed and desired.

With that thought, Carla was brought up short. "He loves me!" she whispered to herself. "He kidnapped me and kept me a naked prisoner, yet he loves me. And I..."

Carla could not finish that thought. She wasn't sure what she felt for Quinn, or at least, she wasn't willing to admit it to herself just yet. What she could admit was that it hurt her to know that he was in such pain.

"I'm not going to solve this tonight," she said out loud. "I need to go to bed. Maybe something will come to me."

The next morning, Carla joined Quinn for breakfast. He seemed happy enough, but Carla was sure that she could detect an underlying sense of sadness. She wanted to reach out to him.

"Quinn, I've been thinking, you know, about Christmas."

"What thoughts have you been having, Carla?"

"I would like to give you a gift for Christmas, but, as your slave, I have nothing with which to buy one, to say nothing of my inability to go somewhere to purchase one."

"Carla, I'm honored that you wish to give something to me. Just knowing that gives me great pleasure." The look on his face made it clear that he was not exaggerating. "You don't have to buy gifts, you know. The most precious gifts are those that are from our hearts, that are a part of ourselves. There are still a couple of days for you to think of something."

"Hmm. I'll have to give it some thought."

"How is your cleaning project going?"

"It's a lot of work, but I'm finding it very rewarding." Carla started to add, "Would you like to join me sometime?" when she heard that feminine voice being carried on a wind that did not touch the candles. "No, not yet," it whispered in a voice only Carla could hear.

"I'm glad. I would like your company tonight, so don't go losing yourself up there."

"Of course not, I'm looking forward to another night together," she said with a smile. As she spoke, she realized that she was, in fact, looking forward to spending the night with Quinn, feeling his hands and cock over her body. She even found the thought of belt or a paddle enticing.

Carla spent the morning and afternoon sorting through more boxes of books. However, her mind wasn't on the task, She found her thoughts, even while she was recording the information about each book, turning to Quinn and Melanie. The pain between them was still raw. It could be nothing else, given that they had parted as they had, each unaware of the pain the other was in. Carla could imagine why Melanie believed that she could not be forgiven. Quinn had made it plain to her that he was not into sharing his slaves with anyone, yet that is precisely what she had done, shared herself with the artist.

Carla did not find a solution to the problem she wanted to solve. She wasn't even sure, at least not all the time, that there was a problem for her to solve. Yet, there was an almost constant feeling that something was happening while she went through and catalogued all the books. It did not make much sense to her. She had become comfortable with her situation here at the mansion. She knew that fact itself should bother her. How could she have become comfortable with being held a prisoner and slave? Wasn't what Quinn did evil? She found that she was no longer sure. She had, at least in part, solved the mystery of who Quinn was and why he was the way he was, That knowledge took from her the ability to judge him out of hand.

Making it just as difficult was the way she was reacting to Quinn's request/command. Carla found herself aroused. Not just aroused by the thoughts of having sex, but by the thoughts of being bound and spanked again. She found that she was looking forward to being helpless and feeling those bursts of pain that were less than debilitating and more than exciting. It was a little worrisome when she considered whether she would walk down the same path that Melanie Thiesman had walked, but Carla did not truly believe that she could crave the massive amounts of pain and dehumanization that the poor woman had come to crave.

That night, at dinner, Carla, giving into the desires she was experiencing, broached the subject of the time they would be spending together.

"Quinn, may I ask you for something?"

"Of course, Carla."

"Will you bind and spank me tonight?"

Quinn leaned back in his chair. He face was thoughtful as he studied Carla. "I was planning to already. I'm surprised that you would ask for this. You seemed to be ashamed by how it made you feel."

"I guess, in all honesty, I'm a little surprised myself. But, I have been experiencing desires for the helplessness and the pain all day. As much as I was embarrassed by the way I looked and reacted to it in the past, I can't deny that the thought of it arouses me, almost as much as the reality of it has been turning me on."

"You don't know how happy it makes me to hear you say that. It's always more enjoyable when the woman is open about her cravings. I think I can promise you a very enjoyable evening, though you may have to sleep on your stomach tonight."

"Fair enough."

The end of dinner came soon afterwards. Neither Quinn nor Carla had much patience, not once they both knew what was to happen that night. Once both were finished with their food, Quinn stood.

"Go to the study, Carla. Kneel on the cushion next to my desk."

"Yes, Quinn."

Carla found that a large cushion had been placed on the floor next to his desk. She knelt on it and waited for Quinn to join her. As time passed, she found that the waiting itself was driving her lust. Carla could not think of anything except the upcoming sex. The longer she was left with her thoughts, the more aroused she became. It did not take more than 15 minutes for her nipples to become hard and her pussy to liberally moisten. By the time she heard the door open behind her, she was breathing heavily and having trouble keeping her hands away from her breasts and cunt.

Quinn seemed to take his time approaching her. When he finally sat in his chair, Carla could not help but whisper, "Please."

"Drape yourself across my lap, Carla."

"Yes, sir."

Carla rose and laid herself across his lap, her ass raised high into the air. She felt one of his legs swing out and back, trapping her legs between the two of them. Her hands were grasped and a soft rope tied them together behind her back. Carla tugged at the ropes, finding her hands secured and helpless. She moaned at the restraint and wiggled in his lap. Quinn's right hand caressed her ass while his left hand used her bound wrists to steady Carla on his legs. The first slap against caught her by surprise, even though she knew it was going to come.

Carla yelped. This was followed by a moan as the heat spread through her body. More slaps came. Each was painful, yet Carla did not seem to notice the pain. She noticed the heat radiating from her ass to encompass her pussy, belly and tits. She could feel each blow force her pussy and clit against his pants leg. Carla soon fond herself on the verge of an orgasm and Quinn had not touched her pussy or breasts even once, at least not on purpose. Just before she came, Quinn stopped, leaving her hanging.

"No, not yet!" 

"Please, Quinn, I was almost there. More, give me more."

"Not yet Carla. I want your climax to blow your mind when it actually hits." He released her legs. "Now, stand up and go to my bedroom. I'll be right behind you."

Carla wasn't certain how she was able to stand. Her legs were weak from the incredibly high levels of arousal she was experiencing. As she walked, she could feel her pussy juice rubbing on her legs. As she passed through the dining room, she saw Bonita look up at her and smile. Carla turned a deep red and sped up, desperate to escape Bonita's sight.

