Unexpected

by Aleatha Romig

Without hesitation she obeys, the blanket pooling at her feet, leaving her sensual body completely exposed. She lowers her chin and drops to her knees.

  She’s so fucking sexy. My dick comes to life.

  But I want her bound.

  Giving her my hand, I say, “Good girl, come on. We’ll start with the bed.”

  On shaky legs she stands and obediently follows me to the bed, awaiting my instruction.

  “Lie down on your back and lift your hands over your head.”

  With a deep sigh, she does as I ask, adjusting until her arms are stretched over her head. In that position, her tits are on full display, reminding me of a pair of nipple clamps I have tucked away in my suitcase.

  As I secure the satin rope around her wrists and tug against the metal headboard, thunder crashes making Jenn jump.

  “We’re safe,” I say. She hears my words, but her beautiful blue eyes don’t believe it. “Repeat what I just said.”

  “We’re safe.”

  I reach for the blindfold we’ve used a couple of times since the first breakfast. Instead of being frightened, Jenn’s cheeks rise.

  “Your word?” I ask as I bring it toward her eyes.

  “No.”

  I tweak one of her nipples, painfully pinching it as she squirms. “That isn’t an acceptable answer.”

  The blindfold is now in place.

  “I’m sorry, Sir. I don’t want to say my word.”

  “You know not to use the word you just did, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “When I’m in control, no isn’t an option. Your safe word is, but never no.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir.”

  “Roll over. I think you need a reminder.”

  The bed moves as she squeezes her thighs and attempts to roll. The simple movement is complicated by the bindings as well as the loss of sight. Instead of helping, I enjoy watching her struggle to comply. Eventually, she is where I want her, on her elbows and knees with her hands extended and still bound.

  “Do you know how beautiful you look?” I ask.

  “N-I mean, if you say so, Sir.”

  She is. Her long, dark hair has streaks of light brought out by the tropical sun. It’s mussed from drying in the bed after our lovemaking. The disarray gives her a wild, untamed look as if she’s a vixen ready for my next command.

  Running one hand over her ass, I reach for my belt buckle with the other. With the crack of my belt on her skin and in her ears, she’ll forget about the lightning and thunder. Before I spank her ass, I let my fingers find her folds. The small bedroom fills with her moans as I tease. “Damn, girl, you’re wet and ready. After your punishment, should I let you come?”

  “Please, Sir.”

  “Please, Sir, what?”

  Her hips writhe against my hand, trying to get friction to her clit, the place I’m purposely avoiding. She’s been so responsive lately that it barely takes a tweak and she’s convulsing from the inside out.

  “Please, Sir, let me come.”

  “What needs to happen first? I need to know you’re willing.”

  “My punishment, Sir. I’m sorry I said no.”

  Who knew my wife would catch on this quickly? Who knew she could be a submissive?

  Her entire body tenses as my belt cuts through the humid air just before her gasp fills the bedroom, and the leather of my belt slaps against the white of her ass. With only one strike, her face is buried in the pillow, and a sheen of perspiration covers her sun-kissed skin.

  “Think about what’s happening. Nothing else.”

  Her head bobs.

  “Listen to my voice,” I say as I rear back and deliver another stripe from my belt.

  The way her skin welts, immediately responding to each lash, has my dick growing by the second. After another couple of strikes, I crawl onto the bed behind her and run my palm over the raised skin. “So fucking gorgeous.” And then I reach down to her core, finding her wet and ready. “You’ve been so good, I’ll let you choose.” The sound of my zipper lowering fills the air as I free my hard cock. “I’m going to fuck you right now. I don’t care if I come in your pussy, ass...” I pull apart her ass cheeks and peer at the place I’ve never been. “...or down your throat, but, baby, I’m going to come.” I run my hand over her sore red ass to remind her of what just happened. “I’m not untying you, so no matter what, you’ll feel what I did to your ass.”

