“Rapture Island”

by  Dominique Darcelle DuBois

Book III of “The Captive Bride” Series©

Copyright 2/2013 by Dominique D. DuBois

Cover Copyright 2/2013 by Dominique D. DuBois

Cover Photo Rights Licensed Thru:  Shutterstock.com

BDSM writing is NOT for everyone.  Please be sure this type of material will not offend you BEFORE you begin.  Also, please read the following warning:

~The erotic tales by Dominique D. DuBois, are unilaterally restricted to only depicting sexual acts occurring between adults (those 18 years of age or older).  Additionally, they are expressly intended for a mature and legal audience.  These stories are not approved to be purchased or read by minors (those under 18 years of age).  If you are not at least 18, please stop reading HERE and return this book to Amazon immediately for a full refund.  By continuing to read this story, you are hereby acknowledging that you are at least 18 years of age or older, and the author, publisher, and Amazon, all therefore bear no responsibility if this official requirement is knowingly and willfully violated.~

The books in these series contain numerous examples of uninhibited erotica.  As such, they may include graphic descriptions of bondage, discipline, acts that some may see as having a mild theme of “rape”, and other related “adult” scenarios.  Please do not purchase or read this book if you have any qualms whatsoever regarding ANY and ALL of the aforementioned scenarios.  Additionally, if you find explicit erotica offensive, THEN THESE BOOKS ARE NOT FOR YOU (so please refrain from purchasing).

If you have any additional concerns regarding what lies within this book, please scroll to the cautionary information posted AT THE END.  Thank you.

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*The books (and series) by Dominique D. DuBois are all original works of fiction, and Dominique Darcelle DuBois holds the full copyright for this entire piece (which includes the cover compilation, the “Instructive Discussion”, the “Cautionary Warning”, and any notes, prologues or epilogues written by the author).  No portion of any of this work may be reproduced in any manner, without the express written permission of the author, herself.  This includes excerpting portions of the cautionary warnings/forewords and cutting and pasting them into any other works.  You may not reprint this book, in whole or in part, and this book is non-transferrable to a second party.

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“The Captive Bride” Series

Book I:  ‘The Bride Wore White’

Book II:  ‘Taken Captive’

Book III:  ‘Rapture Island’

Book IV:  ‘Scorching Seas’ (coming soon)

(A Full List of D.D. DuBois Books Follows This Book/Selection)

Rapture Island

Victor took a moment to just stand there and stare at me, his glorious, naked body distracting me still.  Then finally, he spoke.  “This here today was not about teaching you all those things from before; enforcing my will on you like I wanted to when you were a wide-eyed child who knew nothing about sex.  This wasn’t about dominating you, subjugating you, or bending you to my will, either, or else the bonds would not have still been necessary.”

“Well, then, what was this about?” I asked, practically brought to tears for reasons I could still not even begin to explain.

“This?  This was simply about showing you my ownership; proving to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that you belong to me now, and you always will.  It was also about showing you that after all this time, I still know your body better than you know it yourself, and that I, and I alone can bring you pleasure.  You escaped from me once before, but you never will again, because by the time I’m done with you, by the time you’ve finished each and every one of your ‘lessons’ on my own little private island; you’ll never want to escape from me ever again.  You’ll be proud to call me your Master, be proud to belong to me, be proud to turn every aspect of your life and your sexual being over to me without question.

“And finally, this was about showing you that no matter what you do, no matter what you say; I can and will be inside you, fucking you, licking you, taking you, and ravaging your body whenever and however I want – and you do not ever have the right to tell me ‘no’.  Not because you can’t turn away some man whom you sincerely do not want to be with, but because beyond and beneath all your bullshit; the only man you have ever wanted to be with was me.  And from this day forward, you will never ever leave me, and you will never turn me away ever again.  Am I clear?”

At that, I did my best to spit in his face.  It landed on his chest, but he merely wiped it off with a finger and then licked it clean with his tongue.  Because he knew the truth already; knew it all.  That I still craved him more than I craved air or water, or even food, and that there would never come a time that I no longer did.  He did own me, all of me, and that was the shame that drowned me.

“Well then,” he said, “I guess it’s on to the next stage of the game.”

“What game?” I asked, frightened, curious, unsure.

“Our game on Rapture Island,” he finally replied.  “A little deserted island I own off the coast of Florida.  A place where I can take you, and use you, and pillage your body without interruption.  Where I can teach you how to be a proper slave, and in the process, make you mine for all eternity.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving me alone while beneath me, the miles of open ocean churned endlessly on and on.  With it, all of my previous freedom bled excruciatingly away.  We were full speed ahead now, towards my new and infinite prison and whatever fate awaited me.  With every single wave that dashed across the bow, I felt another tiny piece of me slipping agonizingly away.  Pretty soon; there’d be nothing else left.

With that last thought, a new resurgence of fight rose within me, and I knew then and there that conquering me wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Mr. Victor Copeland Draven thought it would be.  A fight for dominance was about to take place, that was for certain.  But unlike what Victor so arrogantly assumed; the winner had not yet been decided…

I lay there, silently fuming for about twenty minutes more.  My body was still slick with sweat, but it was gradually drying beneath the wafts of cool, dry air conditioning, by inexorable degrees.  I could feel the remnants of our recent sex, still sliding wetly between my thighs.  All I wanted now was a hot, steaming shower, and a steel-wool brush to scrub Victor’s fingerprints off the surface of my body.  Obviously they were no longer visible along my soft, tanned, stretches of naked skin.  But still, regardless, I felt them burning into me; as if they had sunk into the surface cells of my very tissues for all of eternity.

Finally, I heard the measured tread outside the door that alerted me to the fact that Victor was coming back.  Screwing my eyes tightly shut against the sight of him, I Iay there stonily as he came and unlatched me.  First he did my ankles, and without thinking, I kicked out towards his hovering shadow as hard as I could.

He grabbed my slender ankle in one huge palm, holding it there effortlessly as I struggled against him.  “Now, now,” he said chidingly.  “No need to be petulant.  Your virtue is already naught but a thing of the past.”

Still, I struggled.  His fingers dug into my soft flesh then and he said roughly, “I can release you so you can get up and reclaim some modicum of modesty.  I have a shower you can wash off in, and some clothes that you can wear until we get to our final destination.  But if you can’t play nice, I’ll leave you trussed up until we get there.  Only I’m quite sure that by now, you most certainly need to, ah, use the ‘facilities’?”

He was right.  I had to pee something awful.  And oh, God, but did I want to clean his sticky, manly remnants off of me.  If that freedom meant I’d have to play nice, at least for a while, I guessed that I could do it.

“Fine,” I grudgingly ground out between gritted teeth.

“Fine what?” he taunted lightly.  I opened my eyes and glared at him.  He’d changed, having left his old clothes still flung on the floor in here when he’d walked out a little while ago.  Now he was barefoot and wearing long, khaki cargo-shorts and a white, thin, short-sleeved shirt that was unbuttoned all the way down the front.  It exposed his tanned, chiseled, muscular chest, effortlessly showcasing his ridiculously-toned assets in the worst kind of way.  Well, it was the worst way for me, anyway; especially since I was damn-well intent on never falling weakly and eagerly into his waiting arms again.

“I’ll play nice,” I finally said, my heated voice clearly betraying the intense anger still burning inside.

I glanced at Victor’s face in time to see him smirk at me before he bent over and unshackled my wrists one-by-one.  As he moved away, without even realizing what I was doing, I flung my arm forwards and slapped him across the face.  I don’t even really know why I did it.  I guess I just wanted to wipe that smile right off of his arrogant lips.  The loud “smack” immediately echoed hollowly around the room, but his head didn’t even move one measly inch.  Instead, my palm smarted and my wrist instantly began to throb.

“Do you feel better now?” he queried mildly.

“Yes, yes I do,” I replied with a somewhat furiously-trembling vehemence.

“Good,” he said.  “But don’t you ever fucking do that again, or I can guarantee that you will not appreciate the consequences.”  He stood up and walked away from me, then turned at the door to say, “There’s a shower, toiletries, and the outfit that I’ve selected for you in the bathroom right outside here in the hall.  You may prepare yourself at your leisure but when you’re done, your presence is required topside.”  Then he left, walking out without so much as a final backwards glance.

Once he was gone, I sat up slowly, feeling as if my entire body was bruised.  I was still woozy, but didn’t know if it was from the drugs he’d given me, the ferocity with which he’d taken me, or the dizzying headiness of having just smacked him right in the face.  God but that had felt so good!  It was like all that long-ago anger and fury over how callously he’d treated me, had just come rushing right back.  And the rage was white-hot and virulent, too, as if the past two years that had since sidled by, had done absolutely nothing to blunt it.

When presented with the opportunity, regardless of the fact that I was not a violent woman by nature - I simply hadn’t been able to help myself.  Besides, I was still more than a little irate and disenchanted with my own inner psyche; for the way it and my body had both so utterly betrayed me.

Massaging my wrists and ankles, I moved around for a bit until all the numbness and cramps were loosened from my limbs.  Once the blood was flowing freely through my veins once again, I stood shakily and walked towards the door.  I could feel the vestiges of Victor’s possession all over me, as if I’d literally been doused in it.  I needed to get clean, and fast.

With each step across the room, I could feel my muscles trembling, pushed to the near-breaking point from Victor’s ruthless domination.  Cringing as I tried to push the vivid memories away from me, I reached for the cool, crystal handle and pulled.

The wooden door was heavy, probably cherry-stained teak, but it swung as smoothly and easily as if it had been hung on hinges crafted from threads of soft silk.  Behind it lay a long hallway.  This end lay in shadow; the far end had a bright block of sunlight from where a tiny staircase led to the upper deck.

The room at my back was air-conditioned and cool, but the hallway was warm and saturated with the scent of muggy brine.  Once again, my stomach lurched.  Dear God, I was in the middle of the ocean.  I had known that for quite a while by now, yet seeing the vigorous sunshine and feeling just a brief hint of the sea breeze from above, brought it home to me all the more.

I’d never been to the Gulf of Mexico before, and the feel of this ocean was much, much different than the feel of the Pacific.  It was warmer here, having none of that edge, that bite that always seemed to underlie the often harsh breezes that blustered along the coast of Washington state.  Here the air was softer, sultrier, like a warm, but moist caress.  Closing my eyes for a moment, I simply breathed in the sweetly-salty air, soaking up the sensation for the very first time.  Suddenly, I wanted to be up there on that deck, looking out across the ponderously lapping waves.  But first, I needed a shower.

Legs still shaking, I began to make my way slowly along the hall, almost jumping out of my skin when the door swiftly swung back shut right behind me.  After only about six or seven paces, I came upon a much narrower door on the right.  It was the first one I reached, therefore I figured it was the lavatory that Victor had just directed me to.  Pushing it open, I quickly saw that I was right.

The bathroom itself was more elegant than any one at any place I’d ever lived at before.  It was startlingly large, and it had marble tile and counters, a huge mirror, a double-basined gold-fauceted sink, a stand-up shower stall with glass walls, and a deep, whirlpool bathtub.  Hanging on a gold hook by the shower was the outfit Victor had hand-picked for me; a tiny purple string-bikini and a baby blue and pink, gauzy robe to cover up with.  It was sexy for certain, and just looking at it, my cheeks tinged a bright pink.  So, was I to dress-up and play the coquette for him then?  Assume the role of harlot and whore?  Fat chance.

Of course the alternative to his selection was walking around naked, or putting my wedding dress back on, and neither one of those options sounded particularly better than having to wear a skimpy bathing suit and flimsy caftan for sure.  So, with a resigned sigh, I went inside and shut the door firmly behind me.  Then, holding onto the counter to steady myself, I slid out of my white satin shoes, pulled off my garter belts, garters, and stockings, and set everything in a pile on the corner of the sink.  Looking at the crumpled and pathetic heap of objects that had previously been infused with wistful hopes and dreams, I scowled and wished briefly for a match and some gasoline with which to torch them.  Lacking that, I unpinned my hair rather brusquely, then I stepped into the shower.

Inside was beige-peach and cream marble, with tiny threads of gold woven throughout.  The showerhead was huge, and just below it was a gold-toned metal and glass shelf that held luxury soap, shampoo, conditioner, and smoothing serum.  Each item (except for the expensive soap) was the exact same brand that I had been using when Victor and I had last dated.  I couldn’t believe that he actually remembered such insignificant details.  Also, on one of the shelves, I found a brand new red toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, both of which were quite welcome to me right now.  I turned the water on and edged to the back of the stall, taking a few moments to brush my teeth now as I waited for the shower to heat up.

It was air conditioned in there, too, so before long, steam was billowing up off of the streaming water.  Leaving it as hot as I could stand it, I moved up under the heavy deluge and began to try and scour Victor off of me.  It wasn’t easy; it seemed as if his fingerprints were literally branded into my skin.

Scrubbing against my arms and legs with a washcloth and the bar of soap that I retrieved from the shelf, I grated against my body until my skin was pink and tingling.  Then I shampooed and conditioned my hair.  When I was done, I massaged the smoothing serum into my tangled tresses, then I shut off the water and realized suddenly that I didn’t even have a towel.  Opening the shower door and shivering, I tiptoed dripping wet across the cold tiles and over to the sink.  I quickly looked under the cabinet, and was relieved to see a huge pile of soft, white towels folded at the bottom.  Beside them was a black brush.

Grabbing it along with two towels, I quickly wrapped my hair up in one and then used a second to dry my body.  After climbing into the skimpy bathing suit, I finally finished toweling off my hair and then I hung both towels up along the shower door.  I brushed through my hair, put on the gauzy robe, and then finally, I was done.

