Island Slave Ch. 02

By the time she was done, she had determined that the basement consisted of a fruit cellar, an attached wine cellar with over 100 bottles of wine still in it, a room she mistook at first for a coal chute, but later realized was for fire wood, not coal, and a fourth room that was locked with a very modern master brand padlock. The lock had been covered with just as much grime, so she knew Quinn had not locked it recently. She saw no immediate means of gaining entry to this room.

Carla knew, given his discomfort with her being down there at all, that Quinn would not answer any questions about what she found, let alone give her a key to a room that had been locked for who knows how many years. She wasn't sure why, but Carla was certain that the key still existed and was in the house, somewhere. She just needed to find it. That night, she stayed up late, until she was sure everyone was asleep. She used the oil lamp to see her way to his office and make a search for the key.

Quinn never seemed to lock anything. This was probably the result of having lived alone on an island for so long, surrounded by people he trusted implicitly. His personal key ring only had four keys on it. One was his truck key. A second was another vehicle key, though she could not tell for what. The third was the key to her collar and cuffs, which there was no point in removing. She found no house key to the mansion, but had never seen the mansion locked in any way. The fourth key was a Master padlock key. A quick trip to the basement, however, showed that it was not the right key. Carla found no other keys in his office.

Now she put some thought into the problem. The lock had been there, untouched, for as long as the basement itself. Maybe Quinn knew nothing about it. That would mean that the key, if it existed, would be in storage, upstairs. That meant searching the upstairs. Since she had been planning to do that anyway, she just made the key the center of her search efforts.

One problem she faced was the return of her slow torture in arousal. Her cleaning done, nothing remained to quench the slow burning fire in her belly. At first, it would come and go in relation to her proximity, time wise, to meal time. It seemed that his presence was the trigger. Her erotic dreams had returned as well, at least her ability to remember them had. As the days passed, she found the length of time she spent with a wet pussy and erect nipples increasing. Six days into her search for the key, she found that her pussy had stayed wet the entire time between breakfast and lunch. Quinn's presence at lunch merely heightened her need.

Now she was not only aroused, but incredibly needy. The aching emptiness in her womb was back. She knew that something had to give, or she would herself. After finding herself looking through the same box for two hours, she realized that she would not be able to concentrate on anything until she had relief. She was in one of the bedrooms, sitting on the canopy bed that was one of the only three articles of furniture. Looking at the bed post, she grimaced. "Maybe this time I can," she thought to herself desperately

Carla stood up and grasped the upper portion of the post. She pulled herself tight against the post and began to rub herself up and down like she had seen strippers do in cheesy movies. The intricate carvings on the post rubbed against her cunt lips and she moaned in pleasure. She could feel the trail of wetness she was leaving on the post. She had to bite her tongue to control her voice and not cry out loud at the pleasure she was providing herself. She shifted position, letting the corner of the post ride into her pussy and rub against her clit.

She heard herself whimper with desire. Her gyrations against the bedpost grew increasingly frantic as she careened towards her goal. She reached a plateau, unable to breach that great divide that separated her from her climax. It was happening again. With a groan, Carla dropped to the floor and wept. She had never been able to masturbate to orgasm and today was no different. She knew that if Quinn had walked in at that moment, she would have begged him to fuck her, to give her that ravishing that her body craved. But he wasn't here, so she lay there and wept, her body descending a little, just enough to let her face Quinn at lunch without falling to pieces.

After lunch, she retreated to her room, lying in bed, trying to ignore the demands her body was putting on her. She took another cold bath, hoping to drown the rampant arousal that had her on the edge. It was only partially successful. The intensity was reduced, but the desire and physical need remained. After the bath, she returned upstairs to continue her search for the key to the mysterious basement room.

By dinner time, she had discovered two things. First, the key was not in an easily accessible place, meaning she would have to go through storage boxes one by one. Second, her need for sex had drastically increased. Not only was she highly aroused, but she could not get her mind off of the subject of sex and being fucked. Worse, her thoughts seemed to be focused on Quinn.

"Good God, woman! He wasn't that good," she told herself. In her heart, however, she knew she was lying. He had been that good. He had been the best fuck she had ever had. Her body knew that and wanted more. Carla feared that the incessant cravings for him would drive her batty. Her body's desire for him was reasserted at dinner. As soon as she saw him, she felt that blasted tingle in her pussy intensify (again!) and her breath caught in her throat. By the end of dinner, it was as if she was moaning under her breath.