In the room, Carla sat gingerly on the edge of the bed to wait for Quinn. He followed a few minutes later. He walked in front of Carla and looked down on her with a smile. His hands brushed her hair back from her face and stroked her cheek. Carla leaned into his hands before she realized what she was doing. He guided her to standing with light pressure on her chin and led her to the foot of the bed.

Quinn turned Carla to face away from the bed, spread her ankles and tied them to the feet of the bed with rope. When a blindfold was added, Carla's heart sped up even more than it was. She felt the ropes being removed from her wrists, only to be reattached without binding them. Then the ropes pulled up, and soon Carla found herself stretched upwards until she had no slack with which to lower her arms. The tension was perfectly balanced to leave all her weight on her feet, yet render her unable to move her hands at all. Only later would she see the small, yet solid, hooks in the ceiling that had been hidden by some sort of panel.

Carla was beginning to wonder just how this spanking was going to take place. With her ass towards the bed, she figured it would be hard to reach with Quinn's hands or a belt, or at least awkward. Carla felt his hands running over her body again. She tried to lean into Quinn's caresses, but found that she had very little ability to move. She could sway a bit back and forth, but that was it. Her arousal, which had eased off a little, was back in full force.

Carla gave herself over to the pleasure, moaning with desire as his hands roamed over her entire body, but only brushing her pussy for short instants of time, long enough to tease, but not long enough to satisfy. With her sight gone, she had no sense of time and did not realize that Quinn kept her body on its sexual edge for over half an hour. All Carla knew was that she could feel liquid (sweat or pussy juice, she wasn't sure which) running down her legs, there was a deep, aching emptiness in her cunt and her entire body seemed to be hot. Then his hands vanished from her body.

"Please, Quinn, don't leave me like this. I need more, please give me more."

While Carla pleaded for more from Quinn, he moved to his drawers and pulled out a wooden paddle. Carla had misjudged how hard it would be to reach her ass. Quinn had no trouble reaching it, especially not with the extra 18 inches of reach that the paddle gave him. The first impact against her ass caused Carla to scream. The blow was not all that hard, but the extended time that Quinn had spent caressing her body had left Carla's nerves hyper-sensitive. While the impacts merely reddened her ass cheeks, Carla felt as if fire had been spread over her.

Carla gasped and pulled against her bonds as each stroke of the paddle hit her ass, five seconds after the previous one. Carla did not realize it, but even as she screamed in pain at each blow, her ass arched back towards the incoming paddle in perfect timing with the strokes. It only took a few minutes before Carla's screams morphed from those of pain to those of increasing pleasure. Her nipples had long since become hard rocks on the tips of breasts that were flushed a deep red, straining to find some contact to revel in. Her pussy was fully engorged and reaching out for a cock, or anything, to take inside of itself and fuck.

When Quinn stopped, Carla began to sob.  "Quinn, no, please, I need to cum. Please make me cum."

Quinn said nothing, but pulled out a small whip, just six inches long. With a gentle twirling motion, he lashed the strands of the pussy whip against her left breast, right against the nipple. Carla jerked and cried out before she realized that there was not so much pain, but merely intense pleasure in her breast, much like when it was too sensitive. Carla let herself cry with the intense sensations as they drove her body even higher into arousal. When Quinn switched to her right breast, she could feel little tremors in her cunt as she neared orgasm. She hovered there, on the edge, but unable to cum, when Quinn stopped again.

Carla wailed at the loss and found herself begging incoherently for more, for the climax that was so near. She did not hear the twirling of the little whip start anew over her own vocalizations, so she was taken by surprise when her cunt received its first caresses at the strands of the device. Carla gave a high pitched keen as her pussy quivered under sensations that were too strong to be borne, yet whose absence was an even greater burden. Her hips thrust forward to their limit, pushing her pussy into the whirling device of pleasurable torture.

Her climax enveloped her when Quinn changed directions and brought the whip down instead of up, making contact directly with her clit. Carla tugged at her bonds with adrenaline boosted strength and wailed in ecstasy as her body shuddered in an orgasm. Quinn kept the whip moving against her pussy for many more seconds, prolonging her climax to over a minute in length.

When the climax stopped, Quinn stood back and admired the lovely woman in front of him. He did not look at Carla and see the "thicker than men like" hips nor the "forgettable face" that Carla knew she had. He saw a woman who had allowed herself be drawn into a tidal wave of pleasure and enjoyed the journey instead of fearing it. The woman bound before him was covered in a sheen of sweat and her own sexual juices. To Quinn, that was the loveliest sight that could be imagined. 

If he would allow himself to be honest, he would realize that he had fallen in love with his captive, not just because she was a good slave and a great fuck, but because of who she was. The force of her will had reached out and ensnared him. Her anger at being held prisoner, her dedication to uncovering the secrets that he had hidden away upstairs, the honesty she showed in admitting that she also enjoyed the bondage and the pain that he enjoyed, all of these had taken him captive in stronger bonds than he ever dreamed of tying her with.

Carla's head lifted and her breathing had returned to some semblance of normality. Quinn released her hands and let her lay back onto the bed. She winced slightly when her ass made contact with the bed. Quinn sat down beside her and lightly caressed her belly. He could see her legs tug at the bindings that still held them spread apart. She moaned under his touch.

"Carla?"

"Oh my God! That was incredible, Quinn. I'm not sure how much more I'm up to though."

"You'll do just fine. I haven't even fucked you yet."

"I know. I want you to. I want to be soundly fucked."

"I think I might be able to do that for you. It will be on my terms, though."

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way. Will you let my legs go?"

"I don't think so. I like having you helpless. I think you like being helpless as well."

Carla blushed at the accurate assessment on Quinn's part. She did enjoy the feeling of helplessness. In fact, her pussy was starting to lubricate again at Quinn's refusal to untie her legs. She extended her arms over her head, inviting Quinn to bind her again. His hand ran along one arm, watching her shiver with suppressed excitement.

"Please," she whispered.

