The Possession

by Jaid Black

  She stilled. “What do you want me to do?” she heard herself ask, if a bit hesitantly.

  His nostrils flared as he plunked down into the lounger and pulled her onto his lap. “All those nasty pictures you wouldn’t take with Frenchy?” he growled. “I want you to take them with me.” His eyebrow rose in challenge. “And I want you to look at the camera and smile with those pretty dimples showin’ while you do it,” he murmured.

  She flinched. He’d found her Achilles Heel, she thought nervously. She didn’t want any blackmail material leaving the island. “But I…”

  Jack grunted. He’d never show the pictures to anyone, only keep them for himself, but he wanted her to figure that out for herself. “Smile,” he said thickly as he turned her around on his lap so her back was against his chest.

  He opened his knees to spread her thighs apart, his hands immediately zeroing in on her vagina. He used both sets of calloused fingers to spread apart her labial lips, exposing her pussy fully to the camera. “Smile,” he murmured, his erection poking against her buttocks.

  Kris blew out a shaky breath. She felt so damn aroused both by his fingers touching her down there as well as from having been ordered to do something naughty by Jack. But she was also very afraid to give him this much power over her. If she did this thing for him then he would have photographic evidence of her trip to Hotel Atlantis…

  Hesitantly, nervously, she looked straight into the camera and smiled, dimples popping out on either cheek. The photographer snapped what felt like a million pictures of Jack holding open her labial lips while she sat there on his lap and smiled, her thighs spread wide.

  “Play with your nipples, baby,” he said thickly, one of his hands continuing to hold apart her pussy lips while the fingers of his other hand began massaging her clit. “And keep smiling while I make you cum.”

  It felt like an impossible task. Especially when his intimate massage became firm, the pressure he exerted against her clit unbearably arousing. She began to squirm, her head falling back on a moan.

  “Look at the camera.”

  She looked at the camera and smiled. Her breathing hitched when her hands found her breasts. She shuddered and groaned when her thumbs and index fingers began massaging her own nipples, stretching and pulling them, tweaking and rolling them around.

  “Keep smiling,” he instructed her, his voice arrogantly aroused. “Show everyone how badly you want to please me and only me, sweetheart.”

  By now several men had gathered around to watch, so they were obviously the everyone Jack was referring to. This exhibitionist activity had already been getting her increasingly turned on, but smiling at the men and boldly looking them in the eyes while Jack pleasured her made her feel like a compliant whore.

  Exactly the sort of dirty, submissive gesture she often fantasized about.

  Exactly the sort of dirty, submissive gesture that brought her to orgasm when masturbating.

  And so there on Jack’s lap, one of her deepest, darkest fantasies was brought to life. She looked the men brazenly in the eyes while Jack masturbated her, grinning at them while she tugged at her nipples and massaged them, winking at them when they cheered her on, wanting her to cum in front of them.

  The camera kept clicking.

  She no longer cared.

  Two of Jack’s fingers penetrated her, causing her to gasp.

  “Ride him!” one of the men shouted out.

  “Let’s see those tits bounce,” another one said, causing the other male onlookers to chuckle.

  “This is the last time you’ll ever put on a show for any man but me, sweetheart,” Jack growled in her ear. “So enjoy it while you can.”

  She did.

  Kris moaned as she rode up and down on Jack’s two fingers, her breasts jiggling sexily, as the men shouted out praise and the camera photographed it all. She arched her back so the camera could get a better view of her penetrated cunt, her gaze trained on the male audience as she occasionally grinned at them between moans.

  She rode Jack’s fingers faster and faster, deeper and harder, then faster and faster still. She boldly made eye contact with each and every one of the men while she pumped up and down on Jack’s fingers, her wet flesh making suctioning sounds on every upstroke.

  She felt so wicked, so aroused, that she wanted to keep doing this all night. But eventually the need to orgasm became paramount and, with a loud groan, she threw her head back and climaxed violently all over Jack’s hand.