Over these past few weeks, Quinn had treated her with kindness and respect. He never invaded the privacy of her room. He allowed her free reign of the mansion and grounds, even when she insisted on going places that brought him pain. He made polite conversation at the meals they shared, refusing to be goaded by her silences or one word answers. She had grown so used to her nakedness that she had to remind herself repeatedly that she was a prisoner here. All this made it even more difficult to quash the attraction she had to his body.

That night, Carla huddled on her bed, trying to ignore the desire that burned in her loins. Her tears flowed freely as she lay in her bed. Eventually she fell asleep, but that was no respite. Asleep, she was easy prey for her dreams. Her dreams were driven by her needs.

In them, she found herself on the Mystic Queen once again. Carla was on the ship's launch, being taken to a site to go scuba diving. Once there, she dropped herself into the water. She swam alone in the warm, tropical waters. Along the coral reef, she spotted a cave. In the depths of the cave, she could make out a light of some sort. Curious, she swam into the cave, towards the light. With the entrance to the cave lost to her sight, she found herself in a grotto of some sort. The light was coming from above the water's surface.

When Carla broke the surface of the water, she saw a bed with silken sheets. She walked across the floor (there was no confusion at the abrupt change from ocean to bedroom) and ran her hand across the sheets. The slightest contact with the silk caused her to tremble and moan. There was an attraction here. She wanted to be in that bed, between the sheets, letting the silk caress her body. She climbed in, trembling as she did. She was afraid, of what she did not know. The sheets pulled themselves back when she reached for them. Once she had lay down, they pulled themselves, as if guided by an unseen hand, over her body, covering her from head to toe.

The sheets, those silken lovers kept moving against her. Her body responded to the embrace and the caresses. Her nipples hardened and her pussy began to moisten. It was as if 100 hands were caressing her with gentle touches. Tingles ran across her skin and her body began to undulate with the motion of the sheets. She tried to return the affection being lavished upon her, but a light pressure kept her body pinned to the bed, to receive the magic touches of the silk helplessly.

In her dream, Carla's arousal grew stronger and stronger. Yet, she did not cum. The invisible hands that made love to her ignored her pussy and clit. After a seemingly endless passage of time, she was writhing in pleasure, a pleasure so great that it was as agonizing as the worst migraine. She began to cry out. "Help me, please. I need to cum, I'll do anything to cum. Please, anyone, help me." Over and over she cried out. She could not know if anyone was there to hear her.

A hand pressed through the sheets onto her cunt. Carla gasped and whimpered, thrusting her hips against the pressure. The hand, she was sure it was a man's, rubbed her through the silk, even while the silk itself continued to caress the rest of her body. Wantonly, she ground her pussy against the hand, forcing fingers between her lips. Her moans grew in volume as her climax neared. As she reached the point of no return, everything stopped. The hand pulled away and the sheets stopped moving.

"No! Please, let me cum. I'll do anything."

"But Carla, you already have done anything." The voice that spoke struck terror into her heart. She pulled the sheet from her face and saw him, Harold.

"No! Get away from me. I won't do it. I'm not that kind of woman."

"But you are, my dear. You are an adulterer. You're married and slept with another man."

"No," she whispered. "You're the one who was married. You lied to me."

"But, that's not what everyone believes. Everyone thinks you're married, not me. What people think, that's what's true. See, there's your wedding ring."

As she stared in horror, a ring faded into view on her finger, a diamond wedding band. She wrenched at it, trying to pull it off her finger. "No! I'm not married. It's not true. This is not me."

"No one believes you, Carla. You're married. You have three children." Three small children appeared next to the bed. "Admit it. You're an adulteress."

"No! Someone believes me, I know they do." Carla was sobbing, barely able to believe herself.

A voice, a strong masculine voice called out of the shadows. "I believe you, Carla." It was Quinn, walking towards her. As he approached her, repeating his belief, the children and the ring slowly faded from view. Soon, Quinn stood face to face with Harold.

"Your belief is not enough. No one will believe you. You took her against her will."

"No one but Carla needs to believe in me. That is enough. Carla came to me willingly and she will stay with me willingly."

Harold looked at Carla. "Choose Carla. Would you be with a liar who will let you go, or with an honest Master?"

