by Jane Henry
To my surprise, he laces strong fingers through my hair, the warm feel of his touch along my scalp causing my stomach to flip, and I’m not exactly sure the feeling is altogether unpleasant.
It is, it is, it is I chant to myself in an endless refrain of denial. He won’t best me. He won’t seduce me like some fucking alpha lion of the jungle, claiming me as his lioness.
The tug on my scalp sends a shiver through my body, and with my wrists secured, I can’t push him away. His eyes glitter at me like fragments of obsidian before he lowers his mouth to mine and brushes his lips on mine once, twice, three times, each touch making a tremor shudder through me.
I hate him. I want to maim him, cause him pain, see him bleed out until the earth is stained crimson with his blood and his eyes stare vacantly into nothingness.
If there’s a hell, I want to send him there.
And yet… when he kisses me, it feels unmistakably tender. He pulls me up to his naked torso so my shackled wrists push against his belly, entwining one arm around me as he draws me near. My mind urges me to turn my head, but I’m not sure if I even move, if the protest is just internal instead of physical, because nothing changes. He’s still holding me against him, his lips on mine shooting frissons of helpless arousal between my legs. When he kisses me like this, I can almost pretend I mean something to him, and he’s not my brutal tormentor. I don’t want him to stop.
He tears himself away from me, shocking me back into reality when he pulls his mouth off mine. Dipping down, he swings one arm under my legs and the other behind my back, cradling me against his chest. Without a word, he turns to the water and begins to walk.
“Defy me now, Nadine, and I’ll punish you.” The tremors intensify now that he’s kissed me, now that he’s touched me. I’m sick. There’s something wrong and twisted inside me that my body begs to be touched. I tell myself it’s just because he’s so masculine, and I haven’t had this kind of attention from a man before, but there’s more to it.
He doesn’t need to say he’ll punish me, though. I know he will.
“See all those tree branches nearby?” he continues conversationally.
I don’t reply. I don’t need him to remind me the very many ways he can punish me if he chooses.
“You’d switch me like an old-fashioned school teacher? Or cane me like they do in Singapore?”
He smirks. “Seems someone has a fascination with getting spanked.”
I sputter. “I do not! I’m just a student of history, and I’m horrified at the many and varied ways one could punish others.”
We’re almost at the water’s edge now. He places me feet first right near the water’s edge, so close to him I can hardly move, and begins the easy process of stripping me from my panties and bra. “Some people thrive under firm discipline,” he says. “Time will tell if you’re one of them.”
“You say discipline as if it’s a good thing,” I say to him, hissing as the panties skirt over my bruised ass.
“Discipline can be a good thing,” he says decidedly. “Discipline is punishment meted out with the express intent of correcting behavior. It isn’t necessarily vindictive or gratuitous.”
I think of how he whipped me earlier today. Was that gratuitous? It fucking felt like it.
Instead of arguing and giving him a reason to show me his methods of punishment, I close my mouth. I now stand in front of him fully naked, but I’m beginning to get used to being made vulnerable without a choice. When you’re stripped away of your pride, standing naked no longer matters. People are born naked. They often die the same.
He steps toward the pool of water, right to the reaches for his folded pants and removes the bar of soap.
“What if there are alligators?”
He snorts. “Alligators? We’re on an island. No alligators. No leopards or lions. There are seriously no predators here that are going to hurt you.”
Except you, I think.
“How do I know you’re not just pulling my leg, and as soon as an alligator comes, you won’t throw me to it to save yourself?”
“Nadine,” he says patiently. “There are no alligators here. But if there were, I’d gladly capture one and make us alligator soup and give thanks to the reptilian gods we were sent substantial food.”
“I’d rather have lobster,” I mutter to myself, but then my voice pitches off into a scream as he sweeps me back up into his arms and walks me bodily in the water. I can’t flail my hands because I’m restrained, and fear ricochets through me when I hit the water, but I realize it’s too shallow for me to fall under if he let me go. But he’s still got me in his arms. He pulls me up against him, holds me against his chest so my ass is pressed up against his lap, and begins to soap me up. From the little pool where we are, I have a perfect view of the waterfalls, twin streams of powerful water cascading down in front of me and crashing so hard in the water below, a misty film hangs in the air. The clouds part, and the sun peeks through.
“How’s your leg?” he asks.
“Hurts like hell, but better,” I respond, surprised he’s asking.
He nods. “Gotta rest it when we get back.”
One of his arms encircles me, holding me tight against his powerful legs and erection. I hold my breath. What’s he going to do to me?
He soaps me up with his right hand while holding me tight with his left, paying particular attention to my breasts. Then his hand dives between my legs and he circles my inner thighs. His touch is rough, unencumbered, and certain, and the powerful strokes of his fingers on my skin makes me shiver. He releases me just long enough to spin me out so I’m facing him now, then pulls my head back so it’s in the water, just to my temples, soaking my hair. He soaps that up, too, then rinses me off, his eyes trained on me as he does the same to his large body. I think we’re done, but it’s not even close.