  Her nipples immediately stabbed out as blood rushed to heat her face and erogenous zones. She rode every wave of her orgasm out, frantically sheathing herself on Jack’s fingers as his free hand reached around and tweaked at her stiff nipples.

  Kris came down from the high slowly, a blissful look on her face as she unsheathed Jack’s fingers from her vagina and turned around on his lap to face him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and threaded her hands through his hair. “Why don’t you fuck me for real?” she whispered in an aroused voice, surprising him. “I’ve fantasized about you for years and—”

  She gasped when two sets of strong arms plucked her out of his lap and handed her over to a third man.

  “Fifteen minutes is up,” the announcer threw over his shoulder to Jack, uncaring of the fact that Jack looked ready to kill him with his bare hands. “It’s time for the next contest.”

  * * * * *

  When Jack entered the third and final contest she was placed as a prize in, she was pretty certain she at last understood how he had felt during the other two competitions. This contest was called Poker King, and in this poker playing contest the winner took all.

  Inevitably, the winner was Jack. Not that Kris was surprised by that singular fact. She was beginning to think that there wasn’t a damn thing the surly man hadn’t already mastered.

  Either that or he wanted her to himself badly enough to master them quickly. She wanted to believe that was the case but…

  Kris’ nostrils flared when the male announcer threw a wrench into the works, adding a “bonus” into the contest that she hadn’t been expecting.

  “This year’s poker king will get an extra special treat,” the announcer grinned as he guided a busty, naked blonde toward Kris. “Your Majesty,” he said loudly to Jack into the microphone he held in his hand, “sit back in your throne and enjoy the view because these two gorgeous sluts are going to oil wrestle for the right to suck your cock.”

  Drunken cheers went up like wildfire, the male onlookers settling in to enjoy the show Kris hadn’t even known would take place. She saw Jack lift an eyebrow as he looked at her, letting her know he wasn’t at all sad to see this turn in events. The look he was giving her seemed to say now you know how I’ve felt all goddamn night, sweetheart.

  Her nostrils flared as an irrational jealousy overwhelmed her. She had no claims to Jack and probably never would, but damn it if she’d sit back and watch another woman suck the Grinch off—

  Kris gasped when the busty blonde grabbed her by the back of her hair and tried to shove her face into the dirt. A lusty roar of approval went up from the crowd, the men enjoying the view of two naked women wrestling over the “honor” of giving a blowjob.

  Oh good lord, she thought, breathing heavily as she managed to squirm her way out of the woman’s hold on her. I’m an esteemed anthropologist for goodness sake! I will not, repeat NOT, wrestle a naked woman for the right to suck that man off!

  Her jaw clenched and her heart raced when the busty, naked beauty strolled over to Jack with a seductive smile on her face and leaned over to squeeze his cock through his trousers. “Yummy,” she said, arching her back so her breasts were popping out before his face. “It’s so big…”

  That. Did. It.

  “Hi-yeeeeeee!”

  Kris screamed out her war cry at the same moment she jumped on the woman from behind, bringing her down to the ground. Cheers and roars of approval erupted from the crowd, some of the men standing up and whooping loudly while two n
aked, oil-slicked women rolled around on the grass trying to pin each other to it.

  In her peripheral vision she could see Jack grinning, which made her all the madder. “I’m an anthropologist,” she hissed to her competitor as she struggled with the woman.

  “Yeah?” her competitor said belligerently. “So?”

  “So I’ve lived with the Kung people of Africa, baby!” she ground out as she rolled the woman onto her back and tried to straddle her. “And war-mongering native tribes in the Rainforest.” She sniffed, hoping she looked like an authority on the subject. “Nobody but nobody can wrestle like those guys.”

  Her competitor grunted, but said nothing as they rolled.

  More cheers, louder shouting.

  “And I once dated a guy who was the friend of a friend who did time in Attica!”

  Her competitor snorted as she grabbed her by the back of the head and tried to shove her face into the dirt again. “So what! What does that have to do with anything?” she sneered.

  Nothing, but it had sounded intimidating to Kris at the time and she had hoped the same effect would happen on Betty Big Boobs. Apparently not, she grimaced, when the woman offered her a stinging backhand across the face.

