Scarlett pulled Mara down onto the sofa, edging the girl who had been introduced as Esmé aside in the process. Esmé scowled at her, but moved to the edge of the sofa to make room.
A white plastic fixture with a glass orb mounted high on the wall caught Mara’s eye as she sat. “What’s that?” she asked, gesturing with her chin, though as soon as she asked the question, she knew.
“A camera. They’re everywhere, even in the guest suites, though there they hide them. Microphones, too.” Scarlett had turned her head so her mouth was close to Mara’s ear, her voice a whisper.
Mara leaned back against the sofa. She crossed her legs and arms in an effort at modesty, not that the others seemed to be paying her any attention. She tried to focus on the TV, wondering if anyone knew she was missing at this point, and if it would be on the news. How did these people pull off these kidnappings? How did all these young women just disappear without a ripple?
Such a tragic story, Mara, losing your parents in a car accident at sixteen, no other family to speak of…
A shiver moved along the back of Mara’s neck and spine as she recalled Hillary Wallace’s insistent probing into her background and family, or lack thereof. Clearly Hillary Wallace had carefully researched her prey—recently unemployed, no family, no significant other.
Keenly aware of the camera’s beady eye on her, Mara turned her head toward Esmé beside her and murmured softly, “How long have you been here?”
Without looking at Mara, her lips barely moving, Esmé replied, “Nine months, two weeks and three days.”
“How did they get you?”
“I worked in Wallace Hotels & Resorts corporate office in Raleigh. In the secretarial pool.” Mara leaned closer, straining to hear Esmé’s barely audible murmur. “Mr. Wallace himself picked me to travel with his team to a sister hotel chain in Spain. Or that’s what I thought was happening. Instead, they brought me here.” She paused a long time before finally continuing. “My parents were told I was killed by a hit-and-run driver in Madrid. They got a huge settlement, or so I’m told.”
A single tear rolled slowly down Esmé’s lovely cheek as the horrific import of her words jarred through Mara’s core. Esmé’s hands were clenched into fists in her lap, her shoulders tensed, a muscle jumping in her jaw. Guilt clutched Mara’s heart for bringing what had to be a nearly unbearable burden to the front of Esmé’s mind. For the first time in her life, she was grateful her parents were no longer alive.
Without thinking, she reached over and placed her hand lightly over Esmé’s and gently squeezed. Esmé didn’t move, but after several seconds her fingers slowly unfurled, some of the rigid tension in her body easing, if just a little. They sat that way for a long time, both staring at the screen, though Mara was too bone-weary, defeated and exhausted, both mentally and physically, to pay any attention.
Finally Esmé pulled away and stood. “I’m going to bed. Good night, girls,” she said in a normal tone.
“Good night, Esmé,” they all replied, some woodenly, Scarlett with a bright, false cheeriness.
Mara tried to get herself to focus on something mundane to distract herself from Esmé’s revelations. She turned to Scarlett. “What happens now? Do I have a toothbrush or something? Do we just wash up and go to our rooms?”
Scarlett jumped up from the sofa. “I’ll show you the supply closet. You’ll have a drawer assigned to you in the bathroom to keep your toiletries.”
“What about”—Mara looked at Scarlett’s dress, keenly aware of her own nudity—“something to wear? Something to sleep in?”
“To sleep in?” Scarlett looked confused. “You sleep naked, silly. Don’t worry, you’ll get clothes eventually. You’ll be fitted in something sexy when you’re presented to the guests, and of course you’ll wear whatever pleases them when you’re working. But you heard Dawn—newbies go naked. It’s for your own good, you see.” She spoke louder than necessary, her face angled toward the camera mounted on the wall. “It helps you learn humility and grace. Your goal is and should always be to please the guests, and to please all the men on the island. This is why you exist, Mara.”
Mara’s mouth had fallen open with disbelief. While she expected the jailers of this island prison to spout that kind of offensive nonsense, it freaked her out to hear this girl, this fellow captive, speaking in this way. She started to retort, but Scarlett had turned away from the camera now, and something in her face, in the nearly imperceptible shake of her head and downturn of her mouth gave Mara pause. She pressed her lips together without uttering a word and followed Scarlett from the room, wondering as she did so how she would ever be able to sleep.