Quinn rose and tied her hands together, tying the end of the rope off to the head of the bed. He went back to caressing Carla's body, taking her returning arousal and helping it along. Carla tugged at her bindings again, smiling when they did not come loose under her struggles. She closed her blindfolded eyes and let herself sink into the pleasure. For another half hour, Quinn played her body like Jimi Hendrix played his guitar.

"Quinn, please fuck me. I need to be fucked."

Instead of answering, Quinn knelt over her with his cock over her mouth. When he touched it to her lips, she opened and licked at him. Quinn thrust his cock between her lips. She closed on him and started sucking at the rigid thing filling her mouth. She could taste precum leaking out. Her moans mixed with his as he raced towards his own orgasm.

"Swallow everything!" he ordered as his cum poured out of his cock.

Carla felt the slimy liquid spurt into her mouth. She swallowed, by instinct, as her mouth filled with nowhere for the cum to go. Each swallow milked more cum from Quinn's cock. When he pulled out, spent, Carla gave a moaning sigh.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"I still haven't been fucked."

"I'm not finished yet."

With that, he climbed off the bed and knelt between her spread legs. His tongue licked at the plentiful fluids around her cunt. Carla groaned and tugged again. Her soreness in her limbs was soon forgotten as Quinn quickly brought her to the edge of orgasm and held her there. Soon, Carla was pleading to be allowed to cum. Quinn did not let her until his cock had recovered. Once her was hard again, he stood and plunged into her.

Carla screamed in pleasure as her cunt was finally filled. She had been on the edge for so long that she came as soon as he entered. Quinn did not stop then, however, but continued to fuck her. Carla was writhing under him as he propelled both to yet another climax. Another scream announced her next orgasm and the convulsions in her pussy sent Quinn over the edge as well.

Spent, he collapsed onto Carla. They both lay there for several minutes, recovering. Quinn rose and released Carla from her bonds. Carla did not rise right away, but merely moved her arms and legs to a relaxed position. When the soreness in her limbs had passed, she turned to Quinn and asked, "Quinn, may I sleep with you tonight?"

Quinn tensed up, his face frozen between emotions. He shook his head. "No. No, I don't think so."

Carla stared at him, shocked to find fear on his face. She wasn't sure just what had happened, but suspected that it was tied up with Melanie.

"I'd better go. Thanks for the great sex."

Carla walked to her room, deep in thought. "Why is Quinn so afraid of letting me sleep with him? Is there something that Melanie did not write about in her journal?" Nothing came to her, no ideas, not even a hint on how to figure it out. "It's so sad about Quinn and Melanie. They were two souls that were meant for each other, separated by the ultimate divide, that between life and death. "If only there was some way for them to reconnect, even if only for a few minutes, to say goodbye," she mused.

Carla took a bath and went to bed. The next couple of days passed quickly. Christmas was a lovely time. Bonita, Juan and Carlos gave Carla a case of spiral notebooks for her self appointed task of organizing the upstairs. Carla was never able to find a gift to give Quinn. Instead, she joined him that night and pleasured him the entire night while seeking no pleasure for herself. Carla's best present was a total surprise.

"Carla, these are for you." Quinn handed her a stack of envelopes.

Carla looked at them, confusion on her face. As she sorted through them, tears filled her eyes. Each was a Christmas card and a letter from one of her friends and family members. They had been mailed to a post office box on St. Croix. Stunned, she read through the shorter letters and inscriptions. They wished her well in her new life. Some expressed sorrow that she had chosen to leave them behind on such short notice, but every one wished her all the happiness in the world.




Island Slave Ch. 05



"Quinn," she started, her voice catching in her throat. Calming herself, she started again. "Quinn, this is the loveliest gift you could have given me. Leaving my family and friends has been the most painful part of being your captive. May I write to them regularly, with your approval, of course."

"Of course you may. I still want you to stay because that is what you want. I don't expect you to die to the outside world."

"Quinn, I'm..." Carla hesitated, not sure she wanted to admit it. It was true however, she was losing her desire to leave him, if any such desire still existed. "Quinn, I'm close to that now." She held up the cards. "These make it even easier to stay. Can you be a little more patient?"

"Of course I can. I want your choice to stay willingly to be well considered."

"Quinn," she asked with a frown, "what if I never choose to stay willingly. Will you keep me prisoner forever?"

Quinn frowned back at her. He had never truly believed that he could fail to convince her to stay. He had never been able to explain to himself why he was so sure, but he was. "I don't know, Carla. From the first that I saw you I knew that you were the one for me. I've never had any doubt that you would choose to stay in the long run."

"I wish I could be as certain of anything in my life. I don't want to risk spoiling the holiday. We can talk about this some other time. I still need to know just who the man who wants me so much really is. You're a mystery, Quinn. I can't commit myself to a mystery."

"That's why I haven't tried to stop you," he replied, pain evident in his voice.

The end of the year passed unremarkably. By Jan. 2, Carla was back at her book sorting. Once again, she was aware of the presence of sadness that seemed to hang in the air itself. She also found her attention returning to Melanie's diary again and again.

Partway through the afternoon, holding the diary yet again, Carla found tears coming to her eyes. "Melanie, if only there was some way for me to bring an end to your pain." Carla wasn't sure why she was speaking out loud. She just felt the need to express herself.

Then the breeze returned, carrying with it the whisper, "Help."

Without thinking, Carla asked, "How?"

As if in response, one of the unopened boxes behind her popped open. Carla spun around, seeing the lid unsealed and open. Fear gripped her heart as she took in the sight. The tape that had been sealing the box was ripped, as if someone had run their fingernail along it. Standing unsteadily, Carla walked to the box and pulled the flaps back. Sitting on the top of the books was a book titled Ghost. She recognized the pictures of Patrick Swaizy and Whoopi Goldberg on the cover.

"It's the movie novelization." Carla looked around; trying to see who else could be in the room with her. She was desperate to find some other explanation than the one that seemed obvious. "There's no such thing as ghosts," she told herself. 

She found that increasingly difficult to believe, especially when another gust blew the paperback's cover open. When the lid of the box fell on the open book, stopping the flipping of the pages, Carla's hand reached out and picked the book up. In the story, Sam Wheat was dancing with Molly Jensen by inhabiting the body of Oda Mae Brown.