  “Did I mention the fact that—”

  “Bah! Just shut up and wrestle me, bitch!”

  Bitch, she thought angrily, her adrenaline surging. The bitch had dared to call her a bitch!

  “Hi-yeeeeee!”

  Kris screamed out her war cry for a final time when, in a show of great strength, she threw her competitor to the ground, quickly straddled her lap, and pinned both of her arms to the ground.

  “One,” the announcer bellowed into the microphone as the men in the crowd roared. Her competitor wriggled madly beneath her. “Two…three. Winner!”

  Kris could scarcely believe it, but she’d actually won. She grunted as she drew herself up to her knees, feeling oddly proud of her accomplishment.

  She felt like an Olympic gold medallist. She felt like the heavyweight boxing champion of the world.

  She felt like a moron, she thought grimly.

  And when she heard Jack’s loud, booming laughter, she felt like a ninny to boot.

  How funny he must think it is, she thought with a sense of hurt pride, to see the boring Professor Torrence reduced to this. She had only wanted to have one wild experience to treasure in her memories, not humiliating ones like this.

  She covered her ears when the cheering grew louder, embarrassment crashing over her until her cheeks went up in flames and tears filled her eyes.

  She could see Jack laughing, the sight of which made the tears want to spill down her cheeks. She could well imagine what her nemesis thought of seeing her reduced to this.

  Panicked, hurt, and a million other things, Kris bolted from the contest arena with her hands still clapped over her ears, the sound of male laughter and cheering humiliating to her.

  “I want to go home,” she choked out as she ran. “I just want to go home.”

  Jack watched her run away, his smile fading as her crying form disappeared into the dark night. He sighed, feeling guilty that he hadn’t kidnapped his little witch away from this place the moment he’d clapped eyes on her. He had figured the island would eventually get to her and wasn’t the least bit surprised when the auspicious moment finally arrived.

  That’s what you get for trying to play by the rules in a mad land, idiot, he chastised himself.

  He sighed as he walked away, waving off the wrestling match’s loser when she came toward him trying to offer a consolation prize.

  He didn’t want any other woman. Only Krissy.

  From now on he’d never pay attention to anybody else’s rules again.

  Chapter Ten

  By the time Kris fell limp into her bed that night, her muscles were achingly sore and her head hurt from all the crying she’d gone off and done in private.

  She had searched for John and Sheri for over an hour, wanting to retrieve her clothing and take a chartered flight out of here. But they were nowhere to be found and she feared she was going to end up having to go through with the auction tomorrow night whether she wanted to or not.

  And she definitely didn’t want to.

  For the first time since she’d arrived on Atlantis Island, Kris didn’t want to be bought by any man at the sex slave auction tomorrow night. If Jack was outbid, she feared she wouldn’t have as good of a time with whatever man won—probably Lauren?—as she would if she spent the remaining three days catering to Jack’s sexual whims.

  Scratch that. She knew she wouldn’t have as good of a time. Jack had been the sole focus of her submission fantasies for the past two solid calendar years.

  On the other hand, if Jack won the auction and successfully purchased her for the remaining three days then that opened an entirely new Pandora’s Box. She was terribly embarrassed about tonight’s events and wasn’t certain she could handle looking him in the eye after having humiliated herself by wrestling in the nude with another woman for the right to give him oral sex. Then humiliated herself all over again by running off crying the way she had.

  Kris closed her eyes tightly, the embarrassment swamping her senses all over again. Good lord, what Jack must think of her…

  What was she to Jack anyway? she wondered for the hundredth time tonight. A contest prize, a pathetic spinster he wanted to mount, or something more?

  She sighed, hugging the soft covers to her body as she slowly drifted off to sleep.

  * * * * *

  Jack let himself into John’s private hut, a lush paradise on the far side of the island, filled with exotic plants, expensive tropical looking furniture, and when he felt like it, exotic naked women. Today John felt like it.