For a moment, I found myself floundering.  What was I supposed to do now?  Victor had said to join him, up there topside.  And although I really hated the thought of being close to him again, the idea of seeing the waves and the sky and the open ocean first-hand, was almost irresistibly appealing.  I looked at myself for a long moment in the mirror, wondering at the sparkle in my eyes and the pinkness in my cheeks.  Then I turned my back on my own traitorous image and reluctantly headed out.

As I padded silently down the carpeted hallway, I felt my stomach uneasily roiling with each tiny step.  Finally, I was at the staircase.  The bottom, where I was standing, was cluttered with gray shadows.  Above, sunlight beamed brightly, beckoning me with an almost palpable appeal.

Clearing my throat softly, I reached out a sweaty, trembling hand and grabbed the thin railing on the left of me.  Realizing that it would not be enough to steady me, I grabbed the rail on the right side, too.  Practically hauling myself out of the cradling, murky abyss by my arms alone, I slowly ascended; my knees wobbling, heartbeat stammering, sweat rolling down my still-damp brow.

In Colorado, my long, thick hair would’ve completely and thoroughly dried on its own in fifteen or twenty minutes flat.  Here, where a soggy dampness heavily saturated the air, I figured it could be hours before it no longer felt wet.  And even then, my scalp would still be coated in a thin film of sweat.  I began to wonder idly whether or not the place he was taking me had air conditioning.  Already, I felt as parched and wilted as a withered rose.

Two more steep stairs and my head broke the level of the deck.  Instantly, the glaring brightness stabbed the backs of my eyeballs.  I groaned and blinked furiously.  Victor saw me climbing slowly through the narrow hatch, and he immediately came over and handed me a pair of sunglasses.

“You’d better come and sit over here in the shade from the sail,” he told me, “or your retinas will soon be scorched from the sun.”  He held out his hand for me, as if preparing to lead the way, but as I came up off the last step and planted both feet on the warm, gray, outdoor carpet that covered the topside of the boat, I brusquely brushed his hand away and began to walk there on my own.

“Suit yourself,” he said, and I smirked inside at my own teeny-tiny little victory.  Those, I was sure, would be few and far between from here on out.  I slipped on the shades and began to head over to a padded bench that spanned half the length of the entire right side, when suddenly, my heart lurched up into my throat as he unceremoniously swept me off my feet.  Hauling me against his chest, he quickly strode the rest of the way, his arms and hands holding me tightly and possessively.

I struggled briefly with him, but of course it was in vain.  Thankfully, quickly enough, we were there.  He set me down near the prow, facing the ocean, and then he said wryly, “Don’t get any crazy thoughts about jumping overboard either.  There isn’t anyone else around to rescue you besides me, for miles.”  With that, he turned and walked away, his footsteps booming solidly with each heavily-measured tread.

As it was, I still felt dizzy, his unanticipated touch throwing me off kilter once again.  Would it always be like this, I wondered?  Would I ever get to the point where he didn’t affect me at all?  Maybe, I told myself placatingly.  Then again, maybe not.

The small yacht rose and fell in a lazy, predictable, undulating rhythm, so subtly soothing it was literally capable of lulling me into a lethargic daze.  But the view alone was more than enough to keep me wide awake and aware.  It was stunning.  I’d never before in my life seen anything else so singularly beautiful.

I’d been to the coastline of Washington State of course, spending one or two afternoons at Ocean Shores.  It had sweeping and majestic beaches, stately trees, towering manses, sheer cliffs, and jutting rock walls.  It had its own manner of restless beauty; a kind of elegant splendor and imperial charm.  But it had a certain and distinct sharpness to it, too.  That edge was quite similar, actually to that found in the massive mountain passes of Colorado.  Both places were as imposing as they were pretty, meshing scenic views with dangerous gorges, narrow roads, freakish floods, unexpected accidents, and deadly rock-slides.

This gorgeous spread was something altogether different.  The sun was so brilliant it seemed to spear right through me, and it sparkled off the indolent Gulf swells as if the sea itself had somehow been turned to glass.  The air was weighty and omnipresent; a distinct, living, breathing being.

All I could see for miles and miles was an unending, unwavering, watery eternity.  The air was deliciously and intrepidly fragrant, full of wind-swept florals, and the unmistakable and unapologetic scent of salty brine.  Each breeze was as tender and unadulterated as a lover’s embrace, and as I gazed at the wavering, hazy horizon, I was overwhelmed with the undeniable notion that we actually were sailing off the edge of the world.  I could imagine our distant forefathers, and how they thought that at the end of the ocean lay nothing at all save an unfathomable purgatory; a straightforward passageway to a depthless and eternal night.

I would wager that after dusk had come and then long since parted, the uninhibited night sky would shine so brightly above that it would look like a vast array of sparkling diamonds; gleaming gems strewn carelessly upon sheets of inky-black.  Closing my eyes now, I tried to block out all my random thoughts of Victor, and focus instead on the silky feel of the warm and heavy air as it steadily and calmingly buffeted my face.  It was so different on this side of the continent than it was in Colorado.  Back in Winterhaven, the air was thin, the oxygen was diminished, and the draughts were often chill and brittle.  When the wind blew, it literally snatched the very breath out of your throat.

Here, the atmosphere was weighty and sensuous; like the fondling of a familiar lover.  The breeze didn’t so much blow over you as it sank into you, weaving itself into the spongy center of your very bones.  Even experiencing it for the very first time, it was still entrancing, and I had the brief but aberrant thought that I wished I could stay right here forever.

The perpetual gusts of salt-studded wind wafted ceaselessly over the bow of the boat, threading their fingers through my still-wet hair.  Each gentle current carried something negative and bleak away from me, leaving me lighter and freer and happier in the process.  How could I have lived obliviously all of my life thus far, with never having seen this particular part of the world?  Had I actually married Charlie, I knew I would’ve never again made it out of Seattle.  He hadn’t been interested at all in traveling, exploring, expanding his horizons.  And as much as he liked to scrimp and save on money, his idea of a vacation had been taking time off work to sit around the house in his bathrobe and skivvies.

Suddenly, I heard a sound behind me and my eyes flew open.  Quickly swiveling around so that Victor couldn’t catch me off-guard once again, I almost knocked the glass he was holding right out of his hand.  “Watch it there,” he said as the liquid inside sloshed over the edge and onto the weatherproof cushion I was sitting on.  He brushed off the sugary droplets before bending over and casually handing the frosty drink over to me.

“Here,” he said, “have some iced lemonade.”

I looked at it suspiciously for a long and noticeable moment of glaring hesitation.  He chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, babe, it’s not drugged.  This time.”

Scowling at him, I licked my lips and realized how parched I actually was.  As reluctant as I was to take anything from him, I still reached out and snatched it, sloshing more of the icy drink over my own hand in the process.  Still, it was worth it just to be able to move away from him as soon as possible, because every time his skin touched mine, it was like being shocked with a high voltage wire.

He looked at me knowingly for a moment before turning his back and sauntering away.  I waited until he was several paces away from me, then I brought the glass to my lips and quickly slugged half of it down.  It was tartly-sweet, and obviously freshly-squeezed.  Had Victor done that himself, I wondered?  Or, more likely, had he gotten some poor lackey to squeeze bushels of lemons for him, sweating over the laborious task for hour upon hour until the refrigerator was fully and duly stocked?  That sounded much more feasible.  As such, what else had Victor paid to have prearranged before our little clandestine ‘trip’?  He sure had been certain of a complete and absolute victory.  Most men would’ve at least prepared for the possibility of not being able to abduct a woman out from under the noses of a hundred-plus well-wishers, family, and friends.  But not Victor.  He only planned for success, the possibility of failure not even making the slightest ‘blip’ on the radar screen of his life.

Snorting a little in disgust, I put the glass to my lips and began to drink again.  Only it was so damn good, I was soon chugging it down.  The ice had made it so cold, though, it wasn’t long before I got a splitting ice-headache.  It stabbed me right in the middle of my temples, and I quickly pushed my tongue against the roof of my mouth as hard as I could while I waited gamely for it to pass.  Gradually, the shape bite in my brain lessened, and I began to drink again - albeit much more slowly this time.

When the drink was all but gone and my thirst was finally slaked, I tucked the nearly empty glass into a built-in cup holder that had been discreetly crafted into the luxurious seat.  Then I greedily turned my full attention back to the gorgeous vistas that spread out in each direction all around me.

But as I looked out over the bright, sparkling waves, I suddenly was overtaken with the inescapable realization that the sun was moving from just above the horizon, up towards the apex of the sky.  Since Victor had taken me right before my wedding, factoring in the flight that had taken us more than half way across the total length of the United States, the sun ought to be getting lower, not higher.  In fact, in all honesty the sun should be just about ready to sink beneath the edge of the waves right now.  Yet it was getting decidedly brighter and hotter with each minute that ticked past.

Abruptly, I was hit with the jarring realization that I had lost the better part of a day.  After Victor had knocked me out with that drug, I’d obviously been asleep for hours.  And we must be a hell of a lot more further into the midst of the ocean than I’d even realized.  He’d said earlier that we were cruising slowly along towards our destination.  I just hadn’t realized how slowly.

I felt myself being swept up in a near-irrepressible anger.  Victor hadn’t just kidnapped me and violated me, he’d also stolen a day right out of my life!  What exactly had he been doing while I was druggedly slumbering?  I know he hadn’t ravaged my body – otherwise, he’d have already known I hadn’t slept with Charlie yet, before I’d even woken up.  Also, I surely would’ve felt the after-effects of his actions instantly upon coming awake.

Glancing over my shoulder at the Captain’s Cabin now, I furrowed my brow and frowned as I watched him casually leaning back in his big, leather chair, coolly and calmly manning the helm.  There was a huge, plexi-glass window along the front of the cabin, to keep out bugs and seagulls and whatever else might fly into the face of a seaman and disrupt his careful perusal of the ocean, but he had that slid right open now so as to better keep an eye and ear on me.  As such, he could quickly feel my eyes upon him.  Within moments, he had turned his square jaw my way and addressed me.

“Yes?” he queried quizzically with a rather mocking grin.  Surprisingly, I could hear him with crystal-clear clarity, even though we were twenty feet apart or so, and the wind was steadily blowing.

“You, you…” I spluttered furiously.  He chuckled as he waited patiently for me to gather my wits enough to rail at him.  “You lied to me!” I finally managed.

“Which time?” he asked with a derisive laugh.  Then he seemed to steel himself to at least act as if he had a tiny iota of serious sincerity as he waited for me to reply.

“You said it had only been a few hours since my wedding!” I said shrilly.

“No,” he reminded me gravely.  “You inferred that.  I simply didn’t bother to correct your inaccurate musings.”

“Semantics!” I screamed.  “You knew that I thought it was the same day, and you let me go on thinking it.  How could you?”

“Well, I figured – and correctly so, by the way – that you’d be unduly upset when you realized how muchtime had passed.  So I was hoping that you’d get so caught up in the moment, in this beautiful, glorious day and in being with me, that you really wouldn’t stop to think overly much about it.”

“How could you give me such a high dose of that drug…that, whatever it was you gave me…that I’d sleep for like fifteen or sixteen hours?”  I was really working myself up into a frenzy now, totally and utterly chagrined that he would risk my health in such a way.

But, “I didn’t,” he responded simply, quite literally taking the wind right out of my sails.  “I only gave you enough medication to knock you out for five or six hours.  When the time for you to wake up came and went, I checked you out, made sure that you were okay, and let you keep on sleeping.  You obviously needed the rest.  What’s the reason, by the way, that given a chance to escape into oblivion, you found it so very difficult to find your way back again?  You must have really and truly been dreading that marriage.  Regardless, you look rested and beautiful, your skin has its color back, your eyes have regained their luster, and your energy level is quite sufficient.  That long ‘nap’ did wonders for you.”

At that, I didn’t know what else to say.  I guess perhaps I could argue that I’d been sleeping to escape the reality of the fact that Victor had just kidnapped me.  Yet I knew that wasn’t even remotely true.  As it was, when I woke up I didn’t even remember he’d shown up at the wedding, much less that he’d drugged me and stolen me away from it.  No, I’d woken up with a pervasive and unrelenting anxiety about the ceremony and my intended husband.  Victor was right.  I’d been dreading the idea of having gotten married to a man I didn’t honestly love.  Of course, I could keep arguing with Victor and try to make him think otherwise, but it was pointless.  He already knew the truth.

And he was also right about how much better I seemed now that I had gotten a full night’s slumber.  I don’t think I’d gone an hour without waking up and tossing and turning or battling nightmares, in the three entire months since I’d agreed to be Charlie’s bride.  Even though I hadn’t wanted to admit it, especially to myself, my subconscious obviously knew what my own mind didn’t want to face:  that marrying Charlie would have been an immeasurable mistake.  Whatever else Victor had done to me, I had to admit that was one thing he had gotten right.  Charlie was not the man for me, and even if Victor released me this moment, I still wouldn’t be able to go back to my old existence, much less marry the man.  If nothing else, at least I understood that now.

Victor was still looking at me intently, obviously expecting a battle, but I had no more fight left in me at the moment.  Instead, I just looked back out over the ocean waves, practically melting inside as I pushed away the pointless anger, and let the peace, tranquility, and serenity, all bleed back slowly over me once again.

Hours ticked by like glazed, sugary confections – or then again, perhaps it had only been a matter of minutes.  Here, in the Gulf, in the gorgeous Florida Panhandle; time was all but irrelevant.  I didn’t know if I was coming or going, if it was today or yesterday or last year.  All I knew was that the heady breeze had intoxicated me as surely as if it were 90 proof, and I had a sudden and irrevocable feeling in my gut that I was stuck in the middle of eternity.

But then, in the distance, a blurred smudge.  I made out green hues, mixed with glaring white stretches, broken only by gullies the waves had carved out over eons of incomprehensible time.  I knew that we were cruising westward along the bottom of the entire continent, passing just a little bit due south of places like Panama City and Sunnyside.  I had no innate knowledge of Florida geography, but every now and then Victor would call out some random tidbit of information.