Carla dropped the book and backed away, shaking her head. "No, I can't. You're not real." She turned around and gave a small scream when she saw the woman from the painting reflected behind her, arms stretched out, mouth pleading silently. Carla spun back around, seeing no one there. She backed away, hands at her mouth, whispering, "No! no!" repeatedly. When she reached the doorway, she turned and ran down to her room, shutting the door and throwing herself on the bed.

Carla's breath was coming in gasps and her heart was beating wildly. She realized that she was terrified. She struggled to calm herself, glad that no one had seen her bolt to her room. She gripped the edge of her bed in an attempt to stop the shaking of her hands. "I'm imagining things, that's all. There's no such thing as ghosts. I'm simply too caught up in Melanie and Quinn. I need to get a grip on myself."

"Please," came the whisper on the wind.

Carla's breath caught in her throat. "Who are you?"

"Melanie."

"No, please, it can't be. You're dead."

"Yes."

It seemed that all the sadness of the world was poured into that one word. Carla broke into tears, seemingly burdened by the grief of a life cut too short too soon, unable to make peace with those that mattered. She felt an aching need deep in her soul, yet knew it wasn't her need, but that of the unearthly visitor near her. Carla could not deny the reality of the being that was in her room with her.

"What do you want?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"Forgiveness."

"Oh, Melanie, he would have forgiven you, I just know it. Isn't that enough?"

The response was full of despair and heartache, pain at not being understood. "No."

"I can't do this right now, Melanie. It's too soon. I'm not even sure I believe what's happening."

"Come." The request was accompanied by a breeze that blew towards the bathroom.

Carla walked to the bathroom, her heart stuck in her throat. It was not a surprise to find Melanie's image in the mirror with her own. The spirit was reaching towards the surface of the mirror with her finger, making writing motions. Carla nodded her head and turned the hot water on, letting it steam the mirror. Before her eyes, symbols appeared in the condensation. It took several seconds before Carla realized that they were letters being written backwards and from right to left. Slowly, she made out what was written on the mirror.

"I need to forgive Quinn. Help me end his pain."

Carla stumbled back against the wall, her mouth hanging open. The image of Melanie, visible through the letters, was reaching out imploringly, begging for Carla's help. Carla started to cry again.

"I can't, not now. It's too soon for me. Forgive me, I just can't do it."

Carla fled the bathroom, throwing herself on the bed where she sobbed for almost an hour. It was only the realization that dinner was soon to start that brought her to her senses. Washing her face, trying to ignore the image in the mirror, Carla joined Quinn in the dining room for dinner. Quinn thought it strange that Carla did not talk during the meal. That night, Carla dreamed.

Melanie was bound to the cross in the basement. Pain flowed through her back, little prickles of agony as sweat rolled into the welts that covered her from neck to feet. She looked back over her shoulder and saw Quinn holding a cat-o-nine-tails.

"More?" Quinn asked.

Melanie nodded. The whip lashed out, raising another welt on Melanie's back. Her scream filled the air. Again and again, the whip landed and Melanie screamed in pain. When she was a sobbing wreck, unable to utter a coherent word, Quinn dropped the whip and fucked her with a brutality that matched the whipping. Only then did he release her and carry her upstairs to her bed.

Quinn left her lying there. Carla moved closer. She could see Melanie crying as she groaned in pain. Clearly she regretted what had happened. Carla could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. Shortly, Melanie passed out.

Time jumped forward. Melanie woke and rose painfully to her feet. She was shaking her head, muttering softly, "I can't take it anymore. It's too much, I have to leave." She dressed and, sneaking through the house, left the mansion. Carla tried to follow, but found herself unable to. Instead, she was drawn to Quinn's bedroom where he was sleeping, oblivious to his loss. Carla felt a deep loss, pain the reached deep into her soul.

Time jumped forward again. Quinn woke. He dressed and walked to Melanie's room. When he saw the empty bed, he staggered back. Quickly, he searched the house and the grounds, looking for the woman he loved. When his search was fruitless, he broke down and sobbed from deep in his heart. As he cried, he whispered to himself, "Why? Why was I so cruel? I drove her away. I should have been gentler."

Carla woke from her dream with a start. "That's not what happened!" Carla whispered. "Quinn wasn't even here when she left. She left out of guilt for letting Leoni fuck her. She liked the harshness. What is going on?"

The breeze was there again. Carla knew it was the spirit of Melanie. Her heart clenched as she rose and walked to the bathroom. As she expected, Melanie was there, reflected in the mirror. Sadness filled her face as she shook her head and reached her hand out.

"Is this what Quinn believes?"

The ghost nodded.

"But, you liked the harshness, the cruelty. My God! You asked to be tortured all day for your birthday."

The ghost nodded again.

"He doesn't understand. He blames himself. You have to tell him! You have to let him know the truth. I can give him your journal."

The spirit shook her head in sadness.

"Why? You tell everything in it. He needs to know."

Melanie hung her head, clearly frustrated with her inability to communicate clearly. Carla did not know what caused the limitation, but apparently she could not talk much, and even then, only in single words. Carla turned the hot water on again, filling the mirror with condensation. She watched as the letters, written backwards, appeared from right to left.

"I need to forgive him, be forgiven. I can't leave until then. The journal will break him."

The mirror was full, but Carla hesitated to wipe it down and refog it. She knew what was coming. Melanie wanted to use her to talk to Quinn. The thought of letting herself be possessed struck terror into Carla. She had visions of being a prisoner in her own body, helpless to stop Melanie from seeking out the severe levels of pain that she desired.

Carla backed out of the bathroom, unwilling to communicate with Melanie any further. As she sat on the edge of her bed, she was overcome by sadness. She finally understood Quinn's pain. He truly believed that he had driven Melanie away. It's doubtful that he ever read the journal, or at least not the last few entries. How could she let Quinn know the truth when he was unwilling to allow the subject of Melanie to be brought up? Crying softly, Carla fell asleep again, not waking until morning.

Over the next week, Carla finished her inventory of the books in the boxes. She found that the end of her project was mildly depressing. Melanie's ghost had not bothered her since the dreams, yet Carla found she was still haunted by her knowledge of just why Quinn was so sad. She felt a deep need to bring that pain to an end. She just did not know how.

