From: misslilyo@aol.com (MissLilyO) Subject: New Story: THE ISLAND by MissLilyO (M/F, bondage, sex, cons) Date: 2 Feb 1997 19:33:13 GMT Thank you, AOL. I guess the first post turned out garbled, and one UK poster wrote to say it had a gif attached. Um...here we go again. Anyhow, this story might be a little edgier than some of my usual stuff.....contains spanking, M/F, bondage, sex, and you can decide if it's consensual or not. If you're 18, halt! Go watch MTV. If you're older than 18, I hope you like this. Love, Lily _____________________________________ THE ISLAND by MissLilyO The waves lapped rather than dashed against the rocks, a seduction not an assault. The sound was soothing to Amanda and she felt her mind slipping outside herself. She sent it soaring outside the great house and skimming along the surface of the water. Such freedom! She lifted into the air and circled lazily with the gulls before returning to the dark green sea to splash and play along side the big white ferry boat taking commuters over to Seattle. The mind soaring was an acquired skill, one which helped her to get through the hours of apprehension -- anticipation -- before he deigned to come to her. And it helped her forget the chafe of the cuffs against her wrists, which were pulled over her head as she lay stretched out on the oversized bed. The cuffs were attached to a small wall-mounted wheel that could be turned so that she could lie on her back or her stomach, at the will of her captor. Everything about her position served to emphasize how utterly in his thrall she was. Her hips were lifted high with a pillow, her ankles wide apart and cuffed to leather ropes which were, in turn, affixed to the bed. She was naked. Open to him. Allowed no trace of modesty. He came to her at irregular intervals, sometimes just to stand and look at her. Other times he approached her, his hands whispering over her skin, making her nipples harden and the honey drip between her thighs. And sometimes he came to punish her. The punishments were meted out for offenses such as talking when she had not been given permission, or defiance of any kind, and sometimes for no reason other than he seemed to enjoy it. She had been turned over and spanked with his bare hand, paddled with a wicked leather device fitted with a hand grip, and whipped with crop and birch. He seemed to enjoy putting her in different positions designed to maximize the effect of the implement of his choice. At one point, he left her on her back and drew her knees up to her chest, looping a cord around her knees and tying it to the wheel where her hands were cuffed. He gave her the most exquisitely painful taste of the little riding crop on breasts, belly, and exposed sex. He even managed to blaze a trail of hot leather kisses into her exposed bottom cleft, touching her up on the little pursed spot there, and causing her to plead with him to stop. Her willful body betrayed her time and again during these sessions, becoming aroused and desperate for his touches, despite her efforts to suffer the indignities without response. Before he would finish with her, she would be writhing against her bonds, willing him to touch her, to relieve her wanton desire. Often he did, taking special pains to please her. When he punished, he was stern, unyielding as granite. But when his touch was a caress, he was a gentle lover, urging her to new heights of sensuality. He awakened in her the dark and secret chambers of carnality, rooms she would never have visited before coming here, indeed did not know were locked away in her. Several times a day a woman came to her rooms and saw to her physical needs, helping her up for trips to the adjacent bathroom, drawing a bath for her to soak her aching muscles, massaging away the kinks and applying healing oils to her welts and bruises. She was given meals that were obviously prepared by a talented chef, and though she had little appetite, she knew she must try to eat, lest she suffer under the lash. But beyond those simple comforts, she was left alone. Thus she soon lost track of time, barely able to recall her life outside this room in the great stone house perched upon the outcropping of rock. Her memories of arriving here were clouded, as she realized now that she'd been drugged. She remembered being invited to the waterfront for a drink with a new client. The dimly lit bar was hardly the type of place she usually chose for business meetings, but he had explained he'd be in the area, and knew the owner. A waitress had told her there was a phone call for her, that she could take it in the kitchen...and then she'd felt a sharp sting in her arm. Her next conscious memories were of a boat ride across the Sound. She opened her eyes and looked around, trying to get her bearings. Disoriented, she couldn't seem to get a fix on any of the shadowy islands in the mist. Drifting in and out, she was wakened again by someone calling out to the boat's pilot. They were approaching a small island on which she could see only one house. There were many tiny islands in the Sound, some of which were privately owned. This must be one of them. The house was huge, and seemed to be more an extension of the rock than a separate building. She was scooped up in a pair of strong arms and held like a baby as they ascended a long flight of stairs from the dock to the main entrance. When she was finally set on her feet, *he* was there, the client she'd been supposed to see. He stood regarding her, a look of sardonic amusement on his handsome features. Wobbling unsteadily she tried to pull up a demeanor of total indignation, demanding an explanation. Her words slurred. "You've made a mishtake," she managed. "I'm not rishhhh." "Oh, there's no mistake, Amanda. We know exactly what your net worth is. This has nothing to do with a ransom. It has everything to do with pleasure. Mine. I chose you, you see." The words swirled in her head, confusing her. "How?" she tried to ask, but she felt the darkness closing in again. When she next awoke, she was naked on the bed that was to become her world. Amanda's reverie was interrupted by his abrupt entry into the bedroom. His dark eyes swept her proprietarily, taking in the spread of her dark honey hair on the pillow. The servant had brushed it till it gleamed like old gold. Her limbs were slender and sunkissed, her breasts full, nipples darkly pink and fat as little raspberries. She had come to the island with a neatly trimmed thatch at the juncture of her thighs, but the first day, he had tied her carefully and shaved her completely bare, leaving her surprised at the soft silkiness of