Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies

by Claire Thompson

  Alex nodded toward Ronaldo. “Let’s get her up. Take her to the girls’ quarters for prep and then on to Dr. Morgan for her exam.”

  The men converged on her and Mara was forcibly lifted from the chair. Her arms were yanked behind her back and something cold and hard clicked over her wrists, cuffing them together. “No!” She struggled against the men. “You can’t do this! Help me! Help!”

  A sudden, sharp slap to her face stunned her into silence. Alex leaned close, so close she could smell the whiskey on his breath. “Keep that pretty mouth shut, Mara. There’s no one to appeal to. We own this island and we own you. The sooner you can acclimate yourself to your new circumstances, the better off you’ll be. If there’s one lesson you need to learn quickly, it’s this: good girls get rewarded; bad girls get punished. Severely.”

  He nodded again to Ronaldo as he stepped away. Ronaldo wrapped a strong, heavily muscled arm around Mara’s shoulders. He propelled her from the veranda and back through the house toward the door.

  You are now the property of Pirate Island… Your life is quite literally in our hands… Bad girls get punished…

  The words whirled and smashed in a menacing cacophony in her brain as Ronaldo led her outside and pushed her roughly into the passenger seat of the golf cart. He leaned over her, pulling a thick, sturdy seat belt she hadn’t noticed before over her chest and waist and clicking it into place. The cuffs had ratcheted painfully tight around her wrists from her struggles, and they cut into her skin.

  “Please, please, please,” Mara begged, crying. “I don’t know what’s happening. Please don’t do this. Take me back to the plane. Let me go home.” She turned to Ronaldo, who stared straight ahead, her voice beseeching. “I have money. I can get you money—whatever you want. Please, don’t do this.”

  Still without looking at her, Ronaldo shook his head. “Save it, chica. It won’t do you any good. I get paid very well by Mr. Wallace. He is a very powerful man, not someone I want to cross.”

  He glanced at her, and she thought she saw the tiniest spark of sympathy before his face hardened once more. “In case you haven’t already figured it out, you’re involved with some very bad men. If you keep your head down, keep your mouth shut, and do as you’re told, you’ll be okay. If not, if you fight them…” He shrugged, not completing the sentence. Mara’s fevered imagination filled in details too horrible to contemplate and she shuddered.

  They drove along another path that wound between a profusion of small trees and foliage, pulling to a stop in front of a long, single-story windowless building. Ronaldo jumped from the driver’s seat and came around to Mara’s side. He released the seat belt and hauled her from the cart. “Let’s go,” he said, placing his heavy arm over her shoulders. Mara could barely walk, her legs like rubber, as he half-guided, half-pushed her toward the entrance of the building. This time, rather than ringing a doorbell, Ronaldo punched numbers into the small keypad below the knob and pulled the door open.

  Mara held her breath as the door swung inward, trying to prepare herself for the dark, stony dungeon that awaited her. Instead, they entered a sunny, bright entrance hall filled with natural light streaming in from skylights in the ceiling, of which there were many. She stared in confusion at the airy, pleasant surroundings. The floor was made of sand-colored stone tile, the walls painted a soft blue. Two white wicker chairs and a loveseat with plump teal cushions were arranged near a credenza, on which sat a laptop and a vase of fresh flowers. Where was the prison, the dungeon?

  “Dawn is in charge here,” Ronaldo said. “She’ll take care of you.” He pulled a small key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs, removing them from her bruised, scraped wrists and slipping them into his back pocket.

  They both turned at the sound of heels tapping against the stone. A striking woman of about forty with sleek auburn hair cut in a shiny, short bob appeared. She wore a green silk halter-top, a patterned batik sarong wrapped around her slender hips and long legs, her tan midriff bare. At her throat, she wore a stunning choker made of a thick strand of yellow gold set with easily a dozen diamonds and rubies in an alternating pattern. “Ah, hello,” she said in a fluty, cultured voice. “You must be Mara. I’ve been expecting you.”

  The woman didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed or perturbed by Mara’s nakedness, tear-streaked face and overall disheveled appearance. She turned to Ronaldo and flashed perfect white teeth in a gracious smile that didn’t quite reach her artfully made-up eyes. “Thank you, Ronaldo. You may wait here while I get this girl cleaned up and groomed.”