The two were still having sex regularly; every two to three days. Quinn did not tie her up or inflict any pain every time. In fact, most of their love making was gentle, yet passionate. Carla had come to the conclusion that she was no longer a prisoner. She had, for months now, access to clothes that would have allowed her to leave whenever she wished. She did not wish to leave. As she contemplated the reason, she could only come to one conclusion. Carla loved Quinn. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. She knew, however, that until Quinn dealt with his pain over Melanie, there was little chance for true happiness between them.

On Jan. 10, while they were eating dinner, Quinn announced, "Carla, I will be flying into St. Croix tomorrow. Is there anything you need me to bring back?"

Carla thought for a moment. "I can't think of anything. Would you put some letters in the mail? I would like to write some to of my family and friends."

Quinn nodded his head. "Sure. Just leave them on my desk and I will look them over and take them with me."

"Thank you, Quinn. How long will you be gone?"

"It should be three days. I'm picking up some supplies and making a few business arrangements."

"I'll see you when you come back."

Carla wrote several short letters. She didn't include anything earthshaking in any of them. They were simply the letters one writes to keep in touch with loved ones. She left them on his desk in the study and went to bed. In the morning, she had an idea. Once she was sure that Quinn had left, she ran upstairs and dressed for the first time in months. She chose a practical outfit from the woman's clothing that she had unpacked and put into the closets and dressers.

When she walked back downstairs, Bonita looked at her in shock. "Miss Carla! What are you doing? You can't go. It will break Master Quinn's heart."

"It's okay, Bonita. I'm not leaving. I just want to visit the village and talk with Maria. I'll be back tonight or tomorrow morning, I promise."

Carla could see tears in Bonita's eyes. The elderly woman walked up and grasped Carla's arms with an intensity that surprised her. "Please, do not hurt him. It will destroy him."

"I don't want to hurt him. I need to understand what has happened in the past. Tell me, Bonita, have you ever encountered a ghost in the mansion?"

Horror filled Bonita's face. "Ghost? I...I...I'm not sure what you mean."

Carla could see the recognition in Bonita's face as she denied the ghost's existence. "You've been upstairs before, haven't you?"

"Please Miss Carla, don't interfere. The ghost, it is evil. It will destroy Master Quinn."

"I don't think so, Bonita. I don't know much about ghosts, but this one wants to heal Quinn of his pain. She can't. I don't know why just yet. Tell me why do you think the ghost is evil?"

"All ghosts are evil. That is what the church teaches."

Carla wasn't sure about church teachings, but realized that Bonita would be of no help. It was likely that all of the staff believed as she did. Resolved, Carla left the mansion and started the long trek to the village. She had worn a solid pair of boots to deal with the rocks and thorns that seemed to be abundant in the area between the village and the mansion. All the cleaning and sorting had left Carla in better shape than she had been when she arrived. The walk, however, was still strenuous.

By the time she could see the village, her legs were sore and she could feel a blister starting to form on her heels, the result of the shoes that were available being a half size too large.

"I should have prepared better," she thought to herself, her mouth feeling parched. "A water bottle of some sort would have been a good idea. Seven hours without a drink? Stupid!"

One of the children saw her first. He pointed and started speaking rapidly in Spanish. A woman responded to the excited cries by joining the child. Carla recognized Maria, the woman she had chatted with when she had first arrived so many months ago. Carla smiled and walked closer.

"Carla? Carla Baxter?"

"Yes, it's me, Maria. How have you been?"

"I've been good. Did you walk all the way from the mansion?"

"Yes, I did."

"Come! Sit down. You must be exhausted."

"And very thirsty!"

Maria led her into the small village center. Several women were moving about doing chores of one sort or another. One older woman looked up as Carla sat and screamed. She began chattering in rapid fire Spanish, too fast for Carla to make out plainly, but she could tell that Carla had reminded her of someone, someone that shocked her. Once her thirst was slaked, Carla looked up at Maria.

"Why did that woman scream? I think I reminded her of someone."

Maria introduced the woman. "Carla, this is Rhiannon, my mother."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Rhiannon. How did you come to have a Celtic name?"

Rhiannon rolled her eyes and laughed a little. "My mother always said she named me after a goddess. I think she simply loved the name."

"I see. It is a beautiful name, just surprising to find here. May I ask, why did you scream?"

"You are wearing her clothes."

"Do you mean Melanie's?"

"Yes, her name was Melanie, and she was the love of Mr. Sanchez's life."

"I know. I've found out some things about her. I know she left him. Can you tell me anything about her?"

Rhiannon looked nervous at the request. "I'm not sure I should. She broke his heart. It's best if she is left as dead."

"I don't think that can happen. I need to know more. I want to ease Quinn's pain."

"The pain of betrayal can never be healed, only lessened with the passage of time."

"How do you know that Quinn's pain is that of one betrayed? Couldn't it be caused by something else? Guilt, for example?"

Rhiannon looked around. Carla looked as well and saw that every person in the village was listening in on the conversation. The older woman took Carla's hand. "Come. We should talk in private." Looking at the others, she said, in a voice the brooked no argument, "I'm sure that the rest of you have chores that need doing. Go on!"

Rhiannon led Carla to one of the dwellings. Inside, she offered Carla a chair. Rhiannon herself sat in a rocking chair and fixed her gaze on Carla.

"What makes you think that Quinn feels any guilt? She left him, not the other way around."

"I have reason to believe that Quinn has misunderstood the reason for her leaving."

"Why did she leave? How do you know?"

"She left because she felt she had cheated on him and could not be forgiven. I read her personal journal. The details aren't important, but she ended up having sex with someone else. She was convinced that what she had dome could not be forgiven."

"That is betrayal, the source of Quinn's pain."

"He doesn't know that. He thinks he pushed her away, at least, I think that's what he believes."

"Quinn does not talk to anyone about her. How would you know what he thinks?"

Carla took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to broach the subject that might label her as crazy. "What do you believe about ghosts?"

Rhiannon stopped rocking. She stared at Carla for over a minute, trying to pry into her soul. "Have you seen a ghost?"

Carla nodded her head silently. She found she was holding her breath.

"Ghosts are spirits of the dead who cannot cross over for some reason. The reasons vary, but the most common one is unfinished business. Have you encountered her spirit?"

