by Jane Henry
“Not yet,” he repeats.
He’s never going to let me come. He’s going to keep me on the precipice like Tantalus in Greek mythology, punished by the gods by being near water he could never drink and fruit he could never eat.
I open my mouth to protest when his warning stops me. “If you fight me,” he says. “If you give me shit about my timing and do anything to protest. If you climax without my permission. Anything but perfect compliance will get you punished. Is that clear?”
I nod my head in desperation. Maybe if I do whatever he says he’ll let me come. My mouth is dry, and my chest hurts from holding onto my breath. This is the first time I haven’t been bound in any way, and he has more power over me than if I were tied up like a Christmas present. The fucking jerk knows it, too.
“Now?” I whisper. I won’t say please again.
“No,” he says, his hand between my legs stroking me faster, harder, with more purpose than before. I’m on the brink of climax, but if I come he’ll punish me. Take his belt to my ass. And fuck if the idea doesn’t make me want to come even harder. I hate that it does. I fight it, denying that the idea of being punished by him turns me on. It’s only biology, I reason, pushing myself not to focus on how badly I need to climax.
He’s a strong, attractive man who touches your body. That’s it. That’s all.
I force myself to focus on something else, to look away, to tell myself I don’t need this. I can withstand this pressure. I don’t have to climax. And hell, I can wait until he goes to sleep and do the damn job myself. I’m thinking of anything but where I am when he rasps against my ear, “Come now. Let yourself go. Chase it.”
I fight with myself for a split second, then welcome the dark waves of arousal that flood me when he gives permission. I sink into the bed and let myself fly. I’m sinking, falling into the abyss.
Waves of arousal course through me. I can’t breathe. My body writhes so hard beneath his hand my muscles ache, and still, it isn’t enough. My pussy clenches and throbs, my breath coming in ragged, labored gasps as he milks the release out of me. I think it’s over, but he doesn’t stop and another orgasm builds on the first and I’m riding a second, more powerful high. My vision blurs, I feel like I’m floating somewhere above me as I come harder than I ever have in my entire life.
When I come down from the power of my release, I’m breathless and panting. He let me come. He actually did it.
I try to catch my breath. What now?
Elation morphs to fear.
Is this when he rapes me?
But he just spins me over onto my side, slings an arm around my waist and pulls me to his chest. My eyes close without conscious thought. I was tired before he made me come. Now I’m exhausted. Will he want his, though? But no. His warm breath drifts across my neck, making my long hair drift softly on my shoulder. He doesn’t make a move.
I won’t think about what just happened or what this means now.
I drift into a dreamless sleep.
The next morning, I wake before he does, which is unusual. Usually, he’s up and out and going for a run before I even open my eyes. I think, being here on this island, away from everything that’s important to me, has put me in a sort of depression. I sleep. Lots.
But today, I wake up first, and happily swing my wrists free. It feels so good to be able to move like this. Then the memory of the night before crashes down on me, and I freeze. God. He made me come so damn hard. He’s likely proud of himself, too. I practically roll my eyes at the thought.
I listen for his sounds but hear none, just his quiet breathing. But when something hard presses up against my ass, I know he’s no longer asleep.
“Morning,” he rasps. “Bet you slept well.”
“Hmph,” I grumble.
He reaches his hand across my side and splays it flat against my belly. His hand is so big and my belly so small, his thumb grazes the top of my breast, his pinky finger just on the edge of my pussy. Already, I feel my need rising, my clit swelling. Fuck. He’s got my body trained to respond to his touch. I’m not sure I like this, but as soon as I tell my body to shut the fuck up, he’s on the move. Firm, powerful fingers glide along the edge of my pussy, where little tendrils of curly hair peek out. I’m bare next to him. His mouth comes to my ear.
“The next possession I’ll allow you is your razor,” he rumbles. “But I use it first.”
Um. What?
“I want to shave that pussy.”