Mara opened her eyes, confused and disoriented as her brain struggled to process the persistent beeping sound in her ear. She sat upright suddenly, aware it must be an alarm. Sunlight was already streaming through the skylight over her head and the sky was a pale china-blue. The small clock hung on the wall just beneath the closed-circuit camera read 6:02.
When she’d lain down the night before, her mind had teemed with the terrifying events of the day, her body aching from the multitude of tortures it had sustained in the hours since her abduction. Yet, amazingly, she had somehow eventually fallen asleep in the admittedly very comfortable bed.
The alarm stopped. She heard the scraping sound of the deadbolt on the other side of her bedroom door and the door opened. Dawn, dressed in a silky gold top over white pants, appeared in the doorway. “Up, up, up,” she said briskly. “Tomorrow you’d better be standing at attention when I open the door, not lolling about in bed. We have a schedule to keep. The new guests arrive today! Come on. Get up.”
Reluctantly, Mara climbed out of the bed and stood, wrapping her arms protectively around her torso.
“No, no, no!” Dawn stepped into the room, reaching Mara in a few strides. “Stop covering yourself. That body doesn’t belong to you, not anymore.” She slapped at Mara’s arms. “Arms behind your back, chest thrust out, feet shoulder-width apart. Don’t you know what at attention means, you stupid girl?”
Flustered, embarrassed and annoyed, Mara assumed the position, stiffening when Dawn tweaked her right nipple, gasping as she gave it a sharp twist. “Good nipples. Very responsive,” Dawn said. She gazed critically at Mara’s waxed mons. “No redness or irritation. Excellent.” Stepping back, she added, “Toilet, teeth. Calisthenics in ten minutes. The girls will show you where to go. Then shower and breakfast.” Dawn swept from the room, her gold, high-heeled sandals clicking against the stone tiles.
Her bladder urging her on, Mara left her bedroom and went down to the bathroom. Most of the other girls were already in there, some in front of the sinks, some on the toilets, no one speaking. Mara used the toilet, washed her face and brushed her teeth.
By the time she was done, the bathroom had emptied, other than Scarlett and herself. Scarlett, dressed in shorts, a tank top and sneakers, urged, “Come on. You don’t want to be late. Curtis doesn’t need much excuse to whip your ass.”
Disquieted by this threat, Mara hurried after Scarlett. They exited the building into an enclosed courtyard. The other girls stood in a semicircle in front of a man. In his early thirties, he had dark hair and eyes, and resembled Dan Wallace and DJ, though it wasn’t clear if he was another son or perhaps a cousin. He wore nylon shorts and a tight T-shirt over a body-builder’s frame, a whistle on a lanyard around his thick neck. He held a single-tail whip in his right hand against his thigh.
His eyes moved appraisingly up and down Mara’s naked body. “You, newbie,” he said in a gruff voice. “What’s your name?”
“Mara.”
“Mara,” he repeated. “I’m Curtis. Think of me as your drill sergeant and your personal trainer all in one ripped package.” He held up his arms like a weight lifter at a competition and flexed his bulging biceps. “Just one of the many perks we offer here on Pirate Island.” He chuckled. “For now just follow our routine. We’ll develop your personal training regime later in t
he week.” His eyes moved over the girls. “Okay, let’s warm up with jumping jacks. Go.” He blew the whistle.
The girls started jumping, arms and legs scissoring, faces blank. Unlike Mara, the rest of the girls were wearing clothes, though none wore bras beneath their thin T-shirts, and their breasts bounced and jiggled as they moved.
Mara stood frozen for several seconds until the man’s gaze rested heavily on her. “What are you standing there for?” Curtis barked. “Get your ass in gear or I’ll give you twenty.” He lifted the whip, flicking his wrist so it whistled threateningly in the air.
Mara, feeling ridiculous in her nudity, began to do jumping jacks, an exercise she’d always hated and hadn’t done since gym class in high school. The ground was hard beneath her bare feet and she envied the other girls their sneakers.
After an interminable time, the coach blew his whistle, and the girls stopped their frenetic jumping. Next came pushups, sit-ups and a quick run around the perimeter of the courtyard as the sun rose higher into the sky.