"Yes."

"Has she tried to do anything to you?"

"No, just communicate. It's not easy. She is only visible in a mirror and can only make single words heard. She can write in the mirror, though."

"You must understand. If she is trapped because of unfinished business here on earth, she will feel the need to finish that business. Ghosts are not evil, per se, but they can be callous. Why does she make herself visible to you and not him?"

"I don't know. Quinn may not want to see her. I didn't see her until I had read her journal. I felt sad for her."

"What does she want to do?"

"She wants to forgive him, to ask for forgiveness, to let him know that it wasn't his fault."

"If Quinn can't see or hear her himself, there is only one way for her to do that."

"Possess my body?"

"Yes," she answered, nodding. Her face was concerned. "There is danger involved. She can't enter you against your will, but once she is inside you, you will not be able to control what she does, including when she leaves you, if ever."

Carla brought her hands to her face. She shook her head over and over. "I can't do it, I can't."

Rhiannon rose and took Carla's hands in her own. "You don't have to. From what you've said, however, Quinn and Melanie will know no peace until someone allows her to talk with Quinn one last time. If it helps, I can tell you that Melanie Thiesman was one of the kindest and gentlest souls I have ever met. She nearly died helping us fight an epidemic. I was one of the ones she saved."

"I know about that. She wrote about it."

"Ghosts are simply the spirits of the dead, trapped here. They are as capable of good and evil as the living are. The basic nature of a person is not changed by death. I do not believe that Melanie would take your body for any longer than she needed to."




Island Slave Ch. 05



Carla was in tears, the fear and love clashing in her heart. In her soul, she was sure that Rhiannon was correct, yet the terror of losing herself forever was no less strong. "What do I do?" she sobbed.

"I can't tell you that. Tell me, do you love him?"

"Oh God, yes! I love him with all my heart."

"How about Melanie, how do you feel about her?"

Carla thought for a minute. As she did, she realized that the sadness she had felt all the times she was upstairs was sadness for Melanie as much as it was for Quinn. "She feels like a sister to me."

"I think you have your answer. Love is stronger than fear, after all."

Carla found that as the decision solidified in her mind, the fear eased. It came to her that she would not be able to live with herself if she did not take this chance. Wiping away her tears, Carla nodded her head. "You're right. I think I've known from the first she asked that I would allow her to. I just needed someone to help me see that. I will return and let Melanie know."

"But, not tonight. The walk is long and you must be tired and hungry. You will stay with us for the night and return in the morning. I assume Quinn was on the plane that left this morning?"

"Yes, he will be gone for at least three days. I have time. Thank you for your help, Rhiannon. Tell me, have you ever heard the story of Rhiannon?"

"She is a real goddess?"

"Rhiannon was a Celtic Goddess. I think you will appreciate her story."

Carla, who had taken a mythology class in college, shared the story of the Celtic Goddess who had married a mortal only to suffer an unjust punishment for a crime, infanticide, she had not committed. Rhiannon was intrigued by her namesake's courage and poise in the face of false accusations and by the ready forgiveness she extended when she was eventually cleared of the crime and reunited with her husband.

The next day, Carla returned to the mansion. While the trip back was as long and as tiring as the trip out had been, she was better prepared, with food and water to consume along the way. She was mildly surprised to find that her first thought upon seeing the mansion was, "Home!"

"I guess I am where I belong," she muttered to herself.

"Miss Carla," Bonita called as Carla walked up. "I'm so glad you came back."

"Of course I came back, Bonita. I've come to think of here as home."

"Why did you leave at all?"

"I needed to learn more about Melanie." Carla left out the part about the ghost. She did not feel like arguing about what ghosts were and were not.

"Miss Carla, you can't bring her up with Master Quinn."

"Bonita, his pain will not go away by ignoring it and her. Yes, I know they were in love and that she left him. Unlike Quinn and yourself, I know why she left. Quinn needs to know that as well."

"You will hurt him!"

"Perhaps, but, he is already hurting. His pain is like a splinter that has been left to fester. Yes, removing it will hurt more, but it will be a pain that will end, not one that will hurt for all time." Carla grasped Bonita's arms. "Trust me, Bonita. I love Quinn and want what's best for him. And I promise you, I will not leave him. Now, I think I'm over dressed. I am supposed to be naked."

They two women shared a smile as Carla stripped off the clothes she had borrowed so that Bonita could wash them. Once Bonita had left, Carla ventured upstairs again. In the book room, she turned to the mirror and called out softly, "Melanie."

The ghost appeared in the mirror, sadness etched on her face.

"Melanie, if I let you talk to Quinn, will you promise to give me my body back?"

The increasingly familiar breeze swept past her head, carrying the whispered, "Yes," on it. As it did, the ghost lifted its head and smiled, reaching her hand out.

Carla shook her head. "Not right now. Quinn will be gone for another day. Once he is here, I'll have to prepare him. I want him to know that you will be inside me before it happens."

The image nodded. Her finger reached out to try to write on the mirror. Carla walked up and breathed onto the mirror, creating a small patch of fog. The ghost wrote in its usual backward writing, "Who are you?"

"Do you want to know about me?"

Melanie nodded again. Carla sat on the floor and gave Melanie an account of her life. Carla shared everything with the spirit; her past, her hopes and dreams, her fears and insecurities, her growing love for Quinn. Through it all, Carla found that she was coming to love this spirit, this woman who loved Quinn with a love that was as strong as Carla's.

At the end, she looked at the mirror, into the eyes of the ghost. "Melanie, I'm so sorry that you felt you had you leave him. He loved you, still loves you, very much. He would have forgiven you, if you had just let him know."

The spirit nodded its head with sadness. The whisper came, "Doubted."

"You doubted him?" When Melanie shook her head, Carla nodded her head sadly as well. "You doubted yourself, your own love." 

Melanie nodded her head. Tears filled the ghost's eyes, matched by the tears filling Carla's. Carla reached out to touch the mirror. As her hand made contact with the glass, she could feel the essence of Melanie's hand and hear the sobs from the other side. Carla left her hand there, crying with her new friend, as the grief poured out for the first time in ages. For an hour, the two women, one flesh, the other spirit, shared the grief that had been held in for far too long.