  If it’s her mouth, I’ll make her roll back over. She’ll feel the rough blanket against her skin. If it’s either other option, I’ll make sure she feels me against her skin.

  Jenn turns her face away from the pillow, her cheeks covered in tears as her tits heave against the bed and she catches her breath. “Please, Sir, my pussy, so I can come.”

  With a grin, I slap her ass again, eliciting another shriek.

  “Selfish girl.” Before she can respond, I line up the tip of my cock and drive deep into her tight core. There’s no need to prep her: she’s wetter than she’s ever been.

  “Oh!”

  It doesn’t take long with this position. Damn, the friction from her tight cunt makes my balls tighten and stars appear behind my lids. I could withhold her orgasm, but this distraction from the storm is for both of us. I want her to reach her height too. Leaning forward and cupping her mound, I pinch her clit. That’s all it takes. The stars explode as her pussy contracts, squeezing my dick, and she screams out my name.

  Though it’s still raging, I’ve lost track of the storm. The thunder and pelting rain change in intensity, growing louder and then softer. However, it means nothing. My world is wrapped entirely around the woman beneath me.

  Once I’m totally spent, I collapse on top of her and her neck cranes. Tugging her blindfold upward, I reveal the most stunning blue eyes.

  “Paul, I love you. I need to tell you something.”

  It’s as I start to move that a sharp pain pricks my ass, like a bite.

  Fuck!

  I expect a spider or snake; instead, when I turn, there’s a strange man behind me with something in his hand. I can’t process what’s happened. Jenn’s scream is the last sound I hear before the world goes black.

  Chapter Twelve

  Jenn

  Paul’s body falls onto mine, suddenly heavy. Before I can process, a man with a dirty shirt and an American accent speaks. “Well, lookie what we have here.”

  The blindfold is still on my forehead, obstructing my full view of the room. “No!” I scream as someone I can’t fully see drags Paul from the bed and throws him to the ground.

  “I thought you said there wouldn’t be no one else on this island?” the person dragging Paul says.

  The dirty-shirt man responds, “I guess it’s the sea gods. They gave us a present.”

  The other man laughs. “And it ain’t even my birthday.”

  “Mine neither.” Dirty-shirt man smiles a sinister, yellow-toothed grin toward me. “But, fuck, she’s all tied up like with a ribbon. Sure looks like a present.”

  My heart is thundering in my chest, and I’ve pulled away, but there isn’t far that I can go with the way my hands are bound. I bring my knees up as far as I can in the fetal position.

  The farther man’s footsteps upon the concrete floor echo as he comes closer. “My kind of gift. I think she likes it rough.”

  I close my eyes and vigorously shake my head as their laughter vibrates off the walls, the sound punctuated by the continued torrent of rain. Silently, I call out to my husband, wondering what they did to him and where he is. Through it all, I can’t drown out their voices.

  “And I thought we were going to die out there on the sea in that storm. Instead, we crashed on Fantasy fucking Island, and we get to spend our night fucking this dirty slut.”

  My body quakes with fear as I squeeze my eyes tighter, wishing for Paul to wake, wishing for the blindfold to be fully covering my eyes so that I wouldn’t see either of these men, and wishing to be back in Wisconsin. When I open my eyes again, m
y stomach rolls as dirty-shirt man has his unimpressive cock in his hand.

  “The first time, I’ll take her ass.” He looks back at the other one with that nasty grin. “You can have her mouth.”

  My head is shaking, silently pleading. As he gets closer, my trembling becomes almost convulsive. I wish my reaction was due to fear of the unknown. It isn’t. I know exactly what they’re going to do to me. I’ve been here before with Richard and his friends.

  Then I didn’t fight.

  Now I want to.

  As dirty-shirt gets closer, I use the only defense I have, my feet and legs, as I kick out, making contact with his thigh.

  “Ow, you fucking little cunt.”