“You have my razor and you didn’t tell me?” I ask, like an idiot. Of course he does. We’ll get to the part about him shaving me next.
“Yes,” he says. “Why does this surprise you?”
I’m not sure why it does either.
“A razor can be used as a weapon, so it’ll stay in my possession,” he says.
“A weapon? Seriously? You’re concerned I might try to hack you to death with my safety razor?” The idea annoys me. “What the fuck,” I mutter to myself. The idea is ridiculous.
The idea is ridiculous.
A cold shiver skitters across my skin when I realize what I just thought. Harming him with my razor makes my stomach churn. I close my eyes, trying to get a grip on what I just realized.
I don’t want to hurt him.
Fuck.
I hiss out a breath when he tugs my hair back hard.
“Watch your attitude,” he growls. “I don’t like your tone of voice.”
And contrary to what I think should happen, my body starts responding. My breasts swell, and my pussy clenches when he commands me.
“Yes, sir,” I say, not because I don’t want to be punished but because I need him to leave me alone. I don’t want to be touched again.
But then his mouth comes to my neck, his whiskers tickling the sensitive skin. A gentle swipe of his tongue makes my body hum with need. So soon after climaxing, I figure I haven’t fully recovered, because the need to climax again builds.
“You can’t—” I pant, “shave me. I only have enough blades for a few weeks. I—ohhh.”
I can’t keep up a train of thought since he’s suckling my neck while fondling me, one large hand cupping my breast while his calloused thumb brushes my nipple, the other hand dipping between my thighs to part them.
“You were saying?” he whispers in my ear.
“Can’t—shave me—with no blade refills. It’ll be all stubble.”
The hand between my thighs finds my folds, parts my pussy lips, and I stop breathing. So quickly, he undoes me, taking total control. I want to fight it. I turn my head away from him, squirming under his grasp. Will he even stop if I told him to?
There are no safewords here.
But… I don’t know if I want him to stop. He treats me like a prisoner, but this feels nice.
So fucking nice.
I’ve never had a man touch me like this, and I don’t want it to stop. Not now.
I need one more first. Just one more.
I’m putty in his hands when he strokes my pussy, tweaks my nipples, kisses my temple. He tugs my head back and takes my mouth with his, the roughness of his beard belying the soft touch of his lips against mine. My hips rise of their own accord. I’m on the cusp of an orgasm again, my whole body primed and tense.
“Come,” he grates against my ear. At his words, I shatter, the climax tearing through me like wildfire. I gasp and groan, grinding against his hand while spasms rip through me. This time, he holds me while I come down from my orgasm. His black eyes meet mine unblinking.
“You’re mine, Nadine. Your orgasms belong to me. Your pussy belongs to me. Your body is mine to do with as I will. If I want to shave you, I will. If I want to spank your pussy red, I will. If I cuff you to my bed to wait for me, then that’s what will happen.”
I nod, still drunk from my orgasm.
“Soon, I’ll shave that pussy so I can eat you out.”
I shiver. I’m oh so familiar with my vibrator. But… that? I shake my head. No way is he putting his mouth
there.
But there’s no point in telling him that.
Adrian does what he fucking wants.
Chapter Ten
Adrian
Today, the sun beats down hot and relentless. The bodies on shore have been taken care of, and it was hard fucking work binding them and burying them in shallow graves. But at least now we can return to that beach to fish.
I’m starting out to catch our morning fish later than usual, so I have no luck. My nets remain bare despite my efforts. I frown. We’ll have to find something else to eat.
Our stores are dwindling. The fish have been the easiest to catch and supply necessary nutrients. But now we need to find more resources. I’ll have to catch some of those birds that flock to the shore and see if they’re suitable for meals.
Something has to give.
Nadine has lost weight, and so have I, but so far, our water and food supply has kept us afloat. We need to find many more ways to sustain our diet.
