Rapture Island (The Captive Bride, III)

by Dominique D. DuBois

  “Don’t go too far,” he called lightly.

  “Or else what?” I asked glibly as my bare feet touched down on the hot, soft wood.

  “Or else I’ll take you over my knee first, and then tie you down second,” he responded, and the sincerity in his voice about stopped me cold. Ignoring him with difficulty, I padded down the long pier, hopping and skipping as much as possible to keep from burning my feet on the white wood. It had soaked up so much of the sun’s brightness, the planks were darn-near searing enough to leave blisters.

  Of course Victor hadn’t given me any sandals; all the easier to control me that way. He obviously figured I probably wouldn’t go running off into the thickets with bare feet and a skimpy bikini. But he was wrong. If the opportunity presented itself, and if I knew where I was going and how to escape once I got there, I had no problem traversing this island sans shoes.

  As I made it off the pier and onto the hot, hot sand, I ran faster, the soles of my feet kicking up a fine spray of grit behind me, until I was finally in the shade of the tree-line. Leaning against a leathery trunk and catching my breath, I stared deep into the shadows cast by tall pines and palms and trailing vines. I was absolutely stunned by the huge scope of the abundant wilderness. I wondered then at the great diversity of life there in Northwest Florida. Down near Tampa and Miami, the beaches were full of sand, shells, and seagulls, and that was about it. I knew that because I’d seen plenty of movies made in those places, and they’d been the epitome of what a ‘beach’ was supposed to be. But here it seemed more like the pictures I’d seen of Alabama or Mississippi, or maybe even New Orleans. As such, I liked it here. I liked it here a lot.

  Suddenly, Victor was there beside me. He, of course, had taken the time to slide on some leather sandals. Bastard. “I have to go and check on the supplies for where we’re sleeping tonight. I want you to stay here,” he told me.

  I glanced over at where the enormous boat was tethered tightly to the pier. Victor laughed at me. It was as if he could read my mind, “Not only could you never figure out how to operate it,” he said, “I have the only key to the motor. And without that key, you can’t even use the radio since I’ve put an extra lock on it, as well. So don’t bother to waste your time even trying.”

  “So, I’m just supposed to wait here on the beach for you like a good girl?” I quipped lightly, all the while thinking of when and how I could make my escape. Perhaps I could look for a passing ship and somehow flag it down? Or maybe I could climb into the jungle of trees and somehow manage to find one of Victor’s supposed mansions before he came back? If I could get there before him, perhaps I could arm myself somehow, or maybe even locate a satellite phone or something. But as quickly as the ideas came to me, they deflated me just as fast. I’d never find his place before he found me. And the chance of a passing ship seeing me and then coming for me was one in a trillion.

  “Yep,” he replied, “you’re supposed to just stay right here and be a good little girl. And to discourage you from mischief, I’m taking your clothes.”

  “You’re doing what?” I screeched as I began to back away from him, but he reached out, grabbed me, and snagged me by the arm.

  “I said I’m taking your clothes. Now strip for me, or I’ll do it myself. And I don’t think you’ll like that too much.”

  “You can go fuck yourself,” I said angrily as I jerked my knee up, trying to slam it into his groin. But he was too fast for me. He shifted to the side, pulled me away from the palm tree, and then swept me off my feet. Carrying me back out into the bright sunlight of the beach, he sat me down and pulled off my thin, flimsy robe at the same time. I fought as he snatched, and it tore right up the seam. A second later, it was little more than scraps.

  Next he went after my suit. It was a string bikini, so all he had to do was pull the little ties, and within two heartbeats, it would be done. I fought him, of course, trying to fend off his advances. But his hands were everywhere, untying the strings at my neck, back, and hips, until the suit fell off me and onto the white sand.

  My feet were getting used to how hot the beach was, yet I wasn’t prepared to be naked out there. I slapped at Victor repeatedly as he snatched up my bathing suit and stuffed it in his pocket, and one particularly good one caught him right across his cheek. Once again, it hurt my wrist more than it hurt him, of that I was certain, but still, it stopped him in his tracks.

  “I already warned you about that once,” he growled. “You better be damn sure you know what you’re doing,” he advised me dangerously. “You don’t want to rile me up, do you?”