  And then it’s too late; he’s behind me, his skinny cock going straight for my ass. His lack of size doesn’t reduce the pain as he shoves inside with no preparation. I fall forward, burying my face in the pillow as his slimy hands hold my hips and he ruts like the disgusting pig that he is.

  This isn’t like anything I was experiencing with Paul.

  This is brutal and mortifying. The hot breath on my back and neck reek of whiskey and cigarettes. It’s all I can do to hold back the bile threatening to move up my throat. Before I can process more, pain shoots through my scalp as my head is lifted by my hair.

  The second man—I still can’t see his face—pulls me toward the edge of the bed, forcing his cock toward my mouth.

  “You bite me, bitch, and we kill him.”

  Kill him?

  The only part of that sentence that means anything to me is that Paul isn’t dead.

  I didn’t think it would be possible to endure what is happening and have hope, but as the second man yanks my head, allowing me to see Paul lying in a heap, I do.

  My husband is still alive.

  We will survive this unexpected detour.

  I believe that with all my heart.

  Time passes. It may be minutes or hours. I don’t know. They’ve done something with Paul. He’s out of the room. They also found the liquor. The only positive to that scenario is that the more they drink, the less they can get it up.

  They’re inventive fucks, coming up with other ways to enjoy their gift.

  My pleas are few. I know these kinds of men. They get off on fear.

  Somehow, as the night progresses, I find my way back to a place I once knew, where I would retreat from the world and its cruel, painful reality. Years ago, when I went there, I had one job: listen to and obey Richard. With a room full of men and my eyes covered, I zeroed in on Richard’s voice.

  Tonight, it’s not a voice that I’m listening to. This time with the men’s voices blocked, I concentrate on the rhythm of the rain on the metal roof. In the steady beat, I hear Paul’s voice. The deep tenor isn’t degrading like Richard’s had been. It’s encouraging and supporting.

  “I love you, Jenn. I always have and I always will.”

  I believe that. I hold on to the hope that this will end and we will survive.

  “I’m sorry I darkened your light.”

  “No, Paul. You are my light.”

  It’s as I lose consciousness that I’m faced with the reality—we may not survive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Paul

  Pain and disorientation greet me as I slowly regain consciousness. Through closed eyes, I try to remember what happened.

  Did I drink too much?

  That’s what it feels like—a hangover with a heavy head, throbbing temples, and a dry mouth.

  I slowly open my eyes to the darkness surrounding me as memories return.

  Slowly at first, it’s a stream of consciousness.

  There was a storm.

  My body aches with a deep chill.

  In the black of night, I listen. From the sound alone, it seems as though the storm has finally subsided. It’s as I reach for Jenn that something within my chest clenches. She isn’t with me. I’m also not in the bed but on the hard, cold concrete floor.

  Where am I?

  My eyes can’t adjust to the utter black of the dark. Slowly I move my sore muscles and use my hands to see, patting the concrete around me. It’s as if my legs are bound. They aren’t. It’s my shorts around my ankles. Pulling them back into place, I realize my belt is still missing, and my chest floods with dread as my touch reaches something. A shelf.

  I remember the main building.

  What happened?

  I’m not in the bedroom but within a supply closet.

  Oh my God. Where is Jenn? What happened?

  The last thing I remember she was bound to the bed and there was pain...a spider. No. A man...

  Fuck!

  My stomach tightens as the fear from my chest fills my entire body, accelerating my heart and prickling my skin.

  My wife.

  I have to save my wife.

  Please, don’t let it be too late.

  I have no idea how long I’ve been out. There’s no way I can even allow myself to imagine what they’ve done to her. If my mind slips that way, I won’t be able to go on.

  As I concentrate on saving her, my mind floods with questions.

  Should I turn on the light? If I do, I could risk alerting whomever put me in this closet that I’m now awake. No. I can’t give him any advantage.

  Instead, I continue my blind search of the closet. It’s not the one with the towels or blankets. It’s where I found the chains and I’d seen tools.

  Doing my best to stay quiet, I continue searching until I find what I recall seeing, a long screwdriver and a sickle.