We hadn’t seen a shoreline for hours until just now, so I wasn’t sure how he’d been pinpointing our location so accurately, yet still, somehow he knew.  Undoubtedly, one of those mysterious boxes in the Captain’s Cabin was spouting out all our coordinates.  I pretended like I wasn’t listening to him, but I avidly absorbed it all.

And yet now, there was that little blemish amidst the blue right before us, and I still had no idea what it was.  Finally, he spoke.

“If we kept going west, we’d sooner or later hit Ft. Walton, Mary Esther, Navarre Beach, Tiger Point, Gulf Breeze, Pensacola, and then Alabama – well, you get the picture.  Basically, there are any number of beautiful little islets, or narrow, long strips of sand-dune filled isle-ways that directly face out onto the Gulf.  Behind them, they’re backed by deep spans of navy-blue bays, and then you get to the actual mainland of Florida.

“In fact, this particular part of the Panhandle here is truly my favorite place in the whole entire state.  Down in the Peninsula, you have all those over-priced tourist traps and theme parks like Miami and Tampa, Disneyland and Universal Studios.  Here, there’s simply a limitless list of various features that set it apart from every single other place in the world.  It has beautiful old historic towns with plantation-style, clapboard houses and gnarled oaks in their front yards, draped with Spanish moss.  And yet less than a tenth of a mile away, lay ostentatious, multi-million dollar beachfront mansions.  There are sugar-white beaches with open-roofed, straw hut bars, touting old-school karaoke, and sporting jet-ski, water-side parking.  While right next door, you’ve got flashy dance clubs blasting house music, or featuring live hard rock groups.  Next to that, you may find Country Clubs with upper-crust golf courses, across the street from down-home country cooking eateries and expensive gourmet bistros.  There’s also live bands on the piers at night, fireworks, parades, fresh seafood, dairy-farms, two hundred year old churches, pre-Civil War cemeteries, a rich Native American heritage, and decent, honest, down-to-earth, hard-working people.  And did I mention that it also has the most stunning sunsets on the planet?

“The towns and cities here are eclectic, to say the least.  Of course, we’re not going into those actual towns – at least not quite yet.  First, as I already mentioned, we’re going to spend some lengthy, leisurely, quality time together on that private little island of mine.”

“Is that it,” I asked, my finger outstretched towards the little smudge, before I could think to stop myself.  I knew I hadn’t been able to completely hide that traitorous edge of excitement underlying my voice.  Why was I beginning to find myself looking forward to this?  This was an outrage, dammit!  But I knew what it was; Victor’s description of this magical place had really gotten to me.  If it was as wonderful as he’d just described it to me, I may even find myself wanting to live here forever.  And that was a scary thing, indeed.

“No, that’s not it just yet,” Victor told me mildly.  “Right now we’re just coming into the waters around the Destin/Sandestin area.  There are a lot of uninhabited islands out here, of which, we’ll hit several others like that one there first,” he said, indicating the one I’d pointed out, “before we get to our place.  But then about eight or nine more miles westward, we’ll cut north and come across the privately owned ones – the ones that even tourists with wads of cash and glass-bottomed boats at their beck and call, can’t get anyone to take them to.  You see, people here respect the privacy of the rich and possibly-even famous.  They wouldn’t dream of violating the ‘seaspace’ around those islands that very few of us can afford to shell out tens of millions of dollars to own.”

Oh heck, he’d called it “our” place!  What did that mean?  I found myself nodding numbly, even though he hadn’t asked me a question, and then I rested my hands on my somewhat still-sticky knees.  Just about twenty minutes earlier, Victor had made me put suntan lotion all over my body, heedless to my claims that I never got sunburned, explaining casually that in Florida, the sun was different than in anywhere else on earth (even Colorado, where the elevation was so high you could get burnt on a 30 degree day) – somehow, in the Gulf, the blistering rays found the one and only way past your body’s natural defenses, and cooked you like a Thanksgiving Turkey.  Your only recourse?  Walking around like a broiled lobster, or slathering on some sunscreen.  I wisely chose the latter.

“You paid tens of millions of dollars for a little strip of private beach?” I queried snidely, trying to jerk myself back to my senses and thereby put some distance between Victor and I. As it was, I was quickly getting entirely too comfortable around him. “You surely didn’t get your money’s worth.  Remind me sometime that I’ve got a few acres of swamp land down south here that you just might want to buy.”  It was an age-old joke, that someone who wasn’t very savvy in business might be ready and willing to purchase imaginary swampland in some bogus neighborhood.  Why should Victor be any different?  All these years I had been putting him up on a pedestal, and yet he had made the same missteps as the rest of us.  Well, at least those of us who had several million dollars to spare!

“Actually, my island has four natural springs, so it’s got its own water source.  It also has an enormous, crystal clear waterfall, with a deep, fresh pool below it, and clean enough water to provide a place to drink and bathe and swim, ad infinitum.  It’s got eighteen uninterrupted miles of pristine white beach to boast of.  It also has banana trees, coconuts, tangelos, lemon trees, shaded grape arbors, apple orchards, and hybrid berries I had specially grown so as to flourish in the tropical heat.

“In addition, it has a beautiful house, with a number of generators capable of running everything from my liquor vault to my indoor spa, with back-up fuel tanks large enough to power everything for four months without ever needing a refill.  The manor boasts a white-marble pool, and I even have a heli-pad and matching copter in the only clearing for emergencies.  There’s also a smaller - but still lavish - guest home on the leeward side with plenty of amenities, such as jet-skis, speedboats, special, climate-controlled greenhouses full of organic fruits and vegetables, and a completely stocked medevac facility.  Oh, yeah, and this island?  Its value has quadrupled in the real estate market since I bought it less than two years ago. Places such as this are hard to come by.”

His face was smug.  I could see the self-satisfied derision dripping off it, even from twenty-feet away where I was still perched on that cushy seat near the bow.  He was handling the Captain’s chair with ease, glancing out that open window at me as he navigated effortlessly, one hand draped casually over the big, silver steering wheel, the other by his side (just like how he drove his damn expensive cars).  Right then, I finally snapped the rest of the way out of the spell that he’d been subtly weaving all around me.  And that’s when I realized that I still downright loathed him.  Him and all he stood for:  his privileged life, his heightened sense of self-worth, his toys, his things, his money.

“So, which of your houses will you have me ensconced in,” I asked rudely.  “Your mansion?  Or do I only rate the guest house?”

“Neither,” he responded glibly.  “You see, I have something else in mind for us first.”

“Why?” I sputtered.  I certainly didn’t want to dig in for the night under a palm tree!

“Well, at first, I figured it was better for us to camp out in the wilderness like the original Chocktaws once did.  At the very least, it will provide you the necessity to lean on me for your each and every need, and it will help you to appreciate the true beauty of ‘Tempest’s Wake’.  Plus, we can do an awful lot of exploring – both the island and each other.  When you’ve little to do, the mind and body go to extreme lengths to entertain the psyche.  It demands nothing else short of complete and utter surrender to its overwhelming power.”

So, he was suggesting that if I had very little with which to occupy myself, I’d be so bored that I’d have no choice but to fall willingly into his open and waiting arms.  As if!  Wait a minute, what had he said?

“You named this island ‘Tempest’s Wake’?” I asked, agog with something akin to stiffly uneasy shock.  “Why would you name anything after me, much less an entire island?  Heck, you didn’t even know for sure that you’d ever be seeing me again!”

“Sweetheart, I had no doubt in my mind that I’d be seeing you again.  It just remained a question as to when.  As far as the name, well, like I indicated earlier, it was actually called ‘Rapture Island’ at the time that I originally purchased it.  But shortly after my fortuitous acquisition, I found myself willingly changing the name after I spent an entire, eye-opening evening thinking about how utterly and completely my entire life had changed in your wake.

“You see, you blew in like a tempestuous storm, changed my world and everything in it, and then blew back out again.  This island, from when first I visited it, always reminded me of you.  The sun set coppery-red, just like the color of your hair, every single night.  And that whole East Coast saying; ‘Red sky at night, sailors’ delight – Red sky at morning, sailors take warning’?  Well, that was complete and total bunk!  It was the exact opposite at my island, as you were in everything single thing you ever put me through.”

He held up a hand as I began to jump indignantly in.  “Patience,” he told me.  “What I mean is, I wanted to go fast, you made me go slow.  I told myself I’d never fall in love, yet I fell for you at first sight.  And so on, and so forth - all of it.

“Anyway, the first night I spent there, all I had was a pathetic little tent.  I’d just bought the place and was simply trying to get a feel for it so I could decide what, when, and where to build.  And then the squall came through.  Seas so high, and the rain driving so hard, it beat my poor little tent into pulpy submission.  It was pouring so bad, the damn droplets were coming in sideways, drenching me in my little sleeping bag and chilling me to the bone.  I thought it was fitting actually, considering the anger I knew you must still have festering inside.  And then and there, I realized that I was nothing more than a pathetic half of a man, left adrift and alone in the wake of your leaving me.  It seemed a fitting appellation at the time.

“Honestly today, after all the blood, sweat, tears, love, and agony I’ve put into building my own little paradise here, it remains both my biggest challenge, and my greatest physical love next to only you.  If I could spend the rest of my life there at my island, simply eating coconuts and dancing naked under the stars with you, I would do it in a split-second:  give up my job, my position, my power, my social standing, just to live there in peace forever, you and I.”

“You’re out of your damn mind,” I whispered.

He threw back his head and laughed at that.  “So you say, and I can see why,” he finally told me once he’d stopped chuckling.  “But wait for this place to weave its magic.  Once it gets under your skin, you can never rip it out again; it’s a part of you forever.  Which, incidentally, is another reason I named it after you.”

I was fuming, but his words still had affected me.  Had I really gotten under his skin so utterly and completely?  Perhaps, considering he’d kidnapped me on my wedding day and taken me over a thousand miles from home just to show me his little ‘paradise’.  Well, then again, he wasn’t so much showing it to me as he was preparing to imprison me in it!

“You can’t keep me there forever,” I grouched softly, unsure of what else (if anything) I could now say.

“Sure I can,” he replied cheerfully.  Then he went back to whistling and staring off into the distance.  For my part, I focused on the little islands that we passed here and there.  They stretched out in a long chain, each of them spread out to the right of us, with either long or short spans of water in between.  The islands all looked different; each and every one.  There was a tiny one, perhaps ten acres square, that was mere white, sandy beaches with humped sand-dunes, sea grass, and only three lone palm trees.  Yet another one was less than two hundred feet wide, but it stretched for what looked like over a mile, and it had a high number of dark green pines and what looked like scraggly mesquite.  A third had tall, thin, white trees, and black muck in the middle that indicated a sinister swamp.  I found myself wondering what our island would look like – the place Victor was now steering us so determinedly towards.

But then, on an island several football fields away from us, I saw a boat.  A boat!  A possible avenue of rescue and escape!  It was a pontoon boat, meant for short jaunts, which indicated that the actual shoreline of Florida itself wasn’t very far from where we were now.  Seeing a cluster of people around a day-time campfire, my heart began to pound fast.  They were pretty far away, but still, I could tell that three were men, four were women, and they were all dressed in swimsuits.  Now, I just needed to signal for help.  But how?

I glanced slyly over my shoulder at Victor, trying to see whether or not he had noticed.  Of course he had.  He was looking at me now with a smile on his face, as if to ask, “So, what are you going to do now?”

Angered, I shot to my feet and began screaming bloody murder.  Jumping up and down and waving my arms frenziedly.  “Help, help me, I’ve been kidnapped,” I shrieked.

Way far away on that distant beach, the revelers looked up.  They’d seen me!  I was saved!  But then they began whooping and hollering and waving back, and as their garbled words reached me, I quickly realized that they couldn’t hear a thing I was saying.  They most likely thought I was just being friendly.  Victor laughed behind me and I stopped jumping around, sat back down, and hung my head.  I felt like a fool.

“Do you really think I’d take you close enough to anyone that rescue may be an option?” he queried lightly.

Victor thought hard about everything.  He might’ve made split-second decisions as a scion of cut-throat business, but it didn’t mean that his calculations weren’t coldly-deliberate and entirely strategic.  Of course he wouldn’t take me the way he did, only to allow for failure at this late juncture.  I was doomed.

“Don’t look so glum,” he said softly.  “We’ll be there soon.”

The rest of the journey passed in silence, the only sounds; the lap of the waves, the whistle of the wind, and the soulful screech of the seagulls up above.  They circled us as if we were bird-Gods, as if we had some unknown secret answer for their entire existence.  Through miles of waves and past an interminable number of small, uninhabited, deserted isles, they continued their methodic loops, diving and soaring as they wound through the humid air around and around our boat without pause.  Perhaps they recognized Victor, I thought crazily; perhaps he fed them and fattened them up when he was here, and now that he was once again about to occupy his evil little island, they were greeting him, honoring him, and following him home.

The sun had risen even higher in the sky, the rays growing brighter and stronger over each rolling stretch of ocean we traversed.  The undulating motion of the seat beneath me lulled me once again – this time into a somnolent state via which, I was practically hypnotized.  It was like watching a movie in slow motion, with fitful stops and starts here and there.  We bobbed up and down, up and down, and then one big wave would roll into us and jar me back into awareness again.

The salty air continued to invade me, conquering all of my senses.  I felt it, smelled it, tasted it, heard it blowing against the boat, and saw it lifting my untamed hair up and blowing it wildly about my face.  The thin, gauzy robe billowed out around me as we churned onward through the tossing waves.

