Seduced (Submission Island Book 2)

by Q. Zayne

  Contents

  Teaser

  Seduced

  Dedication

  Copyright

  The Island's Heart

  Asking for Marcus

  The Mansion of Desire

  Teaser

  I felt secure over his lap. The warmth of his legs and hand met in my body.

  Seduced

  Submission Island 2

  BDSM Erotica

  Curvy Submissive & Older Dom

  Cleo & Marcus

  by Q. Zayne

  Dedication

  To T, for his wisdom, kindness and generosity,

  and to D, who inspires me with her spirit and discipline.

  And to my readers. I treasure your reviews.

  Copyright

  Do not post any of our stories on any site.

  Copyright ©2017 Hughes Empire. All Rights Reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the express written permission of the author except for brief excerpts in a review. Cover photo ©Deposit Photos and the photographer, all rights reserved. The use of the photo doesn’t suggest endorsement by the photographer nor the models, nor does it imply anything about the models.

  Electronic book publication: March 2017

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual businesses, entities, creatures or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. All people, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. All characters are over 18. This work is for mature readers 18+.

  The Island’s Heart

  Dear Reader,

  Please take a moment to read the book description to make sure this book is a fit for you.

  There are many books catering to those who prefer non-stop sex performed by characters with no inner lives and no heart connection. This isn’t one of them. This is a journey, a personal one. To my treasured readers, thank you for taking this trip with me.

  The Submission Island serial is for discerning women and men over 18. It’s only suited to readers who want to enter a world of BDSM focused on a woman’s sexual pleasure and male dominance. If a character-driven erotic adventure appeals to you, you’ve reached the right island.

  Curvy, half-Egyptian Cleo needs another spanking. Marcus, the commanding man who spanks so well, wants more from her than he’s ready to dare. Voices from the ancient past exert a dangerous influence.

  Paradise has teeth.

  Cleo’s second day on Submission Island offers a chance to explore. But despite the allure of ancient ruins, mysteries, and a choice of kinky pleasures, her body and mind remain preoccupied with Marcus. He said she could ask for him, but she isn’t sure she should. She wanted a no-risk, no-entanglements vacation. But she’s entangled already—with a hot man who probably wouldn’t look at her twice anywhere else in the world.

  This is the second episode of Submission Island. It features Cleo, a twenty-eight year-old submissive, and Marcus, a wealthy, older dom. It’s a complete episode with resolution of the immediate events, and the story continues.

  Starting my day in a luxurious, Colonial suite of rooms gave me an indescribable rush. I stretched on sumptuous Egyptian cotton sheets. I curled my toes in the soft fabric, smiling so much I didn’t recognize the feel of my face. I rose from the lovely canopied bed, the sort of bed for a fairytale princess I longed for and never got. The cool tile greeted my bare feet. I padded into the bathroom. It had been renovated to provide every convenience, from a sunflower-sized massaging shower head to a bidet.

  I took my time under the throbbing water, letting it relax my shoulders and ease my hips, sore from so many things. Sensuous rushes went through me. I felt as though a phantom of Marcus’ cock pushed into me, renewing the tenderness inside from his masterful thrusts. I needed him again. I touched myself, longing for his touch.

  I patted dry with sumptuous, thirsty towels. Fragrant lotion, the light scent of an unknown tropical flower a bare hint away from sex, completed my toilette.

  Even though the effect never lasted in the humidity, I took time with brushing and arranging my hair, piling it up loosely for a sexy, mussed look. I smoothed on sunscreen and spayed myself with insect repellent. At least I’d found an environmentally-friendly one that smelled alright.

  I put on one of my light linen dresses and jeweled high-heeled sandals. There. Dangling malachite earrings set off my eyes. I was ready for my next adventure on Submission Island.

  When I’d awakened from my nap in the Mansion of Desire, I found a red rose in a bud vase. A card propped next to the vase said “Until next time, Marcus,” in a looped, masculine scrawl. My heart raced. I picked up the card. Marcus. It had his phone numbers, but no last name. I couldn’t use a search engine to check on him, and I couldn’t call him either. The island’s lack of Internet and cell service seemed like part of the exclusive BDSM club ambiance at first. Now, it was an annoyance. If I could learn his full name and find out who he was…. But part of the point of this place was anonymity and freedom from scrutiny. I had no doubt Marcus was wealthy. He had such a polished look, and he exuded a sense of power that shook me. That wasn’t why I couldn’t get him out of my mind, though. It was his hands, his attention, the sense that he knew me, and that he cared. Even at his most intense, I sensed a kindness in him like nothing I’d known before.

  What was Marcus doing? I hoped I’d see him, even in passing. It seemed too soon to ask for him. I turned my head to each side, making sure my hair looked symmetrical. Messy but perfect. Such details mattered too much to me, but I couldn’t help it. I tucked up a loose strand.

  What if he was leaving soon? There might not be much time. The cat was so comfortable with him. The cat might be his cat. Maybe Marcus lived here. But if he was a guest, my days to see him were numbered. If I let a day go by, the way I thought I should, I might be losing an opportunity that would never return.