  When Jack let himself in through the living room window, he followed the sound of John’s moans and murmurs down the long, twisting hallway and into the den. The den had always been John’s favorite getaway, a personal retreat that was the only part of the house that Jack could tell had been decorated by his longtime buddy’s own hand. The rest of the hut was classy and tropical-looking but it just didn’t say John. It said man-with-many-old-wounds-trying-to-pretend-he’s-someone-he’s-not.

  Namely, a rich, arrogant asshole.

  The rich part was true. The rest of it wasn’t.

  Jack was surprised when he rounded the corner and entered the den to find John inside with three naked women. The sight immediately sent warning bells off in his head because for as long as John had owned the island he’d never once allowed a woman, let alone three prostitutes, to enter his private lair.

  Any other room in the hut and Jack wouldn’t have thought anything of it. But a foursome in John’s personal getaway? Big-time warning bells.

  Sweet Jesus. Sheri was right. Something was very wrong.

  “Talk to him, Jack,” Sheri had pleaded with him when she’d come to his hut a few minutes before fleeing the island for reasons she wouldn’t name. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, but he’s worrying me. John trusts and respects you. He’ll talk to you. But me…?” She’d shaken her head and sighed. “I’ll always be the kid sister in his eyes. John thinks he’s supposed to know more than I do. He’ll never listen to me.”

  When Jack drew closer to the foursome, the strong scent of bourbon and marijuana choked the air, sending off the most frightening warning bells yet. John’s never been much of a drinker, he thought. Or a smoker.

  Naked, John was lying down on a huge two-seater chair that reclined into a bed. One leg bent at the knee, his arms relaxed behind his head, his eyes were closed while he moaned, three naked women kissing and sucking his various body parts.

  Jack immediately recognized the woman sucking him off as Cherice, a Los Angeles madam originally from Paris who worked two island excursions a year as a prostitute because of the high pay involved. John and Cherice had become good friends over the years, but rarely did the two become sexual. And it definitely wasn’t like Cherice, a business
woman through and through, to waste valuable time flirting with tonight’s potential buyers in order to suck off John for free.

  Screaming, screeching, neon lights flashing kind of warning bells.

  Something was definitely wrong with John Calder if even Cherice LeMont recognized it. Was she here to comfort him? Or, he thought worriedly, to watch him? Damn it, why was she worried enough to even be here?

  And then he saw ebony hands running over John’s chest, a beautiful ebony face bent to kiss him. Tanisha Jones. A Detroit madam who worked one island excursion a year as a prostitute for the high pay. Another good friend of John’s wasting valuable flirting time to be with her employer for free.

  What the hell?

  Jack recognized the third woman as Krissy’s friend Elizabeth, but had no idea how she fit into the picture. Of course it was also pretty well known that she and Tanisha were friends and that the third grade school teacher occasionally “entertained” clients of the madam’s who were visiting the San Diego area. So maybe the Detroit madam had asked Elizabeth to come here tonight.

  But, again, why? What the hell was going on?

  John’s head fell back into Tanisha’s lap on a groan, his muscles cording and tensing as he spurted into Cherice’s mouth. His breathing was heavy, his body soaked with perspiration, as he came down from the orgasmic high and slowly fell into a lulling, if drunken sleep.

  Tanisha continued to rub his chest, Elizabeth his legs and belly, and Cherice sang—a French lullaby to him? What!—until all three of them were certain he was sound asleep. Only then did they get up.

  “Well,” Cherice whispered in a thick accent as she stood up, “he should be asleep until zuh morning. Let us go, eh?”

  Tanisha nodded, then threw five strands of long microbraids over her shoulder. “I stole his gun so that’s not a worry. Not tonight anyway. And Lizzy did away with the pills. So those are outta the picture until he gets refills on the mainland.”

  Jack’s jaw went slack. Gun? Pills? Sweet Jesus, did they think he was gonna—

  “Jack!” Cherice urgently whispered as she walked toward him, her naked body glistening with coconut oil. “Keep an eye on our old friend, eh? We have to go to work, cher.”