In that skimpy little string bikini, I would’ve thought I’d have easily gotten chilled.  Heck, back in Colorado, the nights were still hitting 40 degrees on a regular basis, and the snow was due for one last hurrah before spring.  But here, we were literally a world away, and Victor had selected my attire more-than appropriately; the sun was beating down on me, warming me, and the feel of the dense air as it wafted over my bare skin was damn-near sensual.

I found myself sighing every few minutes, feeling the angst and anger and anxiety and frustration, gradually seeping out of me by bit by bit.  My honeymoon with Charlie should have been just like this:  not the two of us holed up in his antiquated, pre-hippie home as we tried to truly get to know each other for the very first time.

Thinking of what could’ve been my first night alone, in bed with Charlie, I almost giggled.  Looking out at the waves, being careful that Victor couldn’t see my face, I finally let my emotions escape.  My brow creased, and I found my mouth caught in a half-smile, half-frown.  Part of me longed for what could’ve been, and the other part (the bigger part I was ashamed to admit), was actually glad that the ceremony had not gone through.  I could actually admit that freely to myself now.  I think it was this wide, open ocean – this freedom – this severing of the restraints that had so carefully bound me.  I had been literally suffocating under them.

Marrying Charlie had been my way of trying to escape my fate, my destiny, my belief that my life was supposed to be so much different than what it had somehow become.  All I wanted my entire life was just to be free.  Free to live, free to love, free to be myself.  And yet, after Victor dumped me so cruelly, all I’d seemed to try to do was tie myself down; settling into a secure but uneventful job, accumulating a steady but benign group of friends, and a seeking out a sheltering, but anodyne marriage that would’ve kept me hemmed in forever.  All of which, would’ve led to a safe (but tedious) existence for the rest of my life.

Yet deep inside me, I craved so much more.  I guess it was just because of my father – because of how he had wounded me – that I’d been scared to claim it.

Two years ago, my relationship with Victor had spoken to that deepest heart of me, my most secret heart of hearts.  He had saved me from a life of safety, and mediocrity.  And now, I realized that, in all honestly, I truly had not wanted that life with Charlie, after all; did not want that security and that shelter, did not want that bland subsistence.

But, neither did I want to be taken in by Victor, overwhelmed, consumed to the depths of my soul, only to be broken and shattered once again.  Victor had offered me a certain freedom from the constraints of every day society, giving me a glimpse into a life I had previously only dreamed about.  And then he’d destroyed it.  And once was enough for me.  So, although I could finally admit (to myself, at least) that I was thankful for him stopping my wedding: my gratitude ended there.

Victor had pretty much taken my “virginity” all over again; forcing his way into me, conforming my body to his, and claiming me as his own.  And it was too much.  He was too much.  He had the potential to literally destroy me, right there in the palms of his oh-so capable hands.  As such, I simply had to find some way out of this once and for all.  Then, I could re-invent my life one final time: this time living honestly and truly instead of hiding behind the cloak of a well-orchestrated world.

Suddenly, I felt the boat begin to turn to the right.  I’d been so lost in thought, focusing only on the play of sunshine against the wavering water and my deep, inner thoughts, that I hadn’t even realized what was looming up beside me.  It was a gorgeous, lush, and beautiful island.

It had been miles now since we’d passed any other land mass, so this place was extremely deserted, for certain.  But it was so big, so expansive, so fertile; it put all the other places we’d passed on the way here to shame.

We were just now trolling past the very tip of the island - a tapered edge with an endless-looking span of beach shooting off on both sides.  We could either go to the right side or the left, and Victor chose the latter.  As he angled the small yacht we were on to the side and started cruising slowly along the coastline, I began to try and absorb every tiny detail about the place that was now to be my home for the foreseeable future.

Looking down, I could see almost all the way to the bottom of the ocean.  The water here was as clear and blue as stained glass.  The beaches were white sand, as blinding and bright as if they’d been carved from long, untainted stretches of pure, cane sugar.  About twenty yards back from the shoreline, began the trees.  Palms dominated in height, towering above the other flora.  But there were scraggly pines and stunted, gnarled oaks, too, along with a whole plethora of bush-like trees covered with big pink and white blossoms.  It truly was a rapturous island, as once upon a time its name had declared it.  But somehow, someway, ‘Tempest’s Wake’ seemed to fit now, too, although I’d never, ever admit that to Victor.

The forest here was abundant, but every so often it parted enough to create natural paths through the jungle-like terrain.  I’d seen so many flat, plain, sandy stretches of land along the coast thus far, or islands with only pines or muck; the difference in this island was rather startling.  It was as if God had picked this one place out as a tiny little Eden, hidden and secreted amidst the miles and miles of jewel-covered waves.

The shoreline was dotted with natural coves, and at a rather large one, Victor finally angled our large watercraft inside it.  He’d had a special dock built there, complete with ropes and stairs and landings and everything we’d need to anchor ourselves to it and easily alight.  The little yacht we were on had been comfortable enough, but I was more than ready to get on solid ground once again, so as soon as Victor guided us next to an open landing, tied all the ropes, and finally secured us, I was running to the little door on the side that would let me out onto the warm, sanded planks.

“Don’t go too far,” he called lightly.

“Or else what?” I asked glibly as my bare feet touched down on the hot, soft wood.

“Or else I’ll take you over my knee first, and then tie you down second,” he responded, and the sincerity in his voice about stopped me cold.  Ignoring him with difficulty, I padded down the long pier, hopping and skipping as much as possible to keep from burning my feet on the white wood.  It had soaked up so much of the sun’s brightness, the planks were darn-near searing enough to leave blisters.

Of course Victor hadn’t given me any sandals; all the easier to control me that way.  He obviously figured I probably wouldn’t go running off into the thickets with bare feet and a skimpy bikini.  But he was wrong.  If the opportunity presented itself, and if I knew where I was going and how to escape once I got there, I had no problem traversing this island sans shoes.

As I made it off the pier and onto the hot, hot sand, I ran faster, the soles of my feet kicking up a fine spray of grit behind me, until I was finally in the shade of the tree-line.  Leaning against a leathery trunk and catching my breath, I stared deep into the shadows cast by tall pines and palms and trailing vines.  I was absolutely stunned by the huge scope of the abundant wilderness. I wondered then at the great diversity of life there in Northwest Florida.  Down near Tampa and Miami, the beaches were full of sand, shells, and seagulls, and that was about it.  I knew that because I’d seen plenty of movies made in those places, and they’d been the epitome of what a ‘beach’ was supposed to be.  But here it seemed more like the pictures I’d seen of Alabama or Mississippi, or maybe even New Orleans.  As such, I liked it here.  I liked it here a lot.

Suddenly, Victor was there beside me.  He, of course, had taken the time to slide on some leather sandals.  Bastard.  “I have to go and check on the supplies for where we’re sleeping tonight.  I want you to stay here,” he told me.

I glanced over at where the enormous boat was tethered tightly to the pier.  Victor laughed at me.  It was as if he could read my mind, “Not only could you never figure out how to operate it,” he said, “I have the only key to the motor.  And without that key, you can’t even use the radio since I’ve put an extra lock on it, as well.  So don’t bother to waste your time even trying.”

“So, I’m just supposed to wait here on the beach for you like a good girl?” I quipped lightly, all the while thinking of when and how I could make my escape.  Perhaps I could look for a passing ship and somehow flag it down?  Or maybe I could climb into the jungle of trees and somehow manage to find one of Victor’s supposed mansions before he came back?  If I could get there before him, perhaps I could arm myself somehow, or maybe even locate a satellite phone or something.  But as quickly as the ideas came to me, they deflated me just as fast.  I’d never find his place before he found me.  And the chance of a passing ship seeing me and then coming for me was one in a trillion.

“Yep,” he replied, “you’re supposed to just stay right here and be a good little girl.  And to discourage you from mischief, I’m taking your clothes.”

“You’re doing what?” I screeched as I began to back away from him, but he reached out, grabbed me, and snagged me by the arm.

“I said I’m taking your clothes.  Now strip for me, or I’ll do it myself.  And I don’t think you’ll like that too much.”

“You can go fuck yourself,” I said angrily as I jerked my knee up, trying to slam it into his groin.  But he was too fast for me.  He shifted to the side, pulled me away from the palm tree, and then swept me off my feet.  Carrying me back out into the bright sunlight of the beach, he sat me down and pulled off my thin, flimsy robe at the same time.  I fought as he snatched, and it tore right up the seam.  A second later, it was little more than scraps.

Next he went after my suit.  It was a string bikini, so all he had to do was pull the little ties, and within two heartbeats, it would be done.  I fought him, of course, trying to fend off his advances.  But his hands were everywhere, untying the strings at my neck, back, and hips, until the suit fell off me and onto the white sand.

My feet were getting used to how hot the beach was, yet I wasn’t prepared to be naked out there.  I slapped at Victor repeatedly as he snatched up my bathing suit and stuffed it in his pocket, and one particularly good one caught him right across his cheek.  Once again, it hurt my wrist more than it hurt him, of that I was certain, but still, it stopped him in his tracks.

“I already warned you about that once,” he growled.  “You better be damn sure you know what you’re doing,” he advised me dangerously.  “You don’t want to rile me up, do you?”

“You, you - you’re leaving me naked out here!” I snapped.  “What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to relax and enjoy yourself,” he responded simply.  “Loosen up, be free, appreciate the ocean, the sun, the freedom of being naked and open where no one can see you.”

“No one can see me but you!” I raged.  He merely smirked.  Then he slowly and lasciviously looked me up and down.

“When I get back,” he told me, with real heat in his voice, “you and I are going to spend some quality time together.  And I’m going to pay you back for that last slap.”

I was standing there, trembling, trying to cover my crotch and my bake, naked breasts with my hands and arms.  My legs were crossed, my muscles were tense, and I felt hyper-aware and utterly humiliated.  He truly was going to leave me like this!  Naked!  The son of a bitch!

“The main doors to the yacht are locked, too,” he informed me idly.  “So you can’t go hide in the quarters or in the Captain’s chamber.  Now, go relax and enjoy the sun, the wind, and the sea, and I’ll be back in about an hour or so.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.  I watched his back the entire time, watched him walking deep into the woods and following one of the pathways into the relative darkness.  I thought about following him, but didn’t know what good that would accomplish.  What could I do, fight him for my paltry little clothes back?

The mangled robe was still lying on the sand by my feet, and I picked it up and tried to wrap it around me.  But it had been torn so fully and completely, it was all but worthless.  And even pinning it to my chest didn’t really do much, considering the fact that it was sheer and see-through.  Finally, I gave up, and threw it back onto the deep, white sand in disgust.

The hot sun was beating down on my bare-naked body, the breeze was blowing gently through my hair, and the warmth from the sand was soaking up through my feet and into my bones.  I was butt-ass-naked in the middle of nowhere.  I had a jungle full of unknown animals and bugs behind me, and a stretch of rolling ocean before me.  And yet, I had nowhere to go.

Now what?

At first I felt extremely self-conscious and paranoid.  I was nude outside!  I felt the stares of a thousand eyes upon me, even though the beach was empty, silent, and void of any noticeable life other than those seagulls that had followed us in.

They were cawing and screeching as they wheeled above me, as if they were deliberately mocking me and my ‘delicate’ situation.  They circled there for a few moments longer, then they lost interest in me and finally fluttered away.  Now I was truly alone.

Defeated, I took the sunglasses off and thumped them down into a tiny patch of sea grass beside me.  It seemed stupid to be wearing them while the rest of me was bare.  I could hear the incessant wash of the ocean, rhythmically rushing up the white shore only to retreat once again.  Each time the sea rolled back, another wave rose up to greet and consume it.  It was almost magnetically entrancing, and I found myself gradually relaxing as I dazedly watched it.  Slowly, inexorably, my arms dropped to my sides, and I stood there free and naked in the bright, mid-day sun.

It was quite a liberating feeling, after a while.  I mean first, there was the anxiety, the discomfort, the realization that it was shameful and wrong to be naked outside in the middle of the afternoon.  Always one to be careful and protective over my body, never even wearing clothes that showed off my breasts or legs, I couldn’t believe how quickly I was becoming acclimated to having absolutely no clothes on, whatsoever.  The pull of the ocean was compelling.  The incessant breeze was soothing.  The steady, relentless sun was sensual as it played brightly and boldly over every single inch of my body.

I had a sudden and irresistible urge to lie down in the soft, baking-hot sand.  The tree-line was fifteen feet or so behind me.  I could go into the shade, hide my body from the immense heavens, shelter myself from the relentless sunlight.  Or, I could accept it all with open arms, welcome the freedom, accept the challenge.  Amazingly, I did so.

I walked over until I was at the edge of the lapping ocean, the cool sea rushing in to kiss my feet and ankles every few seconds or so.  Then I sat down on the supple silt.  It wasn’t nearly so hot here by the water, and it was so silky and powdery from eons upon eons of the water rushing over top of it, it cradled my body like a well-worn blanket.  In fact, it was more sensuous and sumptuous than any opulent, expensive mattress I’d ever before been on.  I laid all the way back, letting the sand come up and embrace my back, neck, and shoulders, letting the warmth penetrate my scalp as it softly massaged me.

Looking up at the scudding drifts of cottony clouds, I let the sapphire blue envelop me.  It felt like I was being absorbed by my surroundings; sucked into the sand, consumed by the sky, captivated by the wash of the waves and the endless rush of the water against my feet and calves.  The tide was coming up, and as the minutes oozed by, the water crept higher and higher.  Before long, I felt it lapping at my thighs.  I opened my legs, then.  Let the water stroke and lick against me, chills running up and down my spine as it crept higher and higher.

It was as if some great secret of life were somehow exposing itself to me for the very first time.  I felt like a part of the earth, a part of the ocean, a part of the sheltering, shimmering sky.  The warm, salty water gradually slid even further up, until it was licking at the very warm, wet center of me.  I moaned, twisted slightly, opened myself to it even more.  Who was I?  Who was this girl, practically letting the very ocean make love to her, naked on a beach, kidnapped, alone in the middle of nowhere?