Finally, panting and sweaty, Mara followed the others back inside. She had to wait her turn at the showers and, though she would have loved to stand under the hot spray for hours—forever—she didn’t dare.
“Don’t worry about fixing yourself up,” the girl who had been introduced as Whitney said as Mara looked in the toiletry packet she’d received the night before for a hairbrush. “We’ll be dressed, made up and styled for the presentation.”
“She won’t,” Esmé said as she slipped into a clingy Spandex dress. Standing beside Mara at the mirror, she said to Mara’s reflection, “You’ll only be watching today. Well, not just watching…” A flash of sympathy moved over the girl’s face, the sentence left incomplete.
Mara, whose heart had kicked up an unpleasant notch, demanded, “What? What do you mean not just watching? What else is going to happen?”
“Don’t scare her.” Mara turned to a new voice, recognizing the girl named Raeanne. “I’m sure she’s plenty scared all on her own, without y’all making her nervous in advance.” They all nodded, turning away from her.
“Wait!” Mara cried. “Now I’m really freaking. You have to tell me.” But the others had already filed out of the bathroom. Not knowing what else to do, Mara trailed after them, jumpy and miserable, terrified of whatever was going to happen next.
She could barely eat breakfast, but forced herself to have some yogurt and fresh fruit, along with a cup of strong coffee. After breakfast, they were transported en masse on a large golf cart that had four rows of padded benches. Ronaldo was once again at the wheel, Dawn in the seat beside him.
“What’s to stop us from running?” Mara asked in a small whisper, leaning her mouth close to the ear of the girl on her left, Cassie. Ronaldo was driving slowly enough that she could have tumbled from the cart and run, losing herself in the thicket of scrub pines and live oaks to the left of the path.
“Where would you run to? There’s no way off this island, unless you want to swim out into the ocean. The boats are kept under lock and key. And if you do try to make a run for it, you can bet they’d catch you, and then you’d be put in the box, or worse.”
“What is this box?” Mara blurted, forgetting to whisper.
Alarmed, Cassie put a finger to her lips.
Lowering her voice to a whisper again, Mara persisted, “Dawn said something about it, too. A punishment box. It sounds horrible. What is it?”
But Cassie just shook her head and turned away, the conversation clearly over. Mara hugged herself miserably, trying not to envision lying curled in a tiny, metal box left out in the sweltering sun.
They stopped in front of the two-story building that had been deserted the morning before. Now there were at least half a dozen men, all of them in the same uniform of white shirt and black shorts as Ronaldo wore, some toting luggage, some with boxes in their arms, one carrying a huge bouquet of brightly colored flowers. Ronaldo drove the cart around the back of the building and pulled to a stop. The girls filed out of the cart and followed Dawn into the building.
Alex stood just inside, and Mara jumped at the sight of him. As he regarded her with an impassive gaze, she could almost taste the saltwater in her mouth, feel its burning sting in her eyes and nose. Her pussy pulsed and contracted at the muscle memory of his riding crop, her stomach curling into a hard knot.
Dawn, her hand on Mara’s arm, forced her to stand in front of Alex. “Here she is. Have fun.” Turning away, Dawn gestured to the rest of the girls. “Time to transform you into geishas and nymphomaniacs. Let’s go, my darlings.”
The girls followed Dawn down the hallway. Only Esmé looked back. “Good luck,” she mouthed. Mara shivered.
“Did you sleep well, Mara?” Alex asked in a pleasant voice. He was holding what looked like a dog leash in his hands—a loop of leather with the lead attached. His tone hardened. “I asked you a direct question, girl. Have you already forgotten my instructions from yesterday?”
Why was he asking her? Why was he pretending to care about her well-being? The guy was so fucking creepy, but she knew she had to answer. “I slept okay, I guess,” she replied breathlessly, remembering at the last second to add, “sir.”
“Good.” Without another word, he slipped the yoke of the leash over her head and gave it a yank as he began to walk. Mara had to nearly jog to keep from stumbling again as he tugged her along the hallway.
Alex stopped at a door and punched in the code to release the lock. He turned the doorknob and entered the room, pulling Mara in behind him. The space was long and narrow, both side walls completely covered in mirrored glass.