“Come here,” he says, as he grabs my leg and pulls me over to him again. He turns me back around so I’m facing the waterfall and presses me back to his lap. His cock between my legs, he slowly nudges my pussy lips apart. I lose the ability to think, to move, to breathe. He’s going to rape me. Right here, in the pool. There’s no one to stop him but me.
Is it rape when your body is primed and ready?
I don’t want this, I tell myself.
I writhe, trying to get away, but he holds me close and doesn’t let me push away.
I finally realize he’s not pushing into me. The thick head of his cock grazes my clit.
It’s the first time he’s touched me there. I try to push him away, but I can’t.
“This pussy’s mine,” he growls in my ear. “Mine to pleasure or mine to punish.”
Again and again, his hardened cock swipes against my pussy. This is different from when I touch myself under my bed sheets at night. His touch is stronger and more powerful, and there’s something about him fondling me beneath the water’s surface that seems private, yet wicked. Strong, powerful fingers glide to my core, and he plunges them in fully. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’m completely submerged in all things Adrian. I’m building toward climax, but fighting it, making myself remember that I don’t want this. Don’t want him. This is wrong, but when I remember the way he doubled his belt over in his hand, I feel myself getting closer to the release he’s forcing me towards. Just when I’m on the brink, my body as taut as a string about to snap, he pulls his fingers out and shoves me away and into the water in front of him.
I blink, floating in the water, suddenly reminding myself he is my tormentor. I try to spin to look at him, but I lose my footing, and without the ability to brace myself I fall face-first into the water. I hold my breath, trying to scramble for purchase, but I can’t get a grip. I pull my wrists so tightly against the restraints my wrists ache, but it’s utterly pointless.
A large hand grasps my hair and yanks me to the surface. Pain ricochets against my skull as he pulls tightly, his eyes glaring at me as if it’s my fault he just shoved me forward.
“Get out,” he growls. “Get the fuck out of the water.”
I do what he says, stumbling as I try to get out, but he holds me tight enough that I’m easily righted and out of the pool. He wraps one hand around my arm, grabs our neatly piled clothing and guides me back toward our shelter.
What the actual fuck just happened?
And then I know. That was no accident.
He restrains me not because he’s afraid, but because it’s a reminder to me that I’m dependent on him. To feed me. To care for me. To prevent me from falling. To save me when I’m drowning. And shoving me into the water was only proof of that.
The groping and bringing me to near climax was only a demonstration of his power over me.
I stumble when I get out, the pain in my leg throbbing. Without a word, he looks at me sideways and must see me wince in pain. He pulls me to him, bends, then lifts me in his arms. I breathe out a sigh of relief and let myself relax, but just a little.
I can’t let him seduce me.
I won’t allow him have power over me.
I have to remain on guard at all times, waiting for my chance.
Chapter Eight
Adrian
Night passes into day and night again. Two, three, four days pass and it all blurs together in an endless stream of waking, feeding her, training her. She’s responsive and intelligent, this one. She knows the sound of my voice. She calls me sir as she’s been taught with no prompting now. She doesn’t fight me when I undress or dress her and doesn’t flinch when I touch her. She didn’t even complain when I replaced her restraints with the cuffs because they’re sturdier.
I’m no fool, though. It isn’t because she’s a natural submissive, or because she’s given up hope. She only obeys because she’s biding her time. She’s nowhere near broken yet, but she will be. I prefer slower, deliberate methods.
After all, I still need her.
I sleep with her by my side, and it’s all I can do not to shove my cock between her legs and thrust into her tight pussy. I want to fuck her so badly, I dream about it, my nights filled with lewd, sweaty sex. But I won’t. My sexual training of her will take time, and although I’m not asking permission for anything I do, I won’t fuck her outright unless she begs me.
And I will have her begging.
At night, before we go to sleep, I let my hands roam over her. I haven’t brought her to climax yet, but I’ve gotten her to the point where she wants me to. She grinds her ass into my crotch at night, quietly begging me to touch her. She doesn’t want to admit she likes when I do, but I feel the way her body heats at my touch.
I want her fearing the loss of my touch. Craving it.
I’ll control her in every possible way ‘til her every thought is of me. How to please me. What happens when she doesn’t.
The first day, our purpose was to find food and water. I’m still not sure if the berries are edible, so Nadine’s been forbidden from touching them. The fish supply is plentiful, though. She turns her nose up at it as I scale it, but she doesn’t complain when we roast it over the open fire. She’s eager to get to the kitchen, but I haven’t taken the time to test it yet for safety, so she’s still forbidden. Our meager stores from the plane, bottled water, and a few supplies are all we need for now, until I get everything else under control.
We bathe every other day by the waterfall and she’s passed every test so far.
So today is the day I will take the restraints off.
Her first test.
If she passes the test, she gets a reward.
If she doesn’t, I’ll punish her.
After our usual breakfast of fish and half a protein bar each from the plane supplies, I help her clean-up for the day. I never allow her to wear anything but a bra and panties, but after the first day, we lost the bra, too. It’s unnatural in the wilderness like this. And anyway, I like her breasts swinging free.