  Turning back to Mara, she flicked her gaze appraisingly over Mara’s face and body as Mara touched her aching wrists. “My name is Dawn. I take care of the girls. Come along.” She put a cool hand on Mara’s back and pushed her gently forward toward the hallway from which she’d come. Mara threw a beseeching glance in Ronaldo’s direction. He was seating himself on one of the chairs, a cell phone in his hand, not looking at her.

  Not knowing what else to do, Mara allowed herself to be led away, the sandals still on her feet clacking alongside Dawn’s high heels in the otherwise silent hallway. They passed several closed doors that were bolted from the outside, stopping at the entrance to a large bathroom that contained a round sunken tub filled with steaming, fragrant water, a bank of sinks, three curtained showers and four toilet stalls. A massage table was set up in a corner of the space draped in snowy white linen. Everything was gleaming tile and gold-streaked marble, no manacles or prison cells in sight.

  “Climb in that tub,” Dawn directed, pointing toward the bath. “Wash your hair and scrub your face. We’ll apply fresh makeup, something that doesn’t smear from a few tears. But first I need to wax that little bush of yours. Ever since it became popular on the porn sites, all our pussies have to be bald as babies’ behinds.”

  What the fuck? The woman’s matter-of-fact, chatty tone about what she planned to do to Mara was almost more frightening than the menacing threats made by the men. She was behaving as if all this were the most natural thing in the world, as if she dealt with abducted, naked, terrified women every day of the week.

  Oh my god, she probably does.

  Mara drew in a ragged breath. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. The words repeated in an endless loop in her mind, as if by thinking it hard enough, she might somehow make it true.

  “Please,” she begged, trying to appeal to Dawn woman to woman. “Did they kidnap you, too? Is there any way off this island? Are you here voluntarily?”

  Dawn laughed, a tinkling, hollow sound. “Of course I’m here voluntarily, darling. I run a very profitable little enterprise for Mr. Wallace. My girls are the best, the very best—I make sure of it.” Her tone was pleasant but there was steel beneath the words, a hardness in her blue eyes. “Now”—she clapped her hands sharply—“get in that tub. We don’t want to keep the gentlemen waiting.”

  “Please, please,” Mara begged, aware even as she did so it was useless, but unable to stop. “There’s been some horrible mistake. I’m not supposed to be here. I was supposed to be going for a job interview. I don’t know what’s going on. I—“

  “What’s going on,” Dawn interrupted, “is that you are now the property of Pirate Island. You don’t have to worry about what happened before or how you got here. That’s over and done with. All you need to do going forward is exactly what you’re told.”

  Mara started to protest but Dawn stopped her again with a raised hand. “The Wallace family is filthy rich and very connected in North Carolina and beyond. They own half the state, including many of the politicians who run it. As far as I know, most of their other businesses are legit, but you won’t find Pirate Island on any balance sheet. Now climb into that tub this instant or I’ll call Ronaldo in here to throw you in. Get a move on.”

  Mara climbed into the water, which, despite her terror, was deliciously hot and soothing. She leaned back and submerged herself until only her face was showing, wishing she could sink be
low the surface and simply disappear.

  “Wash your hair and body. No dawdling,” Dawn snapped. She stared hard at Mara until Mara reached for the shampoo bottle, squeezed some onto her palm and began to wash her hair.

  Dawn stood by a counter next to the massage table, stirring something in a small pot over a heating element. “Here’s the situation, darling. Pirate Island caters to extremely wealthy men and the occasional woman who like to buy decadent, dark thrills. As far as our guests know, you girls are here voluntarily, and in fact, that does end up being the case more often than you’d think. Our girls are highly trained sex workers—think high-class New York call girl, the kind that commands a few thousand a night. Here on Pirate Island anything goes. Absolutely anything, short of permanently damaging the goods.”

  She gave a small laugh, adding, “What happens on Pirate Island, stays on Pirate Island, and most of these guys have way too much to lose if they breathe a word of what goes on here, even if they wanted to. Dan Wallace makes sure of that.”