The next wave rushed in hard, and I gasped, felt my nipples harden.  The sun was browning my skin, sinking into my cells, invading me.  The ocean was claiming me, too.  I’d always been so far from it – spent my life in Colorado, landlocked.  Then in Washington, it had been so cold and dreary I’d only been twice to the coast.  And I certainly hadn’t gotten into the water either time.  But now, the water was getting into me.  Getting into my soul, slithering inside my being.  How had I missed out on this my entire life until now?  For the first time ever, I truly felt at home.  Again, I had the dizzying realization that I never wanted to leave.

The waves laved themselves into me in a steady rhythm, stimulating me, lulling me, pushing me into a state of heightened, yet relaxed excitement.  At that moment, at that very instant, I wanted to be made love to.  Slow and steady, like the ocean was currently stroking me, yet as powerful and forceful as I knew it could be.

Suddenly, I heard a noise, and I wrenched myself up from that soft, comforting bed of mine, splashing against the water as I pushed myself away from it.  Victor was there.  Right beside me.  He’d come up quietly, while my eyes had been closed, then watched me practically getting off on the ocean’s relentless currents.  I was horrified, and the look in his eyes made me want to run for cover.  His face was flushed, muscles tensed, hands balled into fists.  He looked as if he were using every ounce of willpower within him to keep from jumping atop me and ravishing me raw.  Unbidden, a shiver jerked and jolted its way through me, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet.  To be wanted so powerfully, so ferociously; it was a frightening thing, indeed.

I looked down from his face, to his half-bare chest, to the enormous bulge in his shorts, and I gulped.  What had I been doing?  I had lost myself.  Had forgotten the prim, proper prude that I was always supposed to be.  Scrabbling backwards, I finally found my feet.

I stood there, gasping for a minute, until I somehow regained my equilibrium.  “If you’re not going to even bother to button your shirt,” I snapped, my voice scratchy, throat dry, “the least you could do is give it to me.”

He chuckled then, and the tense look in his eyes finally eased.  “You just want to see my chest,” he teased as he slipped it off and handed it over.  Reluctantly, I leaned forward, snatched it, and then folded myself into its voluminous depths.  Victor was so much bigger than me, that I could’ve wrapped it around myself three times, and thankfully, it covered me to mid-thigh.  His shirt was light, the fabric fine, but at least it wasn’t see-through like the robe.

“You looked like you were really enjoying your sun-bathing there,” he said nonchalantly.  “I’m sorry to have interrupted you.”

“Why did you then?” I retorted.

“Because, quite honestly, I was about to undress and fuck you right then and there,” he responded.

It was blunt and brutally honest, and he meant every word of it.  I wasn’t sure what had changed his mind, but a half-crazy part of me wished he’d actually done it.  What was wrong with me?  Wishing I could slap myself in the face to snap back into reality, I grumbled out, “What do you have in mind for us next?  Can we finally go to the camp?”

“Yes, it’s all set up,” he replied after a short pause.  I could see him standing there, his mind obviously churning.  It was as if he was having second thoughts about letting me get up and get dressed.  Well, too bad.  Still, I felt dizzy and off-center.  This island was already getting the best of me.  I couldn’t even think straight anymore.

“Okay then,” I told him, my voice a little shaky.  “Lead the way.”

Of course Victor wasn’t gallant enough to give me a pair of shoes, which meant I ended up pricking my feet on sticks and shells and various little miniature cacti and tenaciously-sticky sand spurs.  His intent?  Me having to be carried around like a helpless little girl.  He offered more than once to sweep me up into his arms and tote me the rest of the way like a sack of potatoes.  I, of course, declined.

He walked us down one of the paths, deep into the blanket of stunted shrubs, thick underbrush, and towering palms.  I was surprised and pleased to see several of the coconut and banana trees he had recently mentioned.  They were densely-weighted with ripe fruit, just begging to be picked.  Victor, playing the gentleman, reached up over my head towards a fully-laden branch on one of the shorter trees.  Forcing the stubborn bough down with one hand, he plucked me off a bunch of buttery-yellow prizes with the other.

I immediately ripped one of them off and then tucked the rest of the cluster under my left arm to secure it.  Then I began peeling my first banana.  As soon as the yellow pulp inside was exposed, I dug into it eagerly, not realizing until just that moment how hungry I truly was.

“I do have more filling fare back at the camp,” he told me.

“This is fine for now,” I mumbled through a mouth full of mushed banana.  The fruit was firm, and fresh, and it even had a little sugary, zesty-tartness to it that you didn’t get from grocery store produce.  I guess when it was grown naturally; it tended to be sweeter and more exceptional.

It was well shaded here in the depths of the woods, and as we walked, I was glad for the momentary respite from the intense sun.  Just then, I remembered the fact that I’d left my sunglasses back in that clump of sand-weeds.

“I forgot my glasses!” I said to Victor.  “We need to go back.”  I wasn’t sure if he’d bothered to pack me any extras, and considering the fact that he seemed intent on keeping me here for a while, I would absolutely need them again, to protect my eyes from those overly-brilliant rays.

“I’ve got them right here,” he said as he patted his pocket, and I glared at him then as I realized he just may have been watching me longer than I’d thought.  Either he’d fortuitously noticed them as he’d walked towards me where I was laying in the surf, or, he’d stopped soon after walking off, turned back, and then spied on me for a while before continuing on to the camp.  I astutely realized that the latter was much more likely.

Scowling at him still, I finished my banana.  I ended up eating four of them in less than five minutes flat.  Victor told me to just throw the peels into the bushes, since the bugs would invariably consume them completely by the very next morning.  Victor, himself, didn’t eat at all, and so I quickly surmised that he’d probably grabbed something back when he’d been checking on our “supplies”.  Right now, I was as parched as all get-out, so I hoped he had some cold drinks to quench my thirst when we got there.  Wherever we were going, that is.

Another few hundred yards or so into the wilderness, we finally came into a clearing.  For several minutes now, I’d been hearing an odd whispering.  When we got to the opening in the trees, I saw instantly what it was.  There was a gorgeous waterfall there, pouring heavily into a crystal-clear, deep-looking, glistening pool.  A swiftly-paced stream carried away the excess overflow, twisting and meandering off through the woods in the opposite direction.  This must be the place Victor had been describing on the yacht.

I wondered for a split-second if it truly was safe to drink, but without any further contemplation, I ran over, stooped onto the ground, set down the last two bananas, and then cupped my hands into it.  It felt so cool and refreshing against my palms, and behind me, Victor said, “The spring water is surging out fast from up above, and this pool drains into the stream there – so it never gets stagnant.  Like I said before, it’s very pure.  Most ponds aren’t necessarily okay to drink from, even those that are formed and fed by an underground, fresh-water source.  But I tested this one myself less than an hour ago, with a nifty little water-quality kit that I keep on-hand.  Also, I had an environmental expert out here last week, making absolutely sure.  Go ahead, drink.”  So I did.  I lapped it up without another thought, drinking from my hands like a wild woman.  It was crisp and sweet and refreshing, and I drank to my heart’s content.

When I was sated, I looked up at the huge pillar of loud, roaring, rushing water.  The spring that fed it up above must be fast-moving indeed to create such a heavy spill.  Two jutting rocks crafted the framework for the waterfall, and trailing vines with flowers followed the tumbling, crystal-clear water all the way to the bottom.

“This island is fairly rare for the surrounding area, as you’ve probably already noticed,” Victor explained.  “While it isn’t too uncommon to find places in or around the Northwestern coast of Florida with fresh-water springs – in fact, there are some beautiful, clear, deep, fresh-water springs that people can even scuba-dive in, all throughout the state of Florida – it is unusual to find an island here with an actual spring that borders on a rock formation and creates a waterfall.  As I’m sure you know, the great majority of Florida is comprised primarily of level beaches or depressed swamp-land, with very few granite deposits to speak of.  It’s just the way the world was created billions of years ago.

“There are some trundling slopes and rocky outcroppings up near the border of Alabama, but typically you never find that on any of the local islands.  Hurricanes, relentless ocean breezes, and tidal waves of years past, have pretty much turned almost every other single island out here into a plot of land as flat as a pancake.  The closest thing you’ll ever see to a hill on one of these atolls is usually a cluster of rolling sand dunes.  Some islands do have fresh-water springs such as this one, with plenty of flowering trees and shrubs and abundant wildlife, but I’ve never seen one in a setting as beautiful as this.”

Looking up from the spilling cascade, to the thick column of sparkling liquid, down to the lapping rivulets that gushed out in circular waves from where the waterfall crashed into the pool below, I acknowledged that he was surely right.  I didn’t know much about the geography of Florida as a whole.  But I did know that all the other islands we passed on the way here seemed to be singularly flat; the trees and dunes being the only things that broke up the level planes of land.  This gorgeous waterfall with the stone-lined thirty-foot or so wide basin beneath it, surely had to be an aberration.  I was simply glad it was here.

Not only was it lovely, but it would be a great place to get a cool drink of water, or even to take a bath and wash off in, since the current would quickly cleanse the water until it was fresh and pure once again.  And since the water initially came from a spring up above, it would’ve already been filtered through many, many feet of bedrock and limestone before making it to the top.  You couldn’t get much cleaner water unless you went to the continent of Antarctica and melted ice that had formed before pollution had ever even begun to take place.

I was still kneeling on the ground at the rim of the water (which right here was a mixture of verdant, silky dirt and brownish-sand), between some leafy green ferns and two slabs of sparkling-gray granite.  The entirety of the edging around the gorgeous, clear pool was comprised of either a ring of lush greenery, or flat rocks.  Staring down into the water, I realized then that it was so damn clear, I could actually see all the way to the bottom.  Glancing further out, I quickly realized that it was much deeper in the middle than I had initially realized.

“It’s just like Ginnie Springs,” Victor said softly from behind me.  I looked questioningly at him over my shoulder and then he grinned as he elaborated.  “Ginnie Springs is a beautiful vacation spot back east a bit here in Florida.  It has some of the clearest water known to man in which to go diving.  It’s deep, warm, and has miles of incredible underwater caves and caverns you can explore year round.  In fact, the water stays a constant 72 degrees regardless of the time of day or even the season.”

“It has miles of underwater caves?” I asked, glancing askance back at the grotto beside me.  Was it possible this place here was similarly large?

“Yes.  You can literally get lost in there and never be found again.  Here, I’ve done quite a bit of exploring.  I’ve been scuba-diving in this spring at least two dozen times, and I’ve still yet to find the end of the caves.”

I peered back into the shadowy depths of the sparkling, subtly-mysterious water.  “Where are they?  The caves.”

He pointed over my shoulder to the far left side.  “About ten feet down under that small red boulder right there is the main entrance.  There’s another one, about twenty feet over, but that cave doesn’t go very far.  The big one, it’s about 4 feet in diameter starting out, but once you get past the opening and go in about forty feet or so, it opens up into an interlocking set of immense limestone caverns that seem to go on for miles.  One day, I’ll explore all of it.  But so far, I always end up running low on air and having to come back before I ever get to the end.”

“You don’t worry, going down under there?” I asked.  I, myself, would be terrified out of my mind that I’d lose my way.  Taking twists and turns underwater is nothing like following a maze through the woods.  If you get lost in the forest, the worst thing that can happen is that you might end up spending a few nights out in the cold before a rescue party finds you, or you finally wind your own way back home.  But if you lost your way under there, with only a limited amount of oxygen…I shuddered just thinking about it.

“It’s nothing to be afraid of,” he told me then.  “You’ve never been scuba-diving before, have you?”  Of course he already knew the answer to that, as he knew just about everything else about me.  Growing up in Colorado, the opportunities to dive were scarce, and Victor knew me well enough to realize that I wouldn’t have sought it out in the cold waters off the coast of Washington, either.

“No,” I said softly.  Looking at the rippling surface and thinking about how silent and still and peaceful it would be under there, I felt an undeniable pull.  I may not like to go deep into the endless, dark caverns that spread out around us, but I would maybe like to go down to the entrances of the caves sometime; where the sun still sparkled, the fish lazily swam, and the rocks glittered gaily through the wavering water.  It reminded me of back when I was young and I fantasized about being a mermaid – well, back before I grew up too fast, and all my silly little-girl dreams were shattered like a hammer smashing glass.

I stood up abruptly, pulling Victor’s shirt more tightly around my body.  It was still hot out, so hot the sweat was dripping down my back between my shoulder blades.  And yet still, I shivered.

“What demons chase you?” he asked me softly, and I looked up quickly and saw something in his face that stopped me cold.  What did he know?  Because there was something there in his eyes.  He couldn’t possibly know the truth about me – about what I had done.  But if he could’ve paid a private investigator to track me down, he could’ve certainly paid someone to dig up all the dirt on my family.  If so, I guess he thought my mother was a murderer, then.  If only he knew the truth.

I tried to turn my back on him, but he grabbed me.  “Talk to me,” he said, his voice fierce.  I looked up at his intense, black onyx eyes, realized that they were quickly boring a hole straight through to my soul.

“Let me go,” I told him as I twisted sharply to the side.  But his hands tightened on the arms of the shirt, and he used his iron grip to hold me in place.

“I said talk to me,” he repeated.  He wasn’t going to let me push away from him.  He wasn’t going to let me escape from this.  All of a sudden, I felt like I was suffocating, drowning even though I was still one step away from the water.  Sensing the best way to break his hold on me and flee the situation entirely, I dropped into a crouch, slipped out of the shirt, then ducked under his arm and dove into the clear pool, leaving him holding an empty piece of fabric and gazing after me with his calculating, razor-sharp, penetrating eyes.