I go back to our shelter empty-handed, my mind occupied with what to do next, when I hear a squeal. I tied her wrists together before I left, which she wasn’t too happy about. I don’t trust her enough to let her roam free quite yet. Harming me would be stupid, as she’d have to fend for herself if she killed me, and deal with my punishing her if she didn’t. But the bonds were a compromise.
So it surprises me when I hear a squeal that sounds almost happy, and the sound isn’t coming from the cabin but to the right of it, where the makeshift camp kitchen sits. I haven’t let her touch it because I don’t trust the propane, and we don’t have any pots or pans anyway. So far, the open flame has proved a smarter way to cook. And now she stands just inside the little camp kitchen. When she hears me approaching, she spins around, her eyes wide with excitement.
At first, the only thing I notice is that her wrists are free.
“Adrian!” she says. I blink. I think it’s the first time she’s called me by name. I only allow sir. She’s forgotten herself, but she’s excited, so I let it go for now.
“Why are you out of the shelter?”
“You didn’t say I couldn’t come out,” she says, almost pleading. “You just said stay put, and this is part of our little abode, so I figured it was staying put.”
My palm still itches to smack her little ass for coming out of the shelter.
“Look what I found!” She points to something I can’t quite see, so I walk up to her for a better look. The little camp kitchen takes up only a portion of the area. She points to a padlock, and grins at me. A key dangles in her fingers.
I reach down and grasp her wrists between my fingers. “And what happened here?” I ask.
Her eyes widen, and she looks down, as if she just realized her mistake.
“I can...sometimes get out of them,” she admits, looking chagrined. She knows I’ll have to punish her.
It was an act of defiance worthy of a severe punishment. I frown. I was hoping we’d have time to explore today but training her is more important.
“I’ll have to punish you for this, you know.”
She nods and gulps, likely expecting I’ll take her over my knee, or take my belt to her ass. But there are many ways I can make her obey, and not all punishments need to involve a spanking.
“For your defiance today, you’ll lose your privilege of walking free,” I explain. She doesn’t say anything, but her shoulders sag. A part of me doesn’t like that.
But she needs to fucking respect me.
I’m not exactly sure what she was so excited about at first, until the clouds shift in the light reflects on metal. In front of us are rows and rows of canned goods.
She reaches a hand out and opens a burlap sack that sits on the floor suddenly she jumps straight back into me. Huge, hard-shelled black beetles move across the burlap. She screams and screams, covering her face with her hands. I pull her to the side twisting my body to keep her away from the insects. Gently but firmly I push her outside and turn to deal with the infiltrated supply. I take a quick glance through. I make quick work of tying the burlap and tossing the bags behind a tree.
Then I go back to Nadine. Her hands are still up to her face and she’s shaking. I pull her over to me, gently pushing her face onto my shoulder. I hold her there and say nothing until her shaking subsides. Finally, after a time, I walk her inside.
“That’s one hell of a phobia to have when you’re living in the outdoors, sweetheart.”
She doesn’t look up.
“It looks like we have quite a bit of food here. That’ll definitely come in handy. We just need to find a way to open it. I think it’s time that we go through this kitchen. Actually, let me rephrase that. I think it’s time that I go through this kitchen. You, young lady, are going to be punished for removing your restraints.”
I need her obedience, no matter how I manage to get it. And today, it means she’ll be punished.
“What are you going to do to me?” she asks, her tone sharp as flint. I know her abrasiveness masks fear.
When I get her in the bedroom I place her on the bed. She knows not to move but groans out loud when I remove the now-familiar and loathed metal cuffs.
I strip her and lay her on her bed on her back. I pull her wrists above her head and secure them with the detached precision of a physician, then do the same to her ankles so she’s spread-eagled on the bed. When she’s good and secured, I stand beside her and allow my eyes to roam slowly over every inch of her naked, vulnerable body, pacing the floor like I’m deep in thought. And maybe I am. She’s so soft. So malleable. I want her wilting under the heat of my gaze.