  She looked from what she was doing to Mara. “Finish up in there. Dry off and lie down on your back on the table.” When Mara didn’t immediately react, Dawn’s tone sharpened. “Speed it up, darling. I don’t want to have to punish you on your first day.” She picked up a long, thin cane from the counter and whipped it menacingly in the air.

  More frightened than ever, Mara quickly rinsed her hair and stood, reaching for a nearby towel. Eying the evil-looking cane, Mara contemplated the possibility of physically overpowering Dawn. Mara was younger and probably stronger, and certainly more desperate. But Ronaldo waited down the hall, and Mara would never make it past him. Leadenly she made her way to the massage table and forced herself to lie down.

  “You ever have a Brazilian wax?” Dawn asked as she began to snip Mara’s pubic hair with barber scissors.

  Mara shuddered at the touch of the cold metal moving against her skin. She fantasized about grabbing the scissors and stabbing the woman, but instead just lay there, shaking.

  “I asked you a question,” Dawn snapped.

  “No,” Mara replied, her muscles rigid with fearful anticipation.

  “That’s no, ma’am, young lady. Where are your manners?”

  “No, ma’am,” Mara forced herself to reply.

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat it. This is going to hurt like hell.” Dawn lifted a liquor bottle from the counter, poured some into a glass and held it out to Mara. Here, have some Cognac. It’ll take the edge off.”

  Mara lifted herself on her elbows and accepted the brandy. She sipped, coughed a little, and sipped some more. Her empty stomach twisted, growling audibly as the brandy entered her system. She took another sip and then gulped the strong, sweet liquor.

  Dawn apparently heard her empty belly too. “When’s the last time you had something to eat?”

  “This morning.” Mara thought of the cookies and soda on the plane, and how happy and excited she’d been as she was flown toward the island.

  “You must be hungry.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dawn took the empty glass from her. “Good. Hunger is an effective motivator. Good girls get fed. Bad girls don’t.” She pressed Mara’s shoulder to indicate she should lie back down. Mara, lightheaded from the alcohol, complied.

  “Knees up, feet flat on the table, legs spread wide,” Dawn instructed. Not daring to refuse, Mara obeyed, her face hot with embarrassment as she exposed herself in this way.

  Dawn brushed warm, melted wax over Mara’s skin where her thigh met her groin and then pressed a soft strip of cloth over it with strong, sure fingers. Then—

  “Ouch!” Mara cried as the cloth was ripped away.

  “It gets worse,” Dawn said, “so be prepared. If you stay still and behave, I won’t cane you. If you can keep from screaming, I’ll give you more brandy, and maybe something to eat. I’ll be all done in about ten minutes, so just close your eyes and take it, if you know what’s good for you. This is advice you’ll want to heed at all times while on this island.”

  Another warm stroke of wax was applied, this time to her other thigh, followed by Dawn’s fingers pressing and holding the cotton strip in place, and then another stinging rip of pain. More prepared this time, Mara managed to stifle her cry into a gasp. As the strips were yanked from her pubic area, Mara couldn’t stop the yelps of pain. She had no idea there were so many nerve endings over her pubic bone, and every single one of them was screaming.

  When the wax was spread and then ripped from her vulva, she began to cry, the pain too much to handle, any buzz from the brandy burned away in her agony.

  When the waxing ordeal was finally over, Dawn placed a warm, damp cloth over Mara’s reddened, tender mons. “There,” she announced. “It’s done, and you were a very good girl, overall. If it’s any consolation, the first time hurts the worst, because you’re pulling out the hairs by their root bulbs. Next time will be easier, and the time after that easier still. Meanwhile”—she lifted the brandy bottle and poured another finger of liquor into it—“I’m feeling generous, so you can have another drink. Once I put on the salve, I’ll get you an energy bar.”

  Mara sat up and took the glass. She drank the liquor, though now it made her empty stomach queasy. The salve on her pussy was both soothing and anesthetizing, and though her skin was tender and sore, the pain was bearable. Dawn brought her an energy bar, something chalky and dense that Mara didn’t really like, but ate anyway.