I was upset now, choking back tears, although I couldn’t really and truly even explain why.  All I knew was that somehow, someway, thoughts of long-ago horrors had come back to claim me.  I felt like I had to run from my past, run fast and run hard: but there was simply nowhere to go.  So, I swam.

I swam fast, over towards the other edge of the cool, deep pool, figuring I’d climb out, jump up, and then take off into the woods; cowering in the bushes until the old terrors had finally left me.

As I propelled myself through the crisp, clean water, its cradling buoyancy soothed and calmed me.  Yet even so, hot tears trailed down my face.  Thank God, this beautiful pond was helping to hide them.  I didn’t want Victor to see them – to know – to realize.  I didn’t want him to have any suspicions or ideas about me.

I was almost at the other edge, my mind playing a riotous stream of disconnected images.  They were of agonizingly-cryptic flashes, flickering glimpses of old and painful memories.  It was like three separate symphonies were all playing at once, my thoughts so jumbled and confusing they may as well have been transcribed into Chinese.

My emotions were out of control, a jangled, chaotic mess, when out of the blue; a big, strong arm wrapped itself around me.  I pushed and struggled, trying to force my way through the water and away from the hot, rigid wall of flesh behind me, but it was no use.  Victor hauled me back against his chest, pinned me there, and then swam with me – away from the bank that I was headed to, and over towards the waterfall instead.  It had flat, smooth rocks along both sides of it; a perfect place for an afternoon rendezvous.

I found myself yelling and thrashing and scratching him, without any real cognizant recognition of what I was even doing.  Why was I so upset?  Why had I completely lost it?

Victor turned me around to face him, and I continued raging at him, hitting him, kicking out at his legs and gouging his chest with my short nails.  I raked my hand across his skin so hard, I drew four thin lines of blood that were quickly soaked up and then rinsed away by the crystal-clear water.  Still, the dark-red furrows remained.  I’d never hurt him physically before, in fact, other than my own father – I’d never hurt anyone.  The sight of his gashed flesh stopped me cold.  I paused for only one single second, but it was all he needed.

Pushing me back against a warm rock at the edge of the pool, Victor took both my wrists in his palms.  Bringing my arms down behind me and then pinning them beneath the water, against the small of my back, he leaned into me and kissed me.  I kicked at him as he did so, but I missed, and it simply gave him the perfect opportunity to move in between my legs.  And that’s when I realized that he’d shed his shoes and shorts before diving in behind me.  Beneath those khakis, he’d been naked.

Right now he held me tight, pressed into me, and as the rock-edged wall behind me ground into my shoulders, he pushed his erection up against me and thrust his tongue in my mouth.  He claimed me totally, completely, utterly.  There was no room left for confusion or misconceptions.  He was going to have me, all of me.  He was going to take me, like it or not.  And oh, dear God, but I think I liked it.

At first, I fought against myself as much as I fought against him.  Pushing out with my hips, wiggling, and biting him.  He moved his tongue out of my mouth in time to save it, but once again I bit his lip so hard I drew blood.  Now he had blood on his mouth and his chest, but the more I tore into him, ravaged him, hurt him, the more I wanted him in me.  My passion had finally hit its breaking point.  Still, I would fight him damn-near to the death.  Not because I didn’t want him anymore; because of how much I did.

I whipped my head to the side so he couldn’t kiss me again, and he pushed both of my wrists into his heavy left palm, easily anchoring them in place with the use of just one of his hands.  With his free right hand, he grabbed my jaw, pulled my face around, wrenched my mouth open.  He went in to kiss me and I felt my tongue automatically become poised, ready to taste him, waiting almost eagerly for his assault.  But it didn’t come.  Instead, he bit me back, capturing my bottom lip between his shiny, straight white teeth and holding it there.  Then he began to lick and suck it.

I tried to jerk my head away but it barely moved; his grip was just too strong.  I moaned a little as his hard, fierce lips suckled against me, wanting his tongue in my mouth instead, but those dark thoughts were still swirling in my brain.  It wasn’t enough.  I needed more.

I brought my leg up, so nimble and flexible, I easily moved it into position.  He was focusing on my face now, on keeping my jaw pried open and finally plunging his tongue back inside me, his hard cock pressing up insistently and hungrily against my stomach.  So, I used that opportunity to back my ass up towards the rigid rocks even more, and then surreptitiously wiggle my knee between us.  I just needed to wait until the time was right.

Abruptly, though, he pulled back.  “Tell me,” he whispered.

My greenish-blue, stormy eyes fixated on his.  The flecks of gold around my irises were undeniably flashing in barely-subdued anger and mind-numbing fear.  “Tell you what?” I asked carefully.

“Tell me everything.  Tell me who hurt you, tell me what hurt you.  Tell me what it is that makes you whimper and cry every night.”

“What do you mean?” I gasped.

“The tossing, the turning, the sobbing in your sleep.  I wrestled with it for five long months.  I’m not a fool.  Come on Tempest, trust me.  Let me in.  Let me know your secrets.”

Oh no, he did know, then.  He obviously knew everything that had been in the news, and beyond that, he suspected much, much more.  Fuck!

I had no idea that he’d been aware of the dreams all along.  My current roommate slept all the way at the other end of the house, and I’d had yet to share a bed with Charlie.  So I wasn’t quite sure if, even now, those horrible dreams persisted.  But back then, back when I’d been in college, they’d plagued me every night.  My old roommates had quickly gotten earplugs, or even gone to sleep with their iPods on full-blast.

The funny thing was that I never even remembered the nightmares in the morning.  I had no idea what they were about, or how they ended.  I just woke up with the unmistakable feeling that something precious and yet also painful, had been irretrievably lost.  But for some silly reason, I’d naïvely assumed that I’d felt so safe, so protected with Victor, that I hadn’t had those nightmares there with him.  Especially since every morning, I’d woken up happy and secure in his arms.

Quite apparently, however, I’d been dead wrong.  Only what did he know?  What had I said in those late-night ramblings?  Victor suspected something terrible, for certain.  Whether he had it all figured out or not, I didn’t care to guess, nor did I even really want to know.

He was leaning into me.  I felt his hardness pressing, pressing.  There was nowhere to go.  Nowhere to turn.  Nowhere left to run anymore.

I didn’t want him to remind me of that time, that thing that I had done – that act that had almost broken me.  I wanted just the opposite.  I wanted him to fuck me so hard and so long he pushed those thoughts away.  I wanted him to damn-well pound that darkness out of me, drive the memories out of my soul.  It may only last for a few moments, or a few hours.  But I would take it.  I needed that release now more than ever.

The only way to stop him from questioning me, probing into my memories, my thoughts, my shadowy past, was to incite the animal lust that lurked within him.  I was halfway there already.  It wouldn’t take much.

“You want me to let you in?” I breathed.  “Where?  Here?”  I moved up, pushing against the rough, bumpy edge of the pool behind me until my hot cleft was right against the swollen tip of him.  My one knee was still up, against his ribs.  I was wide open for him.

“Tempest,” he growled.  So I leaned forward, brushed my hard nipples against his chest.  Never before had I been so brazen.  It damn-near took his breath away.  I felt his cock grow harder, felt it pulsing, could practically sense his heart-beat through the tiny bit of contact from skin to skin.  I was getting to him.

His grip on me was easing.  I leaned forward again, straining against the tight muscles in my thigh as I fought to keep my leg in place.  When I was close enough to him, I slowly licked the bloody wounds on his chest from where I’d raked him.  Then I pushed up higher and licked his lower lip.  He groaned and thrust me against the wall.

“What in the hell are you doing?” he breathed into my mouth before claiming it, plunging his tongue between my lips and ravaging me.  His rigid control slipped a little.  He began kissing me in a way that was unlike anything else he’d ever done before.  All those other times, he’d been in complete and utter mastery – of himself, and of me.  His every reaction planned, his every movement orchestrated.  Suddenly, somehow, I was the one calling the shots.  He still was bigger, stronger, overwhelming, practically possessing every inch of me.  But for the first time ever, I was making the moves, directing the action, turning him on.

It felt good.  I had the insane thought that I would love to fuck him without any limitations, both of us taking, violating, using each other – both of us losing control.  I knew that he would always be the aggressor, always be the conqueror, always be the one pushing me, pleasuring me, taking me.  But how far would he go?

If I were to truly allow myself to break free from all of my normal restraints and hang-ups during sex, to then show him the boundless and limitless sensuality that I’d always kept hidden somewhere deep inside me…just how far would he take it?  If his firm and unyielding control slipped, if that absolute discipline that so tightly bound him somehow got fragmented, temporarily shoved past the point of no return; would he end up hurting me?  Would he drive me - my body, my limits, my endurance - even farther and harder than he had thus far?

Suddenly, I felt him reigning himself back in, like a coiled spring winding itself tighter and tighter.  He was onto my ploy.  He was going to pull back from me, pull back from this, and then go back to questioning me about my dreams, or worse, about my earlier emotional outburst.  I couldn’t allow it.  I needed to push hard, and push now.  Push with all I had.

I began to kiss him softly, sweetly.  I relaxed my body, let him feel my resistance waning, and instantly I sensed his grip on me begin to loosen.  As he reeled his own physical reaction back into check, he was also dialing down the physical domination.  That would work to my advantage.  I gave him another moment of capitulation, let him think that I was absolutely compliant, and I felt his entire body begin to ease.  That was when I shoved with my knee, hard.  It drove him back a little, giving me more room, so I brought my leg up higher and thrust with all I had, trying desperately to force him further away from me.

Only he was just about as enormous and immovable as a mighty Sequoia.  I got maybe two inches of extra space out of it.  Yet it was enough.  I slithered to the side, and the water helped me escape, creating a slippery enough surface for me to wrench my wrists free.  It wouldn’t have happened if not for him having already lowered his guard.  Or so I thought.

I’d shoved myself to the side, turned, grabbed the rocks, and hefted myself up.  Too late, I realized that he had planned this all along; had allowed me to wiggle free so as to better position me in the end.

Now I was half out of the water, half in, my torso bent over at the waist, my upper body and breasts smushed flat against the warm, gritty surface of one of the large, flat rocks at the edge, my lower body dangling down.  And he was right behind me, holding me there with a fist in my hair.

“That’s it baby,” he growled as he tightened his left hand in my wet tresses while I helplessly struggled, “fight me all you want.”  His other arm had somehow gotten wrapped securely around my waist.  His stiff, hot rod was now riding the crack of my ass.  I pushed up against the bank with my palms, thrashed ineffectually, yelled at him.

“You son of a bitch, let me go!” I screamed.

His knee shoved between mine, efficiently spreading them.  Then he forced both of his legs between my thighs.  Widening his stance, he wrenched my body further open.  I was helpless now.  I grabbed the rocks in front of me, used those pitiful handholds to try and leverage myself away.  It was useless.

I was panting, breathless, the water dripping off of me in heavy rivulets.  My breasts were wet, my slick chest was heaving up and down, and my erratic heart was smacking wildly against the backside of my ribs.  Victor’s hand was pulling at my hair sharply, wrenching my head back, even more efficiently controlling me.

“You going to be a good girl?” he asked me.

“Go to hell,” I snapped.  I could almost picture the smile spreading across his face, the smugness, the satisfaction.  It was what he wanted.  What we both wanted.  He was about to forcefully and vengefully take me, battering the terrible angst and bitter agony right out of me.  Also, quite importantly, the uncomfortable questions had blessedly ceased.

Victor slid his arm out from under my stomach then, simply using his body that was still thrusting up roughly against me, and his strong fingers that were still threaded securely through my hair, to continue to subdue me.  But unexpectedly, his fist twisted in the sodden red strands so cruelly, I felt a white-hot pain along my scalp.

I shrieked, instinctively letting go of the rocks and reaching back to try and keep him from yanking harder.  And that was exactly what he intended.  Now, I was hanging over the damp rocks, dangling by his grip in my hair, both of my hands back behind my head and wrapped tightly around his thick wrist in futile desperation.  At least that way I could support most of my own weight, thereby lessening the stinging, prickling twinges that were blaring out all along the abused roots of my long hair.

But now, both of my arms were effectively out of the way, and he was free to do whatever he wished.  And what he wished was to spank me.

His hard, hot palm came down viciously against my taut, wet ass cheeks, and I screamed.  He’d never hit my ass before, but he damn sure had spanked my pussy.  This time it didn’t hurt that much either, not really, it mostly just stung.  But it also made an erotic, sharp, slapping sound that echoed through the trees.  Just hearing it got me as wet inside as I was out.  My ass clenched in automatic reaction as he spanked me again, but my hands had to stay up at his wrist to keep him from pulling my hair too brutally.

I was completely subdued, controlled, conquered.  And God, it felt so good.  Suddenly, I realized what he was doing, what this whole, sordidly-sexual thing was honestly all about.  Victor, quite certainly, knew about the appalling abuse.  He knew I’d seen my Mom beaten by my Dad.  He probably also was aware that there had been times he’d even turned that violent anger towards me.  I knew Victor would never hit me in that way, never punch me, slap me in the face, or hurt me like what my Mom had endured.  But what he was doing now was giving me a good, old-fashioned spanking.  Truly the only semi-acceptable way for any person to ever be disciplined.

It didn’t make sense to me then, at that very moment, and it probably never would.  But those two brief, sharp little whacks had somehow swatted the rest of those rancid cobwebs out of my mind.  Victor was showing me that it was possible for a man to put his hands on a woman, perhaps even give her a tiny jolt of pain, but all for the purpose of pleasure, and only for the right reasons:  out of love and respect, not out of anger and derision.