  “You, you - you’re leaving me naked out here!” I snapped. “What do you expect me to do?”

  “I expect you to relax and enjoy yourself,” he responded simply. “Loosen up, be free, appreciate the ocean, the sun, the freedom of being naked and open where no one can see you.”

  “No one can see me but you!” I raged. He merely smirked. Then he slowly and lasciviously looked me up and down.

  “When I get back,” he told me, with real heat in his voice, “you and I are going to spend some quality time together. And I’m going to pay you back for that last slap.”

  I was standing there, trembling, trying to cover my crotch and my bake, naked breasts with my hands and arms. My legs were crossed, my muscles were tense, and I felt hyper-aware and utterly humiliated. He truly was going to leave me like this! Naked! The son of a bitch!

  “The main doors to the yacht are locked, too,” he informed me idly. “So you can’t go hide in the quarters or in the Captain’s chamber. Now, go relax and enjoy the sun, the wind, and the sea, and I’ll be back in about an hour or so.”

  And with that, he turned and walked away. I watched his back the entire time, watched him walking deep into the woods and following one of the pathways into the relative darkness. I thought about following him, but didn’t know what good that would accomplish. What could I do, fight him for my paltry little clothes back?

  The mangled robe was still lying on the sand by my feet, and I picked it up and tried to wrap it around me. But it had been torn so fully and completely, it was all but worthless. And even pinning it to my chest didn’t really do much, considering the fact that it was sheer and see-through. Finally, I gave up, and threw it back onto the deep, white sand in disgust.

  The hot sun was beating down on my bare-naked body, the breeze was blowing gently through my hair, and the warmth from the sand was soaking up through my feet and into my bones. I was butt-ass-naked in the middle of nowhere. I had a jungle full of unknown animals and bugs behind me, and a stretch of rolling ocean before me. And yet, I had nowhere to go.

  Now what?

  At first I felt extremely self-conscious and paranoid. I was nude outside! I felt the stares of a thousand eyes upon me, even though the beach was empty, silent, and void of any noticeable life other than those seagulls that had followed us in.

  They were cawing and screeching as they wheeled above me, as if they were deliberately mocking me and my ‘delicate’ situation. They circled there for a few moments longer, then they lost interest in me and finally fluttered away. Now I was truly alone.

  Defeated, I took the sunglasses off and thumped them down into a tiny patch of sea grass beside me. It seemed stupid to be wearing them while the rest of me was bare. I could hear the incessant wash of the ocean, rhythmically rushing up the white shore only to retreat once again. Each time the sea rolled back, another wave rose up to greet and consume it. It was almost magnetically entrancing, and I found myself gradually relaxing as I dazedly watched it. Slowly, inexorably, my arms dropped to my sides, and I stood there free and naked in the bright, mid-day sun.

  It was quite a liberating feeling, after a while. I mean first, there was the anxiety, the discomfort, the realization that it was shameful and wrong to be naked outside in the middle of the afternoon. Always one to be careful and protective over my body, never even wearing clothes that showed off my breasts or legs, I couldn’t believe h
ow quickly I was becoming acclimated to having absolutely no clothes on, whatsoever. The pull of the ocean was compelling. The incessant breeze was soothing. The steady, relentless sun was sensual as it played brightly and boldly over every single inch of my body.

  I had a sudden and irresistible urge to lie down in the soft, baking-hot sand. The tree-line was fifteen feet or so behind me. I could go into the shade, hide my body from the immense heavens, shelter myself from the relentless sunlight. Or, I could accept it all with open arms, welcome the freedom, accept the challenge. Amazingly, I did so.

  I walked over until I was at the edge of the lapping ocean, the cool sea rushing in to kiss my feet and ankles every few seconds or so. Then I sat down on the supple silt. It wasn’t nearly so hot here by the water, and it was so silky and powdery from eons upon eons of the water rushing over top of it, it cradled my body like a well-worn blanket. In fact, it was more sensuous and sumptuous than any opulent, expensive mattress I’d ever before been on. I laid all the way back, letting the sand come up and embrace my back, neck, and shoulders, letting the warmth penetrate my scalp as it softly massaged me.