  With both in tow, I reach for the door handle, certain I’ll find it locked. With a prayer, I turn the knob and slowly rotate.

  The door opens easily toward me, and I take a step back. The lighting is dim, but compared to the closet, it may as well be a spotlight. Squinting, I survey what I can see from my limited angle.

  The room beyond is empty and eerily silent. With my heart pounding in my ears, my attention goes to the light seeping from beneath the bedroom.

  One step.

  Another.

  I stop and listen.

  Snoring? Do I hear snoring?

  Pushing the door inward, I can see there’s a man naked on the bed, passed out with a nearly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

  Where is Jenn?

  And then I see her.

  I practically have to cover my mouth to stop from screaming.

  She’s no longer bound to the bed but by the cuffs that I’d arranged over the ceiling beam.

  My heart aches, knowing I’m responsible for those chains.

  Holding my breath, I watch her chest, the tits I love, as I silently promise God, or any greater being, anything and everything for my wife to be alive. Then it happens. The breath she takes is small, but the slight movement tells me what I need to know. She’s alive, unconscious and hanging from her wrists with her face down, but alive. With an unreal sense of relief, I begin to scan her more thoroughly. Her hair is messy and covering part of her face. Behind the matted dark tresses, there is bruising. The mask that had been over her eyes loosely hangs around her neck. And then my circulation runs cold as my gaze continues downward seeing the dried blood on her legs.

  I can’t allow myself to consider what that man did to my wife. If I do, I could end up killing him or giving him the opportunity to kill us. I have to keep my wits.

  One more step and my feet stall as a second man comes into view.

  There were two?

  The second one is passed out on the floor, wearing nothing but boxers.

  Guilt and rage wage an internal war as I contemplate decapitating both these men. I’m not a violent man, but desperate times—desperate measures. There’s no doubt in my mind that with the sickle in my hand, it could be easily accomplished. The door moves a little more and Jenn’s eyes snap open.

  In the split second it takes for her to find me, there are myriad emotions—fear, relief, and then shame.

  When her lips part, I shake my head
and bring a finger to my lips.

  She immediately obeys, her eyes turning glossy as a rush of tears streams down her discolored cheeks.

  It’s then I recall the rope that is also in the supply closet. As much as I want to kill these bastards, having my wife watch me murder two men is more trauma than she needs after whatever they’ve put her through.

  I lift my finger in the air, the universal sign for one minute. Though her eyes open wide, I quietly rush back to the closet and find the rope.

  When I return, neither man has moved.

  Silently, I tiptoe into the room, knowing if I release her, the chains may wake the men.

  “Baby,” I whisper and give her a kiss. “Shh. Are there more?”

  She shakes her head and speaks through bruised and cracked lips. “No. Just these two.”

  “Okay, I’m going to tie them up first.” I scan both lifeless forms. “Which one passed out first?”

  She tilts her head. “Him, dirty-shirt.”

  “What?”

  “The one on the bed.”

  At least with his being naked, I don’t have to worry about a concealed weapon. The man Jenn referred to as dirty-shirt murmurs when I reach for his hands, but he doesn’t wake. His stench invades my nose and I hold back a gag as I secure his wrists, bringing back my sailing days in college to tie the perfect set of knots. With another loop around the headboard, he’s not going anywhere.

  The whole procedure took less time and more rope than I planned, but at least I know he’s no longer a threat.

  I tilt my head back to the door, letting Jenn know I’m getting more rope for man number two.

  Though I hear what she’s saying with her eyes, that she’s telling me to hurry, to be careful, and mostly that she loves me, she simply nods.

  This time I turn on the light in the closet. There isn’t more rope, but there are zip ties and duct tape. I can easily work with what I have. Not only did I sail, when I was younger I also made it all the way to Webelos in the Scouts. They taught us to improvise.

  “Paul!” My wife’s shout increases my pulse, causing me to jump as I turn toward and rush back to the bedroom.