He was teaching me, in his own way, that there could be pushing, biting, spanking, pinching - and a whole lot else - without there being any “abuse”.  He was letting me know that it was okay for me to get this physical, to be this way, to enjoy this kind of interaction, and that there wasn’t anything sick or wrong about it.  He’d probably sensed this depraved need of mine all along, and had just understood that I’d had no real way to put a name to it, and no acceptable way to feed it.  He’d been leading me towards an eventual resolution back then, in teeny-tiny little baby steps.  But we weren’t dealing with baby steps any longer.

I know many victims of abuse - too many - that grow up and find lovers who whack them around and ridicule them, just like their fathers did to their mothers.  But that inkling for self-castigation (an inkling that I had even shamefully sensed within myself), well, Victor was actually giving me a healthy way in which to wrench it out of the marrow of my soul.  And I didn’t know whether or hate him for making me face up to it, or love him for showing me a way to escape it; all I knew was that I wanted him to fuck me right now, and I wanted it bad.

Victor’s grip in my hair loosened a little, and I was able to bring my arms back down finally.  I started to prop myself back up on my hands, but he stopped me.  “Don’t,” he commanded forcefully as he began to caress the sensitive ass-cheek he’d just dutifully spanked.  “Put your hands behind your neck or I’ll spank you again.”

He let go of my hair and brought his left arm down to my waist.  Clasping me around my slender stomach, he moved his hand up slowly and sensually until it was just under my sternum.  Then he used that to support me, instead.

I did what I was told, putting my hands behind my neck and lacing my fingers together to help keep them there.  He lifted me up a little bit further, then he reached his right hand up and around and began to squeeze my breasts.  Tweaking the nipples sharply, one by one, he played with them almost ruthlessly until he had me moaning and squirming, rubbing my ass back and forth against his bare, hot torso.  He pinched and twisted the left one until I screamed, then finally, he reluctantly let it go.

Next, he slowly and possessively rubbed his rough palm up against my throat, down across my breast, over the right side of my ribcage, and around to my back.  He stroked up to my shoulders, across the back of my neck, and then all the way down the entire length of my spine, ending his weighty caress by firmly squeezing each ass cheek one by one.  His left hand remained propped tirelessly against my sternum the whole time, holding me in place as effortlessly as if I weighed less than a sack of cotton candy.

I gasped then as he shockingly and unexpectedly dove his hand into the water, pushing it up between my spread legs and stroking my hot pussy.  The water couldn’t hide the fact that my own moisture was dripping out of me.  Victor rubbed my silken flesh, circling the rim of my opening over and over until I was practically screaming.  When I couldn’t take even one more second of it, when I was about to buck and struggle from acute agony, he sensually and slowly pushed his index finger deep inside of me.  He held it there, pinning me to the wall, then he slowly and seductively pulled it out.  Again and again, in and out, he slowly fucked me with it.

I began to pant and tremble.  I felt his cock start to throb where it was propped now against the outside of my thigh.  I wanted to taste it.  Suddenly, Victor pulled his finger out of me and then grasped my clit.  Gripping it tightly, he started pinching it in a sinuously sadistic rhythm, quickly driving me close to orgasm.  How was it that I was almost there?  Almost ready to explode?

“What do you want?” he queried calmly.  Oh God, how I wanted to see his face.

“You…I want you.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I ah, I want you to-to lick me.  Please.”  I was practically ready to weep now, so stumblingly unsure it was pathetic.  He was once more in complete control.  There was no doubt about that.

“You want me to lick you, huh?” he asked, his voice so strong and commanding.  “Where?”

“Th-there,” I stuttered.

“No, you tell me where; where exactly.  You tell me now.”

“My body.  I want you to lick my body.”  With that ambiguous reply, his fingers pinched cruelly and I gasped out loud.  “My p-p-pussy.  My clit.  I want you to lick my clit and ta-taste me.”

He grunted in satisfaction before slowly lowering me down by my sternum.  As I moved forwards, I reached down and caught myself on my palms.  Victor lifted me up by my hips, turned me over.  I went willingly.  He physically positioned me on the edge of the rock.  He was so tall, we were nearly at eye-level, but he sank down in the water until his face was between my thighs.

“Lean back on your hands and spread your legs wider,” he said.  “Then put them over my shoulders.”

I did what he asked, leaning back and looking up at the tangerine sun.  It was lower in the sky now, not nearly so hot, but still it warmed my skin, my breasts, my face.  I shut my eyes as he positioned himself before me.  But he said, “Look at me Tempest.”  So, I did.

I watched him while he put his hands behind me, grabbed my ass, pulled me closer to him.  I spread my legs and then draped them over his shoulders, watched with avid awe as his long, thick tongue came out and swiped me.  “Goddamn you taste so fucking good,” he grunted, and his fingers dug harder into my ass cheeks.  I knew his cock was getting thicker, harder, hotter.  My mouth started to water.

“If you try to run away from me, I’ll catch you,” he said, then he kissed my thighs.  “If you try to hide from me, I’ll find you,” he said then he swiped that long, thick tongue around the center of me until I moaned.  “If you try to get away from me, I’ll tie you down,” he said before biting my lips hard, first one and then the other.  I was writhing against him now, gasping for air.  “If you turn away from me, I’ll take you,” he said into the depths of me before stabbing his tongue so deeply inside me, I had to bite my lips to keep from shrieking.

“And if you ever leave me again, I’ll fucking die,” he finished, before latching on to my pulsating clit and sucking it for all he was worth.  I began to scream then, throwing my head back and frightening the birds out of the trees.  He sucked and sucked, biting the twitching bud until I grabbed his head in desperation.  Burying my fingers into his short-cropped hair, I tried to wrench his mouth away from me, but he just leaned into me and suckled harder, faster, more fiercely.  He pulled my clit against his tongue in a mind-shattering rhythm, causing my entire body to jerk and shake.  And then I began to cum.

My thighs started trembling, pussy clamping down as the cream gushed out of me and down his chin.  My hips bucked, ass getting scraped on the rough surface of the rocks.  I didn’t care.  My legs tightened around Victor’s shoulders, drawing him into me as I screamed and thrashed.  And he just kept on and on, his mouth working me as I wept and wailed.

How could someone make you cum so hard, the pleasure was so goddamn intense; it made you cry?  It hardly seemed feasible.  But Victor did it.  He would torture me, sucking and licking and biting at me, drawing the agonizing orgasms out of me until I thought I was going to pass out.  All those times he’d made me cum, though – all those sweaty, lengthy, hot nights from long-ago - only nothing had been like this.

I was screaming, out of my mind, grinding my pussy into his face.  “Yes, yes, yes,” I shrieked although I was still trying desperately to pry him off me.  Half of me was pulling him closer, the other half pushing him away.  It was the conundrum of my life, and something I always would suffer from as long as I was with him.

Only today, my heart wasn’t in it – not today, anyhow.  For this instant, for this particular fragment of time, it was blessedly just my body.  So how would I take it, how could I possible make it through this, if he were to cause me to fall in love with him again first?  I didn’t know if I could do it.  It would simply be too much.  But I didn’t have to think about that yet.  All that mattered in this moment was getting him inside me.

“Fuck me, fuck me,” I begged, like a brazen, whorish harlot, going against everything I’d promised myself only hours before.  This man whom I’d recently told that I hated, who I’d wanted to escape from, who I’d half-wished was dead, and now, I couldn’t get enough of him.  The only way I’d be satisfied was when he was splitting me open.  I had to have him.  I had to have him now.

Victor suddenly let my tortured, pink flesh go, my clit popping free from his teeth with a slight sucking sound.  I gasped when he finally released it, and the blood rushed into it and filled it up, causing it to swell and redden.  I wanted him to pull me into the pool and thrust that monster into me, so when he lifted me up and pulled me towards him, I felt anxious relief flood through me.  But instead of pulling me down into the water, he flipped me around and bent me face-first over the rocks again.  Once more he was back there between my thighs.

“Wait, Victor, wait!” I yelled.  He was just too damn big for me to take him from behind!  I couldn’t handle it and he knew it.  Sure, I’d wanted to be speared to the core mere moments ago, but not like this.  We’d never done it like this before.  And all I knew about sex from the rear was that in the doggy-style, as my girlfriends crudely called it, the man could penetrate much deeper than in missionary.  The reality of that scared the shit out of me.

I struggled, but Victor pushed me flat, my breasts squishing uncomfortably against the warm rocks.  “You’re too big, you’ll hurt me,” I garbled out, but he just put one strong hand on my back, holding me in place.

“Shhh,” he said forcefully.  Then I felt him, felt his head pushing at my softness.  His hard body was up against mine, pinning me to the rocks.  My legs were dangling into the water, my ass was easily accessible.  I put my hands back flat on the rocks and pushed myself against Victor’s palm, but I didn’t go anywhere.  I tried to close my legs against him, but his thick thighs spread me, and his cock was beginning to spear into me now.

Suddenly, he leaned over top me, moving his hand off my back and up my spine, between my shoulder blades, then around my neck.  He wrapped his huge hand around my throat and gently squeezed.  “Settle down,” he said authoritatively.  Then, his right hand forcefully and seductively caressed my ass cheeks, marking his property, staking his claim.  A second later, his other hand tightened even more around my neck as he demanded, “Now, give it to me, baby.”

Those words shook me to the core.  They were commanding, masterful, cold, hard.  They brooked no argument.  He didn’t want me to fight anymore.  This was no longer a sensual game where I balked and he subdued me.  He wanted me to freely submit to him.  He wanted me to let him inside me, to let him force his enormous cock up into me, to take the pain and the invasion and accept it, willingly.  Oh, Jesus.

I stopped squirming, stopped struggling, let my legs hang free.  I felt my throat bobbing against his rough palm as I tried to swallow.  I had no spit, none to speak of.  My mouth was bone dry.

“That’s it,” he breathed as he began to move into me.  My arms were out in front of me and I let them go limp, let my head hang down supported only by his hand around my throat.  It cut off my air enough to make me dizzy, but I wanted that; needed it.

My heart was pounding in my chest.  Why was this so intimidating to me, to be taken from behind?  I guess because I was totally and completely submissive.  Had no control, no power, no nothing.  I was his.

He pushed his hips forward and his cock sank into me perhaps half an inch.  I moaned.  I felt his incredible girth, his wicked hardness.  Felt it widening and stretching me.  I was so wet, so unbelievably damn wet from how relentlessly he had just pleasured me.  My pussy was still spasming and clenching from the orgasms he’d just piled on and on.  I could feel my inner walls twitching and clamping weakly against his rigid cock.  It was so damn hot, so damn big, so damn conquering and invasive.

It was reaching up inside me so completely, once his cock possessed me fully, there’d be nothing of me left anymore.  I was sure of that.  I gulped back a sob as he began to move.  He thrust it in me another inch or so, and I cried out.  God, but it hurt.  His right hand began to caress my ass again.  “That’s it, baby, open up for me, give it to me,” he said from behind me, and the possessive and controlling nature of his words sent shivers down my spine this time.  My hands clenched impotently, fingers digging into the rough rock.  I felt sandy grit slide up underneath my fingernails.

He plunged further and I squealed, felt my pussy resisting, pushing against him, trying to thrust him back out of me.  Only he was there to stay.  He owned me now.  He spread his feet and opened my legs wider, and I gasped.  He began to work his cock back and forth.  He was so big I thought I could even taste him, as if he was shoving his cock all the way up my pussy, through my stomach and into the back of my throat.

I began to grunt in concert with his thrusts, “Uhn, uhnh, uhnh,” as he worked himself back and forth, back and forth.  Suddenly, he slapped my ass again.  This time it turned me on even more than the last.

“I said open up, Tempest.”

Again, a sob.  “I’m trying Victor, I’m trying!”

“No you’re not,” he said cruelly.  “Not hard enough.  Open that pussy and let me in!”

His voice rippled through every cell in my body.  He truly did own every part of me.  His rod was so huge it was impaling me, hurting me, ripping me open.  But when he’d said that, when he’d told me so authoritatively to let him in; I’d felt something deep inside myself give.

My inner walls relaxed, just a bit, and he slid in even farther.  This time, he moaned, a half-grunt that was fierce and almost brutal.  He sawed in and out softly for a moment, lulling me, and then he thrust in even harder.  My hips slapped up against the rock wall, water sloshed up over the edge.

“That pussy is mine,” he said, each word punctuated by another vicious thrust.  “I own it, I own you, you will always obey me.”  Slap, slap, slap.  I felt his cock sink deeper and deeper.  It was so tight, it had to be hurting him.  I felt stuffed to the gills with him, bursting and engorged.  I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

As if he could read my mind, “More,” he said angrily.  “Open up more!”

“I’m…trying,” I breathed, my voice a portrait of purified pleasure and pain.

“Try harder,” he said forcefully.  “And then tell me your pussy is mine.  All mine.”

I wanted to weep from frustration.  I tried to get away then, but could barely move an inch.  He was so far up inside me, I was imprisoned; I guess I belonged there.  “Fuck you,” I breathed, angry now.

He laughed.  “Tell me,” he said as he thrust so hard I screamed once more.  His hand tightened on my throat and he began to pound into me, forging his own way.  As tight as I was, as much as it hurt, my pussy was so wet I could hear his balls slapping up against the moisture.  I couldn’t believe how turned on I was.  I was confused, upset, half-hysterical.  Then his free hand slid down and wiggled its way over to my pussy.  I jumped against his hard, hot body.  It was like an electric shock had just shot through me again.

He pulled me back a few inches, until there was more space between the rock wall and my body, so he’d have more room with which to work.  I struggled then once again, but still it was of no use.  And that was when his hand slid slyly over to my clit.  Quick as lightning, he’d scissored it cruelly between his index and middle finger.  My cunt pulsed and I started to scream.  He held it, trapped there, for several long and agonizing moments.  I could actually feel my heart beat there in my swollen clit, thumping against his torturous fingers.  Finally, he let it go.  And then he began to stroke the turgid, enflamed organ so lightly and gently, it instantly began to twitch and seize.  I was about to explode once more.  This time it was going to be so goddamn violent, it just might take my head off.