  Looking up at the scudding drifts of cottony clouds, I let the sapphire blue envelop me. It felt like I was being absorbed by my surroundings; sucked into the sand, consumed by the sky, captivated by the wash of the waves and the endless rush of the water against my feet and calves. The tide was coming up, and as the minutes oozed by, the water crept higher and higher. Before long, I felt it lapping at my thighs. I opened my legs, then. Let the water stroke and lick against me, chills running up and down my spine as it crept higher and higher.

  It was as if some great secret of life were somehow exposing itself to me for the very first time. I felt like a part of the earth, a part of the ocean, a part of the sheltering, shimmering sky. The warm, salty water gradually slid even further up, until it was licking at the very warm, wet center of me. I moaned, twisted slightly, opened myself to it even more. Who was I? Who was this girl, practically letting the very ocean make love to her, naked on a beach, kidnapped, alone in the middle of nowhere?

  The next wave rushed in hard, and I gasped, felt my nipples harden. The sun was browning my skin, sinking into my cells, invading me. The ocean was claiming me, too. I’d always been so far from it – spent my life in Colorado, landlocked. Then in Washington, it had been so cold and dreary I’d only been twice to the coast. And I certainly hadn’t gotten into the water either time. But now, the water was getting into me. Getting into my soul, slithering inside my being. How had I missed out on this my entire life until now? For the first time ever, I truly felt at home. Again, I had the dizzying realization that I never wanted to leave.

  The waves laved themselves into me in a steady rhythm, stimulating me, lulling me, pushing me into a state of heightened, yet relaxed excitement. At that moment, at that very instant, I wanted to be made love to. Slow and steady, like the ocean was currently stroking me, yet as powerful and forceful as I knew it could be.

  Suddenly, I heard a noise, and I wrenched myself up from that soft, comforting bed of mine, splashing against the water as I pushed myself away from it. Victor was there. Right beside me. He’d come up quietly, while my eyes had been closed, then watched me practically getting off on the ocean’s relentless currents. I was horrified, and the look in his eyes made me want to run for cover. His face was flushed, muscles tensed, hands balled into fists. He looked as if he were using every ounce of willpower within him to keep from jumping atop me and ravishing me raw. Unbidden, a shiver jerked and jolted its way through me, from the top of my head to the soles of my feet. To be wanted so powerfully, so ferociously; it was a frightening thing, indeed.

  I looked down from his face, to his half-bare chest, to the enormous bulge in his shorts, and I gulped. What had I been doing? I had lost myself. Had forgotten the prim, proper prude that I was always supposed to be. Scrabbling backwards, I finally found my feet.

  I stood there, gasping for a minute, until I somehow regained my equilibrium. “If you’re not going to even bother to button your shirt,” I snapped, my voice scratchy, throat dry, “the least you could do is give it to me.”

  He chuckled then, and the tense look in his eyes finally eased. “You just want to see my chest,” he teased as he slipped it off and handed it over. Reluctantly, I leaned forward, snatched it, and then folded myself into its voluminous depths. Victor was so much bigger than me, that I could’ve wrapped it around myself three times, and thankfully, it covered me to mid-thigh. His shirt was light, the fabric fine, but at least it wasn’t see-through like the robe.

  “You looked like you were really enjoying your sun-bathing there,” he said nonchalantly. “I’m sorry to have interrupted you.”

  “Why did you then?” I retorted.

  “Because, quite honestly, I was about to undress and fuck you right then and there,” he responded.

  It was blunt and brutally honest, and he meant every word of it. I wasn’t sure what had changed his mind, but a half-crazy part of me wished he’d actually done it. What was wrong with me? Wishing I could slap myself in the face to snap back into reality, I grumbled out, “What do you have in mind for us next? Can we finally go to the camp?”

  “Yes, it’s all set up,” he replied after a short pause. I could see him standing there, his mind obviously churning. It was as if he was having second thoughts about letting me get up and get dressed. Well, too bad. Still, I felt dizzy and off-center. This island was already getting the best of me. I couldn’t even think straight anymore.

  “Okay then,” I told him, my voice a little shaky. “Lead the way.”

