Rapture Island (The Captive Bride, III)

by Dominique D. DuBois

  “Rapture Island”

  by Dominique Darcelle DuBois

  Book III of “The Captive Bride” Series©

  Copyright 2/2013 by Dominique D. DuBois

  Cover Copyright 2/2013 by Dominique D. DuBois

  Cover Photo Rights Licensed Thru: Shutterstock.com

  BDSM writing is NOT for everyone. Please be sure this type of material will not offend you BEFORE you begin. Also, please read the following warning:

  ~The erotic tales by Dominique D. DuBois, are unilaterally restricted to only depicting sexual acts occurring between adults (those 18 years of age or older). Additionally, they are expressly intended for a mature and legal audience. These stories are not approved to be purchased or read by minors (those under 18 years of age). If you are not at least 18, please stop reading HERE and return this book to Amazon immediately for a full refund. By continuing to read this story, you are hereby acknowledging that you are at least 18 years of age or older, and the author, publisher, and Amazon, all therefore bear no responsibility if this official requirement is knowingly and willfully violated.~

  The books in these series contain numerous examples of uninhibited erotica. As such, they may include graphic descriptions of bondage, discipline, acts that some may see as having a mild theme of “rape”, and other related “adult” scenarios. Please do not purchase or read this book if you have any qualms whatsoever regarding ANY and ALL of the aforementioned scenarios. Additionally, if you find explicit erotica offensive, THEN THESE BOOKS ARE NOT FOR YOU (so please refrain from purchasing).

  If you have any additional concerns regarding what lies within this book, please scroll to the cautionary information posted AT THE END. Thank you.

  *This EBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This EBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient, or loan your own copy through the Kindle Book Lending program. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or if it was not purchased for your own use, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  *The books (and series) by Dominique D. DuBois are all original works of fiction, and Dominique Darcelle DuBois holds the full copyright for this entire piece (which includes the cover compilation, the “Instructive Discussion”, the “Cautionary Warning”, and any notes, prologues or epilogues written by the author). No portion of any of this work may be reproduced in any manner, without the express written permission of the author, herself. This includes excerpting portions of the cautionary warnings/forewords and cutting and pasting them into any other works. You may not reprint this book, in whole or in part, and this book is non-transferrable to a second party.

  Short, attributed quotations may be used without prior authorization; solely for the purpose of a critical review.

  **Any copyright violations will be legally pursued. Thank you greatly for your respect in this sensitive matter.**

  “The Captive Bride” Series

  Book I: ‘The Bride Wore White’

  Book II: ‘Taken Captive’

  Book III: ‘Rapture Island’

  Book IV: ‘Scorching Seas’ (coming soon)

  (A Full List of D.D. DuBois Books Follows This Book/Selection)

  Rapture Island

  Victor took a moment to just stand there and stare at me, his glorious, naked body distracting me still. Then finally, he spoke. “This here today was not about teaching you all those things from before; enforcing my will on you like I wanted to when you were a wide-eyed child who knew nothing about sex. This wasn’t about dominating you, subjugating you, or bending you to my will, either, or else the bonds would not have still been necessary.”

  “Well, then, what was this about?” I asked, practically brought to tears for reasons I could still not even begin to explain.

  “This? This was simply about showing you my ownership; proving to you beyond a shadow of a doubt that you belong to me now, and you always will. It was also about showing you that after all this time, I still know your body better than you know it yourself, and that I, and I alone can bring you pleasure. You escaped from me once before, but you never will again, because by the time I’m done with you, by the time you’ve finished each and every one of your ‘lessons’ on my own little private island; you’ll never want to escape from me ever again. You’ll be proud to call me your Master, be proud to belong to me, be proud to turn every aspect of your life and your sexual being over to me without question.

  “And finally, this was about showing you that no matter what you do, no matter what you say; I can and will be inside you, fucking you, licking you, taking you, and ravaging your body whenever and however I want – and you do not ever have the right to tell me ‘no’. Not because you can’t turn away some man whom you sincerely do not want to be with, but because beyond and beneath all your bullshit; the only man you have ever wanted to be with was me. And from this day forward, you will never ever leave me, and you will never turn me away ever again. Am I clear?”

  At that, I did my best to spit in his face. It landed on his chest, but he merely wiped it off with a finger and then licked it clean with his tongue. Because he knew the truth already; knew it all. That I still craved him more than I craved air or water, or even food, and that there would never come a time that I no longer did. He did own me, all of me, and that was the shame that drowned me.

  “Well then,” he said, “I guess it’s on to the next stage of the game.”

  “What game?” I asked, frightened, curious, unsure.

  “Our game on Rapture Island,” he finally replied. “A little deserted island I own off the coast of Florida. A place where I can take you, and use you, and pillage your body without interruption. Where I can teach you how to be a proper slave, and in the process, make you mine for all eternity.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, leaving me alone while beneath me, the miles of open ocean churned endlessly on and on. With it, all of my previous freedom bled excruciatingly away. We were full speed ahead now, towards my new and infinite prison and whatever fate awaited me. With every single wave that dashed across the bow, I felt another tiny piece of me slipping agonizingly away. Pretty soon; there’d be nothing else left.