But behind me, Victor still had work to do.  “I said; tell me your fucking pussy belongs to me.”  The calmness in his voice belied how aggressive he was gearing himself up to treat me.  I shook my head no, so he spanked me there, right on my thudding clit, and then he gripped my entire pussy in his palm.  He didn’t have much space, so the slap wasn’t very hard, but still the contact jolted through me, and I felt my clit beating wetly against his hand.  My thighs shuddered and my nipples got as tight and hard as glass.  My feet were arched.  I was at the precipice.

“Tell me,” he said softly, an edge to his voice that chilled me to the bone.  This was what he’d meant – earlier, on the boat – when he’d said he was going to do things to me that I couldn’t even imagine…things that he’d wanted to put my body through before but that he’d gone easy on me – me, a naïve little virgin.  But now, all bets were off.  He was using me, torturing me, fucking me, filling me.  I was his.  I was.  I had to cum.  I had to cum so goddamn bad.  And he knew it.

My whole body started juddering up and down and he chuckled.  I wanted to rip his face off.  Again, the anger overwhelmed me.  Somehow, with him, passion would always be intertwined with fury, pleasure with pain, love with hate.

He tweaked my clit, pinched it, his grasp so tight the blood beat and pulsed against his fingertips again, then he let off of the swollen bud, giving it just a moment to really become sensitive, before stroking it once more.  This time, he strummed it quickly up and down, up and down; the rough pad of his fingertip causing me unspeakable agony.

My pussy was pulsating, quivering, my clit thumping and quaking from acute, agonizing need.  If I didn’t cum soon, I was going to die.

“It’s yours, my pussy is yours, okay, it’s yours!” I shrieked.

Then, like before, he said it again.  “Tell me to fuck you.  Beg me.  Beg me to rip you open, pound you, pleasure you, ravage you, plow you.  Plead with me to fuck you raw.”

“You son of a bitch, I hate you, I hate you,” I screeched.  Even when he’d told me he would do things to me I could only imagine – even when he’d promised me things such as this – still, I’d had only a vague idea what he was truly capable of.  This here was ten times worse than how he’d been towards me back in the boat.  This was my own little slice of heavenly-hell.

He lightly stroked my clit even faster, and it jumped and leapt pitifully beneath his cruel and merciless touch.  Just as I was about to cum, just as I was about to lose it all over him, screaming and writhing as my body exploded, he pulled his fingers away.  I openly wept.  It was over.

“Please, God, please fuck me, please pound it into me, please fuck me until I bleed!  Is that what you want?  Is that it?  Dear God, please, please just make me cum!”

Victor gripped my clit tightly then began twirling it mercilessly between his thumb and forefinger.  At the same time, he started ramming his cock into me even harder from behind; spearing me, cleaving me, shredding me, splitting me open.  I came screaming, shrieking, my clit seizing and shuddering, pussy spasming as the orgasm rocketed through me and burnt me to a bloody, blackened crisp in its wake.  Cum gushed endlessly out of me as my hips jumped, my thighs clenched helplessly against him, and I collapsed against his hand.  That palm at my throat was the only thing keeping my face off the hard, scratchy rocks.  My breasts were rubbing raw against the sand-covered granite – but I didn’t care.  I was still cumming.

He was fucking me so hard now my hips were bouncing up and down, but his fingers kept my clit captive, kept rolling it, kept torqueing it, and I kept cumming my ass off.  “Yes, goddamnit.  Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” I was pleading breathlessly, really no sound coming out as the tears streamed down my face and my pussy weakly spasmed and shook on and on.  More cream gushed out of me, my walls still clenching, clitoris still shuddering and jumping wildly as he fucked me harder and harder.

Finally, when it was so raw, so tortured I could no longer stand it, he thankfully let go of the swollen, battered organ.  Then he reached under my hips, angled them up, positioned my ass even higher, and plowed me as ruthlessly as he could from behind.  He fucked me hard, he fucked me long, he fucked me open.

My whole body shook from the power of his thrusts.  “That’s it, that’s it my little whore, my little slut.  You’re gonna take it, take my cum, take everything I’ve got.  And you’re gonna love it.”  Victor’s dirty talk only galvanized more spasms out of my weakly pulsing pussy as he brutalized it from behind, pummeling into me, jacking my hips and my ass higher and higher as he rammed into me, plowing his cock deeper and deeper until finally, he came.  He thrust so hard and so violently I screamed; screamed from pain, pleasure and victory as I felt his hot, salty jism jetting out inside of me.  He kept pumping and pumping as it spurted, his hard, rigid cock jerking as he emptied himself, until finally, he was done.

Gently then, he pulled it out of me, hefted me back into the water, and washed me off.  But as the sun began to bleed down the side of the sky towards its nightly berth, I saw the look in his eyes and felt a hot spurt of fear in my heart as I realized several things in direct succession; it was getting darker and colder, his erection was slowly waning, and not only he was nowhere near yet sated, I’d also only just begun to glimpse the beast within him…

Please see the further adventures of Victor and Tempest in the erotic series, ‘The Captive Bride’ Part IV, “Scorching Seas”; coming soon…

Beautiful Agony:  A Tale Of Savage Love

Part I

Part II

Part III (coming soon)

The Seduction Of Bella Blue

Books I - IV (coming in February, March, and April of 2013)

“The Cottage of Carnal Delights” Series

Books, I-XII

The “Unbidden Compilations”, I – III

A Submissive’s Tale

Book I:  Initiation

Book II:  Commencement  (coming in Feb, 2013)

“Domination:  The Streets Of Desire” Series

Book I:   Covet Thy Neighbor - ‘Awakenings’

Book II:   Crave - The Discovery Of A ‘Dom’

Book III:  Revenge Is Sweet (coming Feb, 2013)

“The Hollywood Harlot” Series

Book I:   ‘Serving The Master’

Book II:  ‘Obeying The Master’ (coming Feb, 2013)

“The Merciless Mastermind” Series

Book I:   ‘I’d Bet My Ass’

Book II:  ‘Taming The Wench’ (coming Feb, 2013)

Steamy ‘Shorts’

Taken And Used:  A Submissive ‘Short’

You Get What You Ask For:  A Submissive ‘Short’

Bound And Gagged:  A Submissive ‘Short’

The Officer Takes Two:  A Submissive ‘Short’

Chained And Chastised:  A Submissive ‘Short’ (coming soon)

Bound and Broken:  A Submissive ‘Short’ (coming soon)

“A Mistress, A Maid”

Book I:  An Offer She Can’t Refuse (coming Jan-Feb, 2013)

Book II:  A Servant Of Lust (coming March, 2013)

My Sweet Submissive:  Erotic Shorts

*Chaining Chelsie* (coming Feb 2013)

*Binding Becca* (coming soon)

*Mastering Misty* (coming soon)

*Forcing Felicity* (coming soon)

The Brink:  A Naughty Club For Exceptionally Discreet Adults

Story I:  Cheaters  (coming March, 2013)

Story II:  Dirty Little Liars  (coming soon)

Story III:  Veiled Abandon  (coming soon)

Story IV:  Stolen  (coming soon)

Important Information Regarding What Lies Within This Book:

PLEASE NOTE:  “RAPTURE ISLAND” IS A FICTIONAL ISLAND OFF THE COAST OF NORTHWEST FLORIDA.  THE BEACHES OF DESTIN AND SANDESTIN FLORIDA HAVE MANY, NUMEROUS, ISOLATED, DESERTED, GORGEOUS ISLANDS FROM WHICH THIS PARTICULAR SETTING HAS BEEN CONCEIVED, BUT IT IS NOT MEANT TO REPRESENT ANY REAL ISLAND IN ANY WAY.

PLEASE NOTE:  ALTHOUGH ABDUCTION IS USED IN THIS STORY, I AM IN NO WAY ENDORSING KIDNAPPING AS A METHOD OF ROMANCING A WOMAN IN REAL LIFE.  NOR AM I ENDORSING THE USE OF DRUGS ON ANY PERSON WITHOUT HIS OR HER CONSENT.  THIS IS FOR STORY-TELLING PURPOSES ONLY, FOR CRAFTING AN INTERSTING PLOT FULL OF EROTIC FANTASY, THAT PEOPLE WILL HOPEFULLY ENJOY READING; FOR THAT, AND THAT ALONE.

An Instructional Discussion About The BDSM Lifestyle…

BDSM writing at its core can, and very often does, involve both the use of “force, aggression, and coercion”, and “sexual submission or surrender” in its portrayals of foreplay and intercourse between two (or more) consenting adults.  For those who are unfamiliar with or unaccepting of the BDSM lifestyle however, this has the potential to possibly be viewed as describing situations akin to “rape”, or even as depicting scenarios that may seem to include a certain level of mild sexual violence.

It is highly important to note, therefore, that the differences between true rape (i.e. forced or coerced sex, or sexual assault), and BDSM-themed role-playing and submissive/domination-type activities, are honestly quite extreme.  Most importantly, those involved in these types of sexual fantasies and games are absolutely consenting, which can actually be deduced fairly easily by the reader, even if that reader is a novice in this particular subject area.  Also, even if the authors of these types of works do not always spell out their novel’s true intentions each and every time; the general meaning and purpose of each story’s plot should be easily recognizable, nonetheless.  In other words, it would be quite unusual for any one reader to mistake a true BDSM-themed romance/love scene, for that of a tale involving rape, sexual assault, and inexcusable, interpersonal violence instead.

Much of the role-playing that is involved in BDSM activities is for the submissive party to put forth an effort to “escape” or to “fight back”, with the dominant party then subduing his or her partner, and ultimately using control and discipline to bring that lover to a heightened level of sexual gratification.  There are also forms of BDSM writing in which the resistant subjects (i.e. the novel’s main characters) may initially believe that they are against the idea of having sex.  Yet at some point, usually through pleasurable sexual contact, their minds are ultimately changed.  At that point, they are drawn into a mutually enjoyable sexual act, whether they’re willing to verbally admit to their ultimate capitulation or not.  Regardless, as a reader who is thrillingly privy to the naughty thoughts, wild emotions, and pleasurable physical reactions of the submissive party, we know the real truth all along.  And that’s what makes these kinds of stories so much fun to read.

Still, in the few instances where the reader does not know the true workings of the submissive’s inner thoughts, the mutual enjoyment that is alluded to in each intimate scenario should make it clearly evident that all of the sex (at its most fundamental of forms), is ultimately consensual, and conclusively enjoyable for all parties involved.  As such, the amounts of “fight” and “force” exhibited are purposefully orchestrated so as to bring about the highest amount of physical fulfillment to the individuals involved, and so as to create erotically enjoyable stories for readers who choose to look further into the BDSM lifestyle.  These stories do NOT involve true “rape”, but as the premise of the “appearance of forced sex” is present, regardless of the fact that the parties are genuinely, ultimately consenting and mutually satisfied, THESE STORIES DO STILL HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE HIGHLY OFFENSIVE TO SOME READERS.

But all readers should be aware that there is more to the BDSM lifestyle and the associated risqué literature than actually meets the eye.  Additionally, there is a whole exciting and erogenous world of passionately seductive and wildly erotic sexual sagas out there; stories about hot-blooded men, beautiful and sensuously luscious women, and the resulting heady and tempestuous conquests that are just waiting to be explored.  These fervent novels are chock-full of steamy, dangerously daring love scenes, and they are simply lingering patiently on their digital bookshelves, eagerly awaiting those readers out there that have the courage to delve bravely into them.

If you have any concerns, please take an additional moment to read the following “Cautionary Warning” before you begin this story:

The imaginative, colorful, and romantic tales by Dominique D. DuBois are all fictional in nature.  They are not meant to represent or describe any real events, persons, or places in any way.

The ‘adult’ works of fiction by Dominique D. DuBois involve highly sexualized, extremely explicit, erotic, mature content.  Each story is intended only for readers 18 years of age and older, and they contain full accounts and in-depth exposés of extremely graphic sex.  These current stories/series, and any other story/series presented by D.D. DuBois in the future, can include descriptions of sexual contact/intercourse that may involve:  a violation of the marriage contract (i.e. cheating), oral sex (and forced oral sex), group sex, same-gender sex, sexual threats, bondage, some mild sexual “torture” and what some may consider to be mild “violence”, physical control, kidnapping, anal play, anal sex (and forced anal sex), sexual force used during intercourse, nipple/clitoral “torture” and “clamps” used during intercourse, degrading/derogatory names/language and behavior used towards women/men, domination/submission, mild “choking”, various forms of sexual restraints (hands/collars/clothing/ropes/chains), biting, and some sexually aggressive behavior or thoughts that might be considered “sadistic” by some.

Most of the scenarios occurring in these works have been clearly listed above, but they do not represent a full list of any/all sexual situations that may appear in these works.  Please do not buy books from these series if any of the aforementioned scenarios do not appeal to you, or if you find any of these situations to be disconcerting or distasteful.  Many of Ms. DuBois’ works do involve a high degree of character and plot development, but there are also some of her erotic series that are concerned primarily and predominantly with purely sexual/adult situations and themes.  As such, Ms. DuBois does not wish to offend anyone in any way at any time.

If you do choose to read any of these stories through to the end, please do not leave negative feedback on the basis of the fact that these ‘books’ include ANY of the sexual scenarios listed above; you have been duly and fairly warned, and it is unmerited to leave negative feedback blaming the author for content which has been clearly described beforehand.  Additionally, if you continue to read any of these stories through to the end, please respect this author’s work enough to be honest, and refrain from returning them for a refund at that time.  Your integrity in the ongoing endeavor to prevent the potential abuse of all authors’ works is greatly appreciated.