  Of course Victor wasn’t gallant enough to give me a pair of shoes, which meant I ended up pricking my feet on sticks and shells and various little miniature cacti and tenaciously-sticky sand spurs. His intent? Me having to be carried around like a helpless little girl. He offered more than once to sweep me up into his arms and tote me the rest of the way like a sack of potatoes. I, of course, declined.

  He walked us down one of the paths, deep into the blanket of stunted shrubs, thick underbrush, and towering palms. I was surprised and pleased to see several of the coconut and banana trees he had recently mentioned. They were densely-weighted with ripe fruit, just begging to be picked. Victor, playing the gentleman, reached up over my head towards a fully-laden branch on one of the shorter trees. Forcing the stubborn bough down with one hand, he plucked me off a bunch of buttery-yellow prizes with the other.

  I immediately ripped one of them off and then tucked the rest of the cluster under my left arm to secure it. Then I began peeling my first banana. As soon as the yellow pulp inside was exposed, I dug into it eagerly, not realizing until just that moment how hungry I truly was.

  “I do have more filling fare back at the camp,” he told me.

  “This is fine for now,” I mumbled through a mouth full of mushed banana. The fruit was firm, and fresh, and it even had a little sugary, zesty-tartness to it that you didn’t get from grocery store produce. I guess when it was grown naturally; it tended to be sweeter and more exceptional.

  It was well shaded here in the depths of the woods, and as we walked, I was glad for the momentary respite from the intense sun. Just then, I remembered the fact that I’d left my sunglasses back in that clump of sand-weeds.

  “I forgot my glasses!” I said to Victor. “We need to go back.” I wasn’t sure if he’d bothered to pack me any extras, and considering the fact that he seemed intent on keeping me here for a while, I would absolutely need them again, to protect my eyes from those overly-brilliant rays.

  “I’ve got them right here,” he said as he patted his pocket, and I glared at him then as I realized he just may have been watching me longer than I’d thought. Either he’d fortuitously noticed them as he’d walked towards me where I was laying in the surf, or, he’d stopped soon after walking off, turned back, and then spied on me for a while before continuing on to the camp. I astutely realized that the latter was
much more likely.

  Scowling at him still, I finished my banana. I ended up eating four of them in less than five minutes flat. Victor told me to just throw the peels into the bushes, since the bugs would invariably consume them completely by the very next morning. Victor, himself, didn’t eat at all, and so I quickly surmised that he’d probably grabbed something back when he’d been checking on our “supplies”. Right now, I was as parched as all get-out, so I hoped he had some cold drinks to quench my thirst when we got there. Wherever we were going, that is.

  Another few hundred yards or so into the wilderness, we finally came into a clearing. For several minutes now, I’d been hearing an odd whispering. When we got to the opening in the trees, I saw instantly what it was. There was a gorgeous waterfall there, pouring heavily into a crystal-clear, deep-looking, glistening pool. A swiftly-paced stream carried away the excess overflow, twisting and meandering off through the woods in the opposite direction. This must be the place Victor had been describing on the yacht.

  I wondered for a split-second if it truly was safe to drink, but without any further contemplation, I ran over, stooped onto the ground, set down the last two bananas, and then cupped my hands into it. It felt so cool and refreshing against my palms, and behind me, Victor said, “The spring water is surging out fast from up above, and this pool drains into the stream there – so it never gets stagnant. Like I said before, it’s very pure. Most ponds aren’t necessarily okay to drink from, even those that are formed and fed by an underground, fresh-water source. But I tested this one myself less than an hour ago, with a nifty little water-quality kit that I keep on-hand. Also, I had an environmental expert out here last week, making absolutely sure. Go ahead, drink.” So I did. I lapped it up without another thought, drinking from my hands like a wild woman. It was crisp and sweet and refreshing, and I drank to my heart’s content.

  When I was sated, I looked up at the huge pillar of loud, roaring, rushing water. The spring that fed it up above must be fast-moving indeed to create such a heavy spill. Two jutting rocks crafted the framework for the waterfall, and trailing vines with flowers followed the tumbling, crystal-clear water all the way to the bottom.