  I locked the suite, even though the odds of being ripped off amid the super wealthy seemed remote.

  From the top of the stairs, the rest of the manor looked deserted. Not a sound of anyone. The entire place gave me the flattering yet unsettling impression that it existed just for me. The glare of the Caribbean sun came through the windows, but the high-ceilinged, thick-walled manor remained deliciously cool. Feeling every bit the princess, I descended the ornate marble staircase. I smelled breakfast. A royal bed and food that appeared by magic. I was living in a fairy tale.

  The dining room was empty, but there was a place set at the table. Steaming serving containers with lids sat on the buffet.

  I peeked in each, and selected fluffy scrambled eggs, salsa, and crispy potatoes. I plucked a tropical fruit salad from a bed of ice and took my booty to the table. Delicious mango and pineapple, more flavorful than any I’d had in the states, enlivened my tongue. I wanted this dream to last.

  I ate every bite.

  The smell of coffee called me to another sideboard. I poured a cup of the delicious strong brew and took it out on the veranda. From there, I spied a familiar figure sitting at a wrought iron table, busy with a tablet. Was there a network only staff was allowed to use? It might be only for communication on the island. I hurried down, hoping to get a look at what he was doing from behind.

  As I approached, he slid the tablet into his shirt, like a slight of hand trick.

  I changed tack and angled to approach him from the side, acting nonchalant, as though I hadn’t been bent on spying.

  “Good morning, Chuck.”

  “Good morning. Did you have a good rest?”

  “Wonderful. Between the great food and comfortable room, I’m spoiled already.”

&nbs
p; “That’s great. I’m glad you’re enjoying it here.” He glanced around, as though checking we were alone.

  Something seemed odd, but I had no idea what. My usual blunt personality asserted itself.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing. Nothing’s wrong. Just checking for Isabella. She often takes a walk at this time.”

  His guarded expression gave me a sense I’d caught him at something, and he wished I hadn’t. Perhaps he felt self-conscious about the extent to which he had to anticipate and serve the mistress of the island. Nothing wrong with that. It was a job. I had a much crappier one. You do what you have to do.

  I glanced around, but saw no one.

  “Oh. Yes, it’s wonderful in the morning before the heat ratchets up.” Was it his activity on the tablet, or the possible presence of someone else he wanted to deflect me from discovering? Or had I read too much Agatha Christie as a girl, and this luxury vacation slotted my imagination into overdrive? The dame of mystery would have loved this island. What an exquisite setting for murder.

  “Yes, and it’s delightful at night year-round. The stars shine so bright here.” His smile appeared guileless, kind and inviting. “Shall we start the tour? Isabella likes to give the guests a ‘landing day’ on their second day. No schedule, just time to rest and explore.”

  “That sounds great.” Did that mean no Mansion of Desire? It struck me that perhaps next time I went there I might go right to the door marked The Spanker.

  “There’s a lot to see here. I think you’ll enjoy the orientation.”

  Well, I’d decide later whether to contact Marcus. It would be so much easier if he’d just appear, and take me off someplace private. I tingled at the thought. I wanted his big hands all over me, as soon as possible.

  Chuck rose, and I fell into step with him. To my relief, we kept to a broad, level garden path. The orchids dazzled me.

  “The orchids grow wild here.” Chuck pointed out subtle ones in the trees and on the ground. “We have cultivated varieties, too.”

  In a sheltered clearing, he led me into a hot house.

  Even as an untrained observer, I could tell the orchids were spectacular, of prize-winning caliber. They dazzled me so much I ignored the heat.

  “These are stunning.” There were orchids like spiders, orchids like pussies.

  “Alphonse created them. He was a master.”

  “They’re exquisite.” I walked the neat aisles, admiring each tended plant.

  My heart ached for Isabella’s loss. Yet how wonderful she kept the things her husband loved alive and surrounding her, this entire place a memorial labor of love she shared with others. I felt humbled to be one of the select few. And it seemed far too few. I had yet to see a single other guest. Were they taking discretion to the max, or was there perhaps a wild orgy room for those who indicated a desire for more interaction? Had my choice of one-on-one completely cut me off from the possibility of catching sight of other people on the island? My odds for a casual run-in with Marcus seemed remote.

  Adjusting my hair as a cover, I glanced around as we exited the greenhouse. I hungered to learn about the people who came here. They must be insanely wealthy. That made me feel inadequate, yet entranced. I wanted glimpses into the secret world of the filthy rich. I wanted to see them getting dirty. Not Marcus though, I wanted Marcus all to myself. Guess that didn’t make me much of a submissive. This wasn’t, ‘Marry a Billionaire Island,’ it was Submission Island. Crazy that I had this amazing chance to try anything, an array of perversion, and I’d fixated on one man. I felt his wide hand covering my ass, his cock deep inside me. What a man. I might be obsessed, but I had taste.

  Chattering made me jump. Chuck took my arm and pointed into the trees. A band of monkeys swung through overhead.

  I clapped my hand to my mouth. Their adorable old man faces, big eyes, and long curling tails enchanted me. I felt overcome, unworthy of this amazing paradise. It was as though some powerful being plucked me out of my horrible mundane life and set me into a fairy tale. As with Cinderella’s, it came with a time limit.