When the tears stopped, Carla spoke again. "I wish you could talk with me. I want to know so much about you. Why were you so fascinated by being Quinn's slave and being treated so harshly? Did you find what you were looking for after you left?"

She saw Melanie reach for the mirror again, making writing motions. Carla breathed more fog onto the mirror and saw the word, "Humidifier," being spelled out.

"Of course, there's a humidifier in my room. I'll meet you there."

Carla ran down to her room and dragged the humidifier from her closet. It was a hot steamer, used to help clear lungs during an illness. Carla had no idea if such a thing actually worked, being a fan of a menthol vapor rub, herself. She dragged a chair into the bathroom and set the humidifier up to vent directly onto the mirror. Melanie was already there as the steam fogged the mirror. The ghost started writing. Each word fogged back over after a couple of minutes.

With that, Melanie and Carla were able to communicate. Melanie wrote of her love and her submissiveness. She wrote about the fulfillment she felt when she put herself into the hands of another, to be totally controlled. She spoke of subspace and the pleasure she received from pain itself. She wrote of the loneliness that was always a part of her after she left Quinn and the quest for ever increasing harshness and domination to try to drive it from her. She told Carla about Master Greg and his care for her, even when she could not return his love. She tried to explain about the agony and ecstasy that came from being branded (Carla shuddered with fear at that).

Carla slept soundly that night. The next morning, she met Melanie at the mirror after her bath. With the humidifier running, they talked more, telling each other of the things that brought them joy in their lives. It seemed that a love of reading was one of those things that attracted Quinn to both of them. They had their differences. Melanie was much like Carla's friend Sherry, able to enjoy sex as a purely physical pleasure. While plants flourished under Melanie's care, Carla had a brown thumb, capable of killing even the hardiest of plants if she attempted to care for them. Carla stayed there, talking with the spirit until her stomach reminded her that she had skipped breakfast and lunch was due.

"Miss Carla, are you all right? You've been in your room all morning," Bonita asked when Carla showed up for lunch.

"I'm fine, Bonita. I was just catching up on some reading." Carla smiled at her inside joke as the reading she was catching up on had been written before her eyes.

It was during lunch that Quinn returned. When he walked in, Carla leapt up and ran to him.

"Quinn! I'm so glad you're back."

"I'm happy to be back. I'm especially glad at your reaction. I take it I'm not the enemy any more?"

Carla shook her head with a smile. "No, you're not. I have something important to show you after lunch. Come on, have a seat and eat."

Quinn sat at the table and tried to pry Carla's secret from her. Carla would not say a thing. She simply smiled nervously. As the moment of truth (as she was coming to think of it) approached, she became increasingly anxious about how Quinn would react. Would he even believe that her ghost was real? Would he want to talk with her? Would he be angry and hurt? Carla knew that there was a lot of pain trapped inside the man she had come to love. Could it be safely released?

"Well, lunch is over, Carla. What is the big surprise?"

"I'll meet you in your room. I have to prepare it. I shouldn't be more than a couple of minutes."

"Okay, my little slave. I'll play along." Quinn rose and walked to his room.

Carla ran to her room, going straight to the bathroom mirror. Melanie was waiting for her.

"Are you ready, Melanie?" The spirit nodded, but looked afraid. "I know it's frightening. You can do this. We need to do this. You won't be alone. Meet me at the full length mirror in Quinn's room. Become visible when I tell you to." The spirit nodded again and faded from view.

Carla walked to Quinn's room, finding him sitting on the edge of his bed. Carla could feel the palms of her hands sweating and there was a lump forming in her throat. She cleared her throat as Quinn looked at her expectantly.

"Quinn, I know that you have been holding in a great pain." When he started to protest, she held up her hand to stop him. "Hear me out, please. I want to help you with that pain. I want to because...I love you Quinn, with all my heart. I would do anything for you."

"Carla, I don't know if I can return your love. I lost my heart years ago."

"I know. Melanie left you and it tore your heart out. I think you do love me, Quinn, even if you can't see it yourself." Carla held her hand out to him, pulling him to his feet. "There is someone you need to meet." Carla pulled him until they were both standing in front of the mirror. "You can come out now," she said to the mirror.

The confusion on Quinn's face vanished, to be replaced by anguish, as Melanie made herself visible to both of them. He staggered back, his hands raised protectively, until he backed into the bed and sat on it hard. His head was shaking as he muttered, "No, it can't be. She's dead, I know she is."

Carla knelt before him. "I know she is, Quinn. I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am that she is and how sad her death made me when I read about it. However, her spirit stayed behind because she needs to talk to you one last time."

"Why, why did she wait so long?"

"You weren't ready. She needs a willing subject to inhabit, someone who loves you as much as she does and is willing to risk everything for you. I am willing to let her use me if you want to talk with her."

Quinn collapsed into Carla's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Over her shoulder, Carla could see Melanie crying as well. Carla held Quinn until the tears had slowed. Then she took his hand and helped him to his feet again. She led Quinn to the mirror where Melanie waited. Carla reached out and touched the mirror.

"Go ahead, Melanie. You have my permission."

Carla felt a small shock on her hand. Then she felt something moving through her body, something not quite there, yet all encompassing. Her vision seemed to waver and distort until her point of view changed. She seemed to be looking at her body instead of from it. Her sense of touch seemed to be fading as well. When the movement stopped, Carla looked at the two people in the room. Quinn was standing, holding the woman's hand gingerly, as if afraid to break it. The woman was Carla, yet it wasn't. Carla could see a second person overlaid on her body, she could see Melanie there. It was then that Carla realized that she was now the image in the mirror and Melanie was in her body. She smiled as the two started to react to one another.

"Master," Melanie whispered, "I am so sorry that I left you. I never meant to hurt you."

"Melanie, is it really you? Can it be true?" The fear in his voice was palpable, fear that he was dreaming and that he would wake with the pain of losing her once again fresh.

"Yes, my love, it is truly me. I've waited so long for someone who could love you as much as I do, someone who would allow me these few minutes."

Tears sprung to his eyes again. "Oh God! Melanie, I'm so sorry I drove you away. I misunderstood what you wanted..."