A bondage chair made of steel with a padded leather seat had been set close to one of the walls, facing the mirror. There was a metal collar welded onto the center of the back of the chair, as well as steel wrist cuffs on the armrests and ankle cuffs on the legs of the chair. There was other furniture in the room—a couch and a few easy chairs, as well as a galley kitchen and bar.
“Welcome to the observation room.” Alex lifted the leash over Mara’s head. He touched a wall switch, causing the lights in the room to dim. At the same time, the mirrored wall in front of the bondage chair turned from opaque to clear glass, revealing a large living room on the other side decorated much like the bungalow where she’d first met her captors, with white wicker, plump cushions and bright throw rugs over tiled floors. The man she had seen carrying flowers now moved about the room setting out vases. Another man behind the bar was cutting lemons at the counter.
“It’s a two-way mirror,” Alex said, unnecessarily. “When I flick the switch, we can see them, but they can’t see us. Our guests are just arriving. They will be checked in and served breakfast while the girls are being prepared to receive them. Presentation is at ten. You will observe the process.” He glanced at a heavy gold watch on his wrist. “We have some time before that.” He flicked the switch once more, causing the wall to silver back to mirror.
Placing his hands on her shoulders, Alex turned Mara so she was facing him. He regarded her silently for several long moments, his green eyes hooding as they moved slowly over her. His eyelashes were the same gingery, russet-brown color as his hair and goatee. His face was long and thin, his jaw well-defined. A diamond glinted in his left earlobe. Mara sensed the raw animal power in his gaze. She stared back, unable to look away, oddly attracted in spite of her fear and loathing of the man.
Today he wore a black T-shirt and black jeans, black boots on his feet. He wasn’t much taller than her own five-foot-eight, but somehow he seemed to tower over her. He was lean and sinewy, his muscles clearly defined, ropy veins visible on his arms. He had a tattoo on his right forearm of a snake coiled around a knife blade, its fanged mouth open.
He kept his hands on her shoulders as he turned her once more, this time making her face the mirror. “Stand very still,” he commanded. “Keep your hands at your sides.” He moved behind her, his eyes boring into her reflected image as he wrapped an arm aro
und her torso just below her breasts, forcing them up like an offering.
Using his other hand, he cupped her breast, his palm moving over her nipple until it hardened of its own accord. He smiled a small, triumphant smile. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes.”
He continued to stare at her reflection. “Lovely,” he whispered. “You don’t even need makeup, especially when you blush, as you’re doing now. I like your hair like that, tousled and natural, as if you’d just been fucked. Your eyes are the color of the sea, shifting between green, gray and blue, depending on the light, depending on the level of your fear, your arousal.”
He covered the other breast, moving his hand in circles until that nipple, too, stiffened beneath his touch. Her eyes met his in the mirror. The coldness had vanished, replaced by a raw desire that made Mara catch her breath in a confusion of emotions.
Releasing her breast, his hand trailed down her body to her smooth cleft. His fingers grazed her labia. Mara closed her eyes, disconcerted by the sudden tug of arousal between her legs. Alex moved his hand in a gentle but persistent motion at her sex, arousing Mara in spite of herself. Mara tried to push away his hand as she attempted to squirm out of his grasp.
“No,” Alex admonished sharply. “I said hands at your sides.” Lowering his voice to a seductive murmur, he added, “Don’t resist me, Mara. I won’t allow it.” As he spoke, he slid a hard finger inside her. Mara shuddered and sighed, her hand falling back to her side. At least he wasn’t hurting her. In fact, whatever he was doing felt wonderful.
Her thoughts slowed and quieted as she focused on the pleasurable sensations Alex’s skillful touch engendered inside her. He continued to rub and stroke her until she began to tremble, teetering on the edge of climax.
All at once he spun her around and, cupping her ass with both hands, lifted her into the air, forcing her legs to hook around his waist. The denim of his jeans was rough against her spread pussy, his cock like a bar of steel just beneath the fabric. One arm still firmly around her, he reached for his fly and yanked it open.
Dark Obsessions - Volume 2: Four Dark, Delicious Capture Fantasies Page 6