I managed to find a way to get the water supply working in our bathroom. It only took me that long because I had to identify the water source. It seems water is being pumped in from the larger pool, the one adjacent to where we bathe, and through pipes to our humble abode. Today, I tested them out, and they seem to work fine, but she’s not allowed to use them until I know for sure the rudimentary drainage system is in good working order. I left her cuffed but free to roam about our shelter, and went out to see if I could catch some fish in a small, discarded net I found just outside the shelter, likely left over from the previous occupants.
When I’m only a few yards away from our shelter, the air rings with her high-pitched screams. I break into a run. I don’t like leaving her alone and cuffed, but she isn’t ready for freedom yet. Still, it puts her at a disadvantage should the need for self-protection present itself.
I come to the clearing in front of our shelter and freeze. She’s cursing up a blue streak inside. The door is open, and water pours out onto the ground in front of me. Did something go wrong with the way I hooked things up?
I walk through the waves of water that course down the little steps in front of our shelter and come in to an absolute flood. Water’s everywhere. Nadine’s standing on the toilet seat, trying her damndest to staunch the flow of water from the shower head, but it’s hard to do with her wrists cuffed. And even if her wrists were free, she wouldn’t be able to do anything by adjusting the shower head. The valve needs to be shut off.
“What the hell is going on in here?” I ask, more annoyed than angry at first. It’s my fault after all.
She looks at me sheepishly, but her eyes quickly cloud in anger. “Trying to take a fucking shower,” she says. “Seems your plumbing skills aren’t as top notch as you suspected.”
I stomp through the water to the panel and yank the valve shut. It isn’t possible to run more than a little water at a time. This isn’t like modern plumbing at all. So we have to be careful when and how we use it.
So I know she didn’t just use the shower, but likely tried the sink and toilet as well.
“This is why,” I say, clenching my teeth to keep my temper in check while I grab her under the arms and sling her over my shoulder, ignoring her protests. “I told you not to use this yet. I gave you specific instructions, little girl.”
I wade through the water to where it tapers off near our room and plunk her on the bed.
“Now I need to sort this out, and when I’m done, I’ll sort you out. Your ass is mine.”
She crosses her arms and stares at me defiantly, her eyes flashing, but there’s a touch of fear there as well. Good. There ought to be. I haven’t spanked her since I took my belt to her, keeping her in line in other ways. But she’ll get her ass warmed for this.
It takes me two fucking hours to clean up the shelter, and I make her sit and watch the entire time. When it’s cleaned out, I get our fish, clean them and roast them, and we eat in silence. I don’t want to deal with her until my hunger’s sated. I need to be in complete control.
Finally, I look up at her when we’ve both finished our meals.
“What did I tell you not to do before I left?” I ask.
She glares. “Not to touch the things in the bathroom.”
I stand, wiping my hands on my pants, and nod. “That’s right. And yet the first thing you decide to do is defy me. What are the rules here, Nadine?”
She huffs out an angry breath. “Obey.”
“Mhm.” I reach for her hair, fist it, and tug her head back so that her mouth parts open. “And what happens when you defy me?”
“You punish me,” she grits out. I tug her hair to amend her statement. “Sir,” she tacks on.
I nod, release her hair, then sit on the edge of the bed and haul her straight over my lap. Her cuffed wrists hang over the side of my lap and she wriggles, but I’m stronger.
“You should have known better than to do something so foolish,” I say, not able to keep the irritation out of my voice as I slam my hand against her full ass. She yelps but can’t get too far because of how I have h
er pinned like this. “There were reasons I told you not to touch that. Why did you decide to defy me?”
“I wanted a shower,” she moans. “I’m fucking dying for a shower.”
I’ve bathed her every other day in the little pool by the waterfall, but apparently that isn’t good enough. I roll my eyes and smack her ass again. This is not a brutal punishment, though. But it will make her think twice before she disobeys me again. This punishment is more about humiliation, so I take my time before spanking her. There’s a subtle art to discipline I’ve learned as a dominant, and effective punishment incorporates both the physical and emotional.
“With your hands restrained, you can’t defend yourself the way you may need to in my absence, if you do something foolish,” I say, then smack her harder than I had planned to punish her for drawing that confession out of me. I don’t want her knowing I ran when I heard her screaming.
She’s my captive. And I need her here so I don’t drive myself insane with the solitary rumblings of my mind. She serves a purpose here, and it’s no more than utilitarian.
I pause several long seconds before I lay more firm strokes of my palm on her ass.
“It’s too bad you decided to defy me today, Nadine,” I say when I let loose one smack after another, the sound of my hand hitting her ass echoing in the small, nearly-vacant room. “Today, I was going to reward you for two days of obedience by taking off those cuffs.”
She slumps over my knee, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s disappointed, or because she’s giving into the spanking.
In any event, I’m not done. Her skin is still lightly bruised from the lashes of the belt she earned the other day. Now, the whiter parts of her ass are a scarlet red. The sight makes my dick swell. She’ll learn her lesson, but hell I’m going to enjoy this.
“You’ll get three more spanks for what you did today,” I say. “Count.”
I can feel her tense and see her grit her teeth when she turns her head to the side. I lift my arm and bring it down with a solid smack. I pause, waiting.