  With a stab to the heart, I realized it would be over in days. The island would continue with its secrets, treasures, and intimate sex games, and I’d—be flying back to hell. Only it would be worse, because I’d know there was a better life, one without brain-abrading boredom and constant contact with yammering cretins.

  I shrank inside, dreading that this dream would come to an end. I’d never be the same. I’d never forget this, and how could I do anything but hate the life I had to return to? I took a deep breath and dug my nails into my palms.

  Chuck slowed, allowing me to collect myself. For a stranger, and a man, he seemed remarkably in tune. Perhaps serving a woman as powerful as Isabella made him that way. Or perhaps he could do this job because he was sensitive and intuitive already. Those weren’t terms I generally used for men.

  We emerged into a clearing in the jungle. A small yet imposing pyramid rose above a circle of paving stones that radiated out for several feet. It was stepped, like ancient Maya pyramids, but appeared to be a few years old at most.

  I stared, noting a vase holding fresh-cut flowers set into the ground. It struck me what the monument must be.

  “Alphonse,” I whispered.

  “Yes.” Chuck nodded and bowed his head.

  I copied him, though I hadn’t prayed in years. Maybe I ought to pray for a way to stay here forever. My breath caught at the outrageousness of the wish. Self-consciously, despite being in the privacy of my own thoughts, I wished peace to Alphonse, and I prayed with every iota of my consciousness I could stay at the island, have a life like this, forever—and remain alive and whole. I added that last bit because I read so many stories about wishes fulfilled in horrible ways. I wouldn’t want to stay here forever by being drowned, struck by lightning, caught in lava, or maimed to the extent of receiving a settlement.

  I caught Chuck sneaking a peek at me and blushed.

  “What an amazing monument. It’s a miniature Maya pyramid.”

  “Yes. Alphonse was a proponent of cremation, so his ashes are inside. I think it’s comforting for Isabella, it gives her a sense of having him here, sharing this dream with him.”

  I stared at him, startled at his use of the word dream, so like my thoughts.

  “Come on. I like to circle it.”

  Circle it we did, adding to the dream-like experience. I felt like I was having a day with a friend, way back before I became a grownup, when sharing imagination was a daily part of life, not a cause for punishment and ridicule. I felt at ease with Chuck, and glad for his company. I returned to my girlhood, to that lost magic, when things became what you said they were. It seemed possible wishing a thing could make it so.

  Step on a crack break your mother’s back.

  Three wishes, think carefully!

  What did it say about me that in those days of beatings and trying to evade beatings, when lashes had no pleasure in them, only pain and terror, that one of my wishes was always for my abusers to die?

  Chuck stopped at the front of the pyramid and bowed his head.

  I said it three times again, like Dorothy chanting to get home from oz.

  I want to stay on Submission Island forever. I want to stay on Submission Island forever. I want to stay on Submission Island forever.

  Chuck eyed me openly. He took my hand and patted it. I had the oddest sense he heard me and felt for me. That, like mine, his heart was more than a bit broken.

  He released my hand and cleared his throat.

  “Let’s head back to the house. You’re welcome to have a rest, or I can show you the observatory, the gallery, or the library.”

  The options tantalized me as new class schedules used to do.

  “Oh, the library. Please, the library.” I couldn’t keep the eagerness out of my voice.

  I hurried along, walking faster at the joy of having books to explore. I’d regressed to that younger, less self-conscious sel
f when I could be enthusiastic about learning and not fear being shamed for it. The name-calling at home and at school injured parts of me. There might be lost selves that never re-emerged.

  “The library it is, then. You’ll have it all to yourself to browse to your heart’s content. The only rule is that the books remain in the room. There are comfy places to sit and lounge, so it’s easy to stay for hours in the peace and quiet.”

  He spoke as though he enjoyed whiling away time there. It fit that he was a reader. How I treasured people who knew the life of books We seemed an endangered kind.

  “Perfect, thanks.”

  I caught his appraising look out of the corner of my eye. Again I wondered if he caught my thoughts. He seemed far too perceptive to be normal. It would fit well on this mystical island to have a mind-reading guide.

  “When would you like to meet for more of the tour?”

  “How about in an hour, while it’s still cool?” An hour would pass fast in a library, but I could enjoy it later, whereas the outdoors become intolerable for me at midday.

  “Excellent. I’ll look forward it.” He sounded like he meant it.

  An urge to ask him about Marcus crossed my mind, but I sensed I shouldn’t do it. Discretion would be part of the guide’s job. I made an attempt to quiet my thoughts.

  I rushed up the manor’s front steps with ease and lightness in my step. A part of me had come home.

  Chuck arrived in the magnificent library right on time.

  With only a little reluctance, I shelved a volume on ancient Maya art and followed him out of the manor. It was a good thing I had a guide to orient me. The place was huge. The club facilities occupied several structures, and there was the entire island to explore.

  I fanned myself as we headed down the blazing walkway. I wanted to see everything, but within minutes of being out in the heat, I got heady. If I went rambling around alone, I might never find my way back to the room.