her skin in that place. Since then, the woman servant attended to her. After the first few times, Amanda had gotten over her embarrassment at the intimacy of the woman's attentions to her body. She watched him warily, her large expressive gray eyes solemn as they followed him to the dresser where he took off his ring and put it into a small silver tray. The ring had a symbol on it....an ornate carving of a hand and wrist, wrapped in a coiled rope. She had gotten a close look at it one night when he'd put his hand over her mouth and entered her roughly, slamming away at her till she'd cried out her release, muffled by his covering hand. What would he do with her tonight, she wondered, knowing better than to speak. He was inventive in the ways he took her, she'd give him that. And he had brought her to the point where she craved the pain/pleasure like a junkie needed a fix. To her surprise he unfastened her hands and feet and sat on the bed. "You are such a naughty girl, Amanda. You are enjoying this entirely too much. Tonight you'll be spanked till that lush bottom glows red and then you will ask me to take your virginity." She looked at him, unsure of what he meant until he reached around her slender hips and pushed his fingers between her bottom cheeks. He touched her right on the tender rosebud and pressed his finger against her tightness. Suddenly his words were clear. She *was* a virgin there. She was nearly overcome with the intensity of her feelings, an excitement pulsing through her veins at his threat, his promise. And then she was over his lap, and his hands were raining fire on her upturned flesh. Again and again his open-palmed strokes set her ablaze, the warmth spreading to her loins, igniting her yearning for his touch. She found herself lifting to him, as if to beg for the spanks. His left hand moved under her, his fingers thrumming against her swollen bud. Her ears picked up his low, throaty chuckle when he found the copious dew between her nether lips. He was clearly pleased. At last he placed her on the bed and urged her hips high in the air. His cool hands roamed over her stinging buttocks, soothing the fire and then his tongue was on her, tasting her flesh. He lapped at her sweet honey pot, opening her to him. Gasping at the indescribable sensuousness of his lingual caresses, she pressed eagerly back against him. His tongue explored every fold, every plump curve of her, and then moved back and upward, probing, teasing. And then it was inside her most secret place, pushing into her. Amanda nearly swooned with the aching sweet pleasure of it. When at last he touched her with a slick gel, lubricating her tenderness, she was close to screaming with the wanting of him. "Now, Amanda. Now. Ask me." She wanted him to take her there so much, but she couldn't bring herself to say the words. "I want... Please. You know." He landed two crisp spanks on her glowing bottom. "Ask me." "Please, come inside me. I want you inside me." He spanked her again, and suddenly the words came bubbling up, the cries of a lover who has passed beyond the need for lovemaking and just wants to be taken. She begged him and he was there, pressing, patient, waiting for her to take him inside. She was mad with the power of it. When his fingers stroked her throbbing clit, she was suddenly plunged over the edge of the precipice and was seized with wave after wave of electric shocks. She reveled in the pure hedonism of the moment, absorbing every nuance of feeling to replay in her mind when she was alone. His hot seed pulsed, and then he gently withdrew, drawing her with him to the bed where he nestled her in his strong arms lovingly, more in the way a lover holds his beloved close to his heart, than a stern and unyielding captor would use his slave. For the moment she felt cherished, safe, complete. He whispered in her ear, "It's almost over, Amanda. Tomorrow you shall be free." She didn't answer him, but held his hand close to her heart, wetting it with the tears that spilled from her eyes. It was over far too soon. Go back to what? she wondered. Her life would never be the same after her time here on this mysterious island. But she knew she would go back. She had promises to keep and miles to go.... The next day she was dressed in a trim gray suit that flattered her lovely eyes, and looked no longer like a captive, but like a confident, independent woman who was used to making decisions and making them stick. A servant was bringing her luggage downstairs, when she spotted him. "Ah, Amanda!" he said, smiling at her. "I came to find you. We need to do the exit interview, if you please." He opened the double doors leading into the house's library, and when she was seated, he gave her a questionnaire to complete and a pen to write with. "Drink?" he asked, while she quickly scanned the questions and answered them with quick, bold strokes. "No, thanks. I should really be getting back." "So," he asked her, dark eyes holding her a moment longer. "Was this all you wanted it to be?" "It was just perfect," she assured him. "I loved last night especially. The shaving was a nice touch too." She thought for a moment. "Oh, I really liked the set up at the waterfront, but I think I'd pass on the drug next time. It left me feeling nauseous, and I don't think I'd like to repeat that." "Do you have a thought yet about the next time?" he asked her, scribbling some notes about the drug. "Well, I looked at the reform school brochure and that sounded interesting," Amanda said, "but I'd like to explore the possibilities in something like picking up a hitchhiker who overcomes me and makes me drive to a remote cabin where he confines and ravishes me. That has potential, don't you think?" "Oh yes!" he told her. "I like it! I'll give you a call in about four months. That will give me time to set up some things, and then we can fill in the blanks together, okay?" "Yes. Need I tell you I'd love it if the hitchhiker were you?" she said, smiling at him. He stood and offered her his hand. As she placed her slim fingers in his palm, the gold ring with the wrists and rope emblem caught the light and gleamed richly on her hand. He pressed his lips to it, and then walked her to the boat. Back in her office the next day on the 35th floor of the huge black tower, she wrote out a personal check for $20,000 to Wrists, perhaps the most closely guarded secret society in the Western hemisphere. She'd have gladly written it for twice that amount, she thought to herself, as she shifted her still-tender bottom in her leather chair, and imagined the soft splash of the water on the rocks of the island.