  With that last thought, a new resurgence of fight rose within me, and I knew then and there that conquering me wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as Mr. Victor Copeland Draven thought it would be. A fight for dominance was about to take place, that was for certain. But unlike what Victor so arrogantly assumed; the winner had not yet been decided…

  I lay there, silently fuming for about twenty minutes more. My body was still slick with sweat, but it was gradually drying beneath the wafts of cool, dry air conditioning, by inexorable degrees. I could feel the remnants of our recent sex, still sliding wetly between my thighs. All I wanted now was a hot, steaming shower, and a steel-wool brush to scrub Victor’s fingerprints off the surface of my body. Obviously they were no longer visible along my soft, tanned, stretches of naked skin. But still, regardless, I felt them burning into me; as if they had sunk into the surface cells of my very tissues for all of eternity.

  Finally, I heard the measured tread outside the door that alerted me to the fact that Victor was coming back. Screwing my eyes tightly shut against the sight of him, I Iay there stonily as he came and unlatched me. First he did my ankles, and without thinking, I kicked out towards his hovering shadow as hard as I could.

  He grabbed my slender ankle in one huge palm, holding it there effortlessly as I struggled against hi
m. “Now, now,” he said chidingly. “No need to be petulant. Your virtue is already naught but a thing of the past.”

  Still, I struggled. His fingers dug into my soft flesh then and he said roughly, “I can release you so you can get up and reclaim some modicum of modesty. I have a shower you can wash off in, and some clothes that you can wear until we get to our final destination. But if you can’t play nice, I’ll leave you trussed up until we get there. Only I’m quite sure that by now, you most certainly need to, ah, use the ‘facilities’?”

  He was right. I had to pee something awful. And oh, God, but did I want to clean his sticky, manly remnants off of me. If that freedom meant I’d have to play nice, at least for a while, I guessed that I could do it.

  “Fine,” I grudgingly ground out between gritted teeth.

  “Fine what?” he taunted lightly. I opened my eyes and glared at him. He’d changed, having left his old clothes still flung on the floor in here when he’d walked out a little while ago. Now he was barefoot and wearing long, khaki cargo-shorts and a white, thin, short-sleeved shirt that was unbuttoned all the way down the front. It exposed his tanned, chiseled, muscular chest, effortlessly showcasing his ridiculously-toned assets in the worst kind of way. Well, it was the worst way for me, anyway; especially since I was damn-well intent on never falling weakly and eagerly into his waiting arms again.

  “I’ll play nice,” I finally said, my heated voice clearly betraying the intense anger still burning inside.

  I glanced at Victor’s face in time to see him smirk at me before he bent over and unshackled my wrists one-by-one. As he moved away, without even realizing what I was doing, I flung my arm forwards and slapped him across the face. I don’t even really know why I did it. I guess I just wanted to wipe that smile right off of his arrogant lips. The loud “smack” immediately echoed hollowly around the room, but his head didn’t even move one measly inch. Instead, my palm smarted and my wrist instantly began to throb.

  “Do you feel better now?” he queried mildly.

  “Yes, yes I do,” I replied with a somewhat furiously-trembling vehemence.

  “Good,” he said. “But don’t you ever fucking do that again, or I can guarantee that you will not appreciate the consequences.” He stood up and walked away from me, then turned at the door to say, “There’s a shower, toiletries, and the outfit that I’ve selected for you in the bathroom right outside here in the hall. You may prepare yourself at your leisure but when you’re done, your presence is required topside.” Then he left, walking out without so much as a final backwards glance.

  Once he was gone, I sat up slowly, feeling as if my entire body was bruised. I was still woozy, but didn’t know if it was from the drugs he’d given me, the ferocity with which he’d taken me, or the dizzying headiness of having just smacked him right in the face. God but that had felt so good! It was like all that long-ago anger and fury over how callously he’d treated me, had just come rushing right back. And the rage was white-hot and virulent, too, as if the past two years that had since sidled by, had done absolutely nothing to blunt it.

  When presented with the opportunity, regardless of the fact that I was not a violent woman by nature - I simply hadn’t been able to help myself. Besides, I was still more than a little irate and disenchanted with my own inner psyche; for the way it and my body had both so utterly betrayed me.

  Massaging my wrists and ankles, I moved around for a bit until all the numbness and cramps were loosened from my limbs. Once the blood was flowing freely through my veins once again, I stood shakily and walked towards the door. I could feel the vestiges of Victor’s possession all over me, as if I’d literally been doused in it. I needed to get clean, and fast.

  With each step across the room, I could feel my muscles trembling, pushed to the near-breaking point from Victor’s ruthless domination. Cringing as I tried to push the vivid memories away from me, I reached for the cool, crystal handle and pulled.

  The wooden door was heavy, probably cherry-stained teak, but it swung as smoothly and easily as if it had been hung on hinges crafted from threads of soft silk. Behind it lay a long hallway. This end lay in shadow; the far end had a bright block of sunlight from where a tiny staircase led to the upper deck.