  Dawn directed her to sit on a vanity stool in front of the bank of sinks. She gave Mara a bottle of water, which she drank as Dawn blow-dried her hair and applied makeup to her face. “No more crying, do you hear me?” Dawn said as she patted cream beneath Mara’s puffy, red-rimmed eyes. “You get a pass on your first day, but after this, every tear earns a stroke of the cane. We must be beautiful for the owners and our guests. Do you understand, Mara?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Mara replied, though she wanted to scream at the top of her lungs that no, she didn’t understand a fucking thing, except that Dawn and these Wallace people and everyone in this place were out of their freaking minds and should all be arrested and put in jail for seven consecutive life terms each.

  “There, that’s better,” Dawn pronounced when she was done applying the makeup. Mara looked at her image, surprised. Somehow Dawn managed to transform her blotchy, tear-stained face into a mask of youthful beauty.

  Dawn clapped her hands and said briskly, “Use the toilet if you need to. Don’t dawdle.”

  Mara sat on a toilet in one of the stalls, which had no doors, though the partitions on either side afforded some level of privacy. Her bowels were clenched too tightly to move, but she did pee a little, wondering as she did where the other captive girls were. Were they locked in those rooms along the hallway?

  When Mara emerged from the stall, she washed her hands at the sink, avoiding the mirror. “Let’s go,” Dawn said. “I’ll show you your room and then Ronaldo will take you for your medical exam.”

  With no choice in the matter, Mara followed Dawn out of the bathroom and down the hallway past several closed doors, listening hard for the sound of life behind them. Dawn stopped at the third door and slid back the bolt. The door opened inward, revealing a small room filled with natural light from the wide skylight overhead. The only thing in the room was a full-size bed made up with a yellow and white patterned coverlet, two plump pillows at its head. “You’ll sleep here when you’re not staying with one of our guests,” Dawn informed her. “That is, unless you misbehave, in which case you’ll find yourself sleeping in the punishment box.” She gave Mara a hard stare. “Trust me, you do not want to spend any time in the box.”

  It didn’t take too much imagination to conjure a filthy pit filled with rats and crawling with insects, and Mara hugged herself, a shudder moving through her frame as they continued down the hall back toward the entrance. Ronaldo stood as they approached. He put a hand on Mara’s arm and led her from the building, Dawn walking beside th
em.

  Once more, Ronaldo forced Mara into the passenger seat and drew the seat belt over her body. At least they hadn’t cuffed her. She was being compliant, and maybe that was the key. She would make them think she was going along with all this while she figured some way out of this nightmare. She had to get away from this evil island. She had to escape.

  But how?

  Chapter 2

  Ronaldo glanced at Mara as they drove away from the quarters. “Looking good, chica,” he said in an approving tone, his gaze flickering over her face and lingering at her denuded crotch.

  Fuck you. Mara bit back the retort and pressed her lips together.

  Ronaldo drove along a path to yet another structure, a small, square building made with the same white stucco and red roof tiles as the other bungalow. The door opened as Ronaldo led Mara up the walkway. A large man in his forties with blond hair fading into gray stood waiting in the open doorway. He wore a white T-shirt that strained over bulging muscles and a pair of khaki shorts, a stethoscope around his neck.

  “Ah, the new girl,” he said enthusiastically. “Nice, very nice.” Mara felt like a piece of meat as he eyed her hungrily. “I’ll take her from here.” The man placed a large hand over Mara’s wrist.

  With a nod, Ronaldo turned on his heel and walked to the golf cart. The guy pulled Mara inside and closed the door behind her. The place looked like any private medical office, complete with a waiting area set with chairs and a low table that contained a spread of magazines, a partition window opening onto a reception area at the back of the room. The doctor led her through a door into a short hallway, the reception area on one side, an exam room on the other.

  “Come in here. I’m going to do a routine exam, take some blood and fit you for an IUD.”

  “An IUD!” Mara exclaimed anxiously. “That’s a birth control thing?”

  The doctor looked at her impassively. “That’s right.”

  As the full import of this sank in, the doctor directed her to sit on one of two stools next to a gynecological table. Mara sank onto the stool, her heart pounding. The doctor sat on the other stool. Typing into an iPad as he talked, the doctor asked her a series of questions about her medical history, the date of her last period, any pregnancies and other routine questions as if this were any typical medical exam.