My cock lengthens. I’m conditioned to want to fuck her into obedience when she’s helpless and defiant like this. Submissive.
Under my penetrating gaze, her body begins to respond without me even touching her. At first, her response is visible when the tension fades from her shoulders and the worry lines on her brow soften. Her chest rises with the deep, slow breaths she takes. My control over her permeates the air like fog at dusk, thick and impenetrable. Every breath she takes lulls her further into submission.
Pools of blue stare up at me from the stark simplicity of the white pillow, her golden hairs spilling around her like a halo. With her legs spread wide apart, the gentle breeze that filters in through the open window tickles her naked skin. The light catches a glimmer of arousal on her thighs.
She’s wet for me.
I haven’t even touched her. Licked her. Tasted her.
My disappointment in her disobedience fades. At first, I was afraid my training had been in vain, that she dared to defy me so readily. But no. Here, lying beneath me, completely at my mercy, her body knows what to do.
So do I.
I circle the bed, taking in every inch of her body.
“You’re beautiful,” I say, running my palm along the full swell of her breast but avoiding her nipples.
Swallowing hard, Nadine whispers, “Thank you.”
I nod.
“I said that I would shave you.” I remove my hand. She whimpers almost silently at the loss.
Her breath goes ragged, and her chest rises and falls with shallow breaths. If I put my fingers to her neck, her rapid pulse would beat against my fingers like butterfly wings.
I turn away and leave here there.
“Sir?”
I don’t give her a response. She is being punished, after all.
But first, she needs to eat.
I go back to our new-found supplies and take inventory. My stomach rumbles when I eye a large tub of peanut butter. I check the dates, and it’s still apparently fine. Packed with calories and fat, it will provide a very useful nutritional supplement. I take that, along with one of the few remaining protein bars, and the last of the bottled water.
From here on out, we’ll boil our water from the falls for drinking. I smile at the pots and pans hidden in this small pantry as well as a small assortment of knives. This will be perfect.
I enter the room
where she’s still tied to the bed on her back and get to work preparing our meal. With her head tipped to the side, she watches me slather peanut butter on a chocolate-flavored protein bar. From my peripheral vision I watch her swallow.
“Do you like peanut butter, Nadine?” Still crouching, I turn my body to look at her. Her tiny tongue darts out and licks her lips. Swallowing, she nods.
“Yes. Yes, sir,” she amends.
I’ll feed her first. I cross the room with my stern gaze trained on her. She’s still in trouble, and I don’t want her to forget that.
I drop to my knees beside the bed and take a small portion of the bar in my hand. Since she’s strapped to the bed, she’s prone on her back. Gently, I work my arm beneath her upper back, and help her sit up as much as the restraints allow.
“Open,” I instruct, but she doesn’t need to be told twice. She eagerly takes the bar with peanut butter, chews, and swallows, closing her eyes for a moment in contentment at the taste.
“Drink,” I order. I hold the bottle to her full, beautiful lips, and gently tip some water into her mouth. I wipe the little dribble on her chin with the pad of my thumb, then take the drop to my mouth and suck it off. She watches me with widened eyes but doesn’t say a thing. After she’s eaten, I eat my meal, then clean up.
“You’ve behaved while I fed you,” I say approvingly. “Now let’s see how you handle what I have in store for you next.”
Though she keeps her body still, I can feel the tension between us. I’ve hurt her before. I intend to hurt her again. Only this time, her punishment will entail more than a spanking.
I circle around her again. I stare until I can’t stand not touching her, like standing behind a large window and staring at the sea. I need to touch her. Feel her. Taste her.
Starting at her shoulders, I begin the slow, deliberate exploration of her body. I trace the beautiful, graceful slopes of her chest and hips, the sweet swell of her breasts, and the way her waist narrows. Fair hair covers her pussy, tiny little blonde curls. When I get to her pussy, I part the soft tendrils and slide my finger through her damp folds. Just by taking away her control and watching her, I’ve made her wet for me.