Melanie put her fingers to his lips. "No. That's not why I left. You gave me everything I could ask for. It is I who should beg for forgiveness. I betrayed you, not on purpose, but never the less I did." At his confused look, she explained. "The artist, I paid him with poses for him to paint for himself. He took me Master, I let him bind me and then he took me as if I were his slave. I betrayed you."

"No!" Quinn took her tightly by the arms. "Did you agree to let him fuck you?" When she shook her head, he went on. "Then you didn't betray me, he raped you. Why didn't you tell me? I would have dealt with him."

"I was so ashamed, Master. I thought it was my fault. I believed that I had given myself to another and I wanted you to claim me again. That's why I begged you to brand me."

"I didn't know. If only I had known."

The two collapsed into each other's arms, sobbing with grief. Carla could see the pain that filled both easing. Two lost souls had found one another. The couple stood there, seeking comfort in each other's embrace, for nearly half an hour. They pulled back from one another.

"I wish we could share more," Quinn sighed.

"I can't stay, Master. This is Carla's body. It would not be right for me to use it like that." 

She had gestured towards the mirror as she spoke. In the mirror, Carla nodded and mouthed something. Melanie broke free of Quinn and moved close enough to the mirror to breath on it. Carla saw a fog appear in front of her and smiled, both at the fog and at Quinn's approach. She used her finger to write in the fog. "Go ahead, one last time."

Melanie gasped. "Are you sure, Carla? This is your body."

Carla wrote in the new fog that Melanie created. "Yes, let him have you as he did."

Tears came to both their eyes. "Carla, I can't tell you how much this means to me. Are you really sure? You know how much you will be hurting afterwards."

Carla nodded, raising her finger to write again. When a new fog had been breathed out, she wrote, "May I watch?"

Quinn answered. "Of course you may. Thank you for this incalculable gift you have given us. I'll move the mirror into the basement room." Quinn was surprised to find Carla smiling and nodding. "You found my little dungeon?" Carla nodded again. Quinn simply shook his head in wonder.

In short order the mirror was in the dungeon. Melanie dragged Quinn out of the room right after they had set it up.

"Quinn," she started. Quinn looked at her in surprise. She had never called him by name, not since she had agreed to be his slave. "Do you love Carla?"

"Yes I think I do, my dear. Are you jealous?"

Melanie laughed. "I'm dead, for heaven's sake! I can't be jealous. All these years, seeing you in pain, lonely and unable to move on has been so painful.  I have wanted you to love another for over a decade. Don't let her go, Quinn. Talk with her. Communicate with her better than we did. If we had only told each other what we were really feeling. Don't let that happen."

"I won't. I've missed you so much. I'll miss you when you go again."

"I know you will. This time, we will have said good bye properly. I'll wait for both of you on the other side, whenever it is."

"You won't be hurt if I don't rush."

"I'll be hurt if you do rush," she answered with a playful slap.

"Oh ho, the little slave has become uppity. I think you need to be punished."

"You're right Master, I do. What do you intend to do?"

"Come with me."

Quinn dragged Melanie/Carla into the dungeon, shutting the thick door behind them. He pulled her to the whipping post and bound her hands above her head. She looked over her shoulder to see Quinn retrieving a cat and Carla watching from her vantage point in the mirror. Carla gave a thumbs up signal and Melanie turned away again. 

When the first stroke hit her, she gave a small cry. More strokes followed as Quinn laid the lashes of the cat across her legs, ass and back. Shortly, Melanie was crying in pain, writhing under the kiss of the lashes. Stripes appeared with each stroke, deep red in color. In the mirror, Carla winced at each one, knowing she would be sore for days, yet admiring the way that Quinn delivered such harsh strokes with obvious love.

Quinn stopped and felt Melanie's cunt, finding it wet with her juices and sweat. He inserted the handle of the whip into her and fucked her with it. Soon Melanie was thrusting back against the handle, moaning with desire. Just before she came, Quinn stopped, leaving her hanging at the post, begging for release. Instead, Quinn picked up a paddle and started to spank Melanie on the ass. Each blow brought a cry of pain, mixed with a moan of need. Soon, her ass was a solid mass of red and Melanie/Carla's body, was sobbing in pain and unrealized desire.

Carla saw her head turn to look back and there it was. The vision of the painting was staring right at her. The battered body with the turned head that radiated pain, desire and love simultaneously. Unlike with the painting, the vision did not frighten her. Carla understood that, for Melanie and Quinn, this was fulfillment. This was the expression of how much they loved one another. She knew it would be different for Quinn and herself, but that was all right.

Quinn had dropped the paddle and his pants. His hard cock was pressed against Melanie's ass as he leaned against her. Melanie begged for Quinn to fuck her, to take her brutally and without mercy. After nearly a minute of such pleading, Quinn thrust himself into her, forcing a mixed cry of pain and ecstasy from her throat. He thrust against her repeatedly, and in spite of her cries of pain, Melanie thrust herself back, forcing him as deep as was possible into her. They came together, her cunt milking his cock, both screaming their pleasure to fill the sound proof room.

As they hung there, the orgasms fading, Melanie looked back at her Master. "I have to go, Master. Take good care of Carla. I love her..."

Melanie's declaration of love for Carla went unfinished, or at least Carla did not hear it. She felt a tugging and then found herself racing towards her body. Suddenly, she hurt. Her back, ass and legs were on fire and her arms were aching

"Oh my God! It hurts, Quinn, it really hurts."

"I know. Let me take you down. I have some ointment for the pain, if it's still good."

Wincing as she hobbled over to the bench to lie down, Carla remarked, "I don't think I will ever be able to deal with receiving this kind of treatment myself."

"I know. I would never want to inflict this on someone who did not want it."

"Quinn, I want to stay, to be with you forever."

"I want that as well. I love you Carla Baxter. I love you as much as I loved Melanie."

As Quinn and Carla kissed, Melanie Thiesman, invisible to the two of them, smiled and let her spirit respond to the call that had been tugging at her for the last few minutes. A light that only she could see opened up and she floated towards it, joyous and complete, knowing that the man she loved, and the woman she had come to love, would be happy together, the pain finally gone.




Island Slave Ch. 05



The End

Thanks again to D. for a wonderful editing job. I hope everyone enjoyed this story. I value your comments, it's how I improve my writing.