  The room at my back was air-conditioned and cool, but the hallway was warm and saturated with the scent of muggy brine. Once again, my stomach lurched. Dear God, I was in the middle of the ocean. I had known that for quite a while by now, yet seeing the vigorous sunshine and feeling just a brief hint of the sea breeze from above, brought it home to me all the more.

  I’d never been to the Gulf of Mexico before, and the feel of this ocean was much, much different than the feel of the Pacific. It was warmer here, having none of that edge, that bite that always seemed to underlie the often harsh breezes that blustered along the coast of Washington state. Here the air was softer, sultrier, like a warm, but moist caress. Closing my eyes for a moment, I simply breathed in the sweetly-salty air, soaking up the sensation for the very first time. Suddenly, I wanted to be up there on that deck, looking out across the ponderously lapping waves. But first, I needed a shower.

  Legs still shaking, I began to make my way slowly along the hall, almost jumping out of my skin when the door swiftly swung back shut right behind me. After only about six or seven paces, I came upon a much narrower door on the right. It was the first one I reached, therefore I figured it was the lavatory that Victor had just directed me to. Pushing it open, I quickly saw that I was right.

  The bathroom itself was more elegant than any one at any place I’d ever lived at before. It was startlingly large, and it had marble tile and counters, a huge mirror, a double-basined gold-fauceted sink, a stand-up shower stall with glass walls, and a deep, whirlpool bathtub. Hanging on a gold hook by the shower was the outfit Victor had hand-picked for me; a tiny purple string-bikini and a baby blue and pink, gauzy robe to cover up with. It was sexy for certain, and just looking at it, my cheeks tinged a bright pink. So, was I to dress-up and play the coquette for him then? Assume the role of harlot and whore? Fat chance.

  Of course the alternative to his selection was walking around naked, or putting my wedding dress back on, and neither one of those options sounded particularly better than having to wear a skimpy bathing suit and flimsy caftan for sure. So, with a resigned sigh, I went inside and shut the door firmly behind me. Then, holding onto the counter to steady myself, I slid out of my white satin shoes, pulled off my garter belts, garters, and stockings, and set everything in a pile on the corner of the sink. Looking at the crumpled and pathetic heap of objects that had previously been infused with wistful hopes and dreams, I scowled and wished briefly for a match and some gasoline with which to torch them. Lacking that, I unpinned my hair rather brusquely, then I stepped into the shower.

  Inside was beige-peach and cream marble, with tiny threads of gold woven throughout. The showerhead was huge, and just below it was a gold-toned metal and glass shelf that held luxury soap, shampoo, conditioner, and smoothing serum. Each item (except for the expensive soap) was the exact same brand that I had been using when Victor and I had last dated. I couldn’t believe that he actually remembered such insignificant details. Also, on one of the shelves, I found a brand new red toothbrush and a tube of toothpaste, both of which were quite welcome to me right now. I turned the water on and edged to the back of the stall, taking a few moments to brush my teeth now as I waited for the shower to heat up.

  It was air conditioned in there, too, so before long, steam was billowing up off of the streaming water. Leaving it as hot as I could stand it, I moved up under the heavy deluge and began to try and scour Victor off of me. It wasn’t easy; it seemed as if his fingerprints were literally branded into my skin.

  Scrubbing against my arms and legs with a washcloth and the bar of soap that I retrieved from the shelf, I grated against my body until my skin was pink and tingling. Then I shampooed and conditioned my hair. When I was done, I massaged the smoothing serum
into my tangled tresses, then I shut off the water and realized suddenly that I didn’t even have a towel. Opening the shower door and shivering, I tiptoed dripping wet across the cold tiles and over to the sink. I quickly looked under the cabinet, and was relieved to see a huge pile of soft, white towels folded at the bottom. Beside them was a black brush.

  Grabbing it along with two towels, I quickly wrapped my hair up in one and then used a second to dry my body. After climbing into the skimpy bathing suit, I finally finished toweling off my hair and then I hung both towels up along the shower door. I brushed through my hair, put on the gauzy robe, and then finally, I was done.

  For a moment, I found myself floundering. What was I supposed to do now? Victor had said to join him, up there topside. And although I really hated the thought of being close to him again, the idea of seeing the waves and the sky and the open ocean first-hand, was almost irresistibly appealing. I looked at myself for a long moment in the mirror, wondering at the sparkle in my eyes and the pinkness in my cheeks. Then I turned my back on my own traitorous image and reluctantly headed out.

  As I padded silently down the carpeted hallway, I felt my stomach uneasily roiling with each tiny step. Finally, I was at the staircase. The bottom, where I was standing, was cluttered with gray shadows. Above, sunlight beamed brightly, beckoning me with an almost palpable appeal.

  Clearing my throat softly, I reached out a sweaty, trembling hand and grabbed the thin railing on the left of me. Realizing that it would not be enough to steady me, I grabbed the rail on the right side, too. Practically hauling myself out of the cradling, murky abyss by my arms alone, I slowly ascended; my knees wobbling, heartbeat stammering, sweat rolling down my still-damp brow.