As she pondered the devil's choice in her dream, Carla woke with a scream. She was covered in sweat and her pussy was wet. Her breath came in deep gasps. Shaking her head, she whispered to herself, "There's another choice, there has to be."

Quinn's voice sounded through the door. There was an edge of fear in his tone. "Carla! Are you all right?"

"Yes. I'm fine," her tired voice called back. "I just had a nightmare. Go away, please." As she said those words, her heart wrenched. She did not want him to go away. She wanted him to burst in and take her by force. She wanted him to rape her. Then she would be able to hate him enough to not desire him, or so she told herself.

Quinn's footsteps padded away from her door. Placing her face in her hands, she wept. Her body trembled, partly from tears, partly from arousal. Mostly, though, she cried at the thought that she had finally allowed to coalesce in her mind. "I'm going to go to him. I'm going to ask, no, beg Quinn to fuck me. I need him. I want him. I don't want to, but I know I will."

A while later, Carla feel asleep again. This time, she did not dream; not that she remembered. When she woke, sadness had descended on her. She bathed normally, no longer concerned with the arousal and desire she felt. Steeling herself to ask Quinn to fuck her, she went to breakfast.

His place at the table was not even set. She turned to Juan. "Juan, where's Quinn?"

"He had to fly to the big island. We are low on some supplies and he had some business to attend to as well. Are you ready for breakfast, miss?"

Absentmindedly, Carla said, "Yes, that's fine. When will he be back?"

"He normally takes three or four days on these trips."

She sat at her place, relieved, yet strangely dejected. She felt like she had received a reprieve from execution. She knew that she would still ask for sex when he returned, but it felt somehow less like losing. Giving up on the key for now, at least as a specific target for her search, Carla spent the day upstairs, going through the things that had been stored there.

Many of the items were clearly valuable heirlooms. There were works of crystal and ivory, obviously imported from some distant land. One box contained a complete set of china, enough for 24 settings. Clearly, at some point in time, someone had "put on the Ritz" very well indeed. There was a significant quantity of jewelry. While there were the seemingly obligatory gaudy pieces, most of it was elegant and understated. None of it looked less than priceless as far as Carla could tell.

In one of the jewelry boxes there was an empty space. All the items were placed in the velvet lined boxes with great care, each piece having its very own spot. This box had an empty space. From the indentation, she could tell that there should have been something there, a brooch, perhaps. The rest of the things in this box made up a set. She was struck be the incredible beauty of each piece. All the pieces were sterling silver with a small emerald setting. While Carla did not have an expert's eye for gems, she had the impression that all the emeralds were exactly the same shade of green, as if they were originally the same stone. There were two earrings, one ring, a necklace with a single emerald opposite the clasp and the missing piece.

Putting them on, she looked in a mirror and thought that any woman wearing this set would never need another item of jewelry again. The ring was too small and she had to put it on her pinky. When she took it off, she noticed an engraving on the inside of the band. "M, with love, Q." Carla gasped. "Q," she thought. "Quinn. This was Quinn's gift to someone, an M." Shaking with nervous embarrassment, she put them back, wondering, "What happened to M? Did she die? Did she leave him? Where is the brooch?"

It took Carla the whole day to inventory this one room. It being the smallest, she realized that she would be at this for some time. Whoever had packed these things clearly cared for them. Yet, there was no sign that the boxes had been marked for later identification. Everything she had encountered so far spoke of hiding. Someone was hiding these things away where they would not be found. Who? Why? Who was M? What about Quinn's mother? For a brief time, the mystery and the search distracted Carla from her need.

The next day, Carla sought out Bonita again. "Bonita, I need to ask you something."

"Yes miss Carla."

"Were you here when the boxes upstairs were packed?"

Bonita looked at her feet, nervously twisting the ties to her outfit. "Yes, miss, I was." It was clear that Bonita was uncomfortable with this line of questions.

"Was there a woman in his life? Someone whose name started with M?"

"Please miss Carla, don't ask about her. It will just cause pain."

"For whom? What happened to her? How was Quinn hurt? Is she the reason why he is holding me prisoner?"

"I can't say. Please miss, these questions, they will only bring heartache. Please leave it alone."

"I need to know, Bonita. I need to understand Quinn. It's the only chance I have of him letting me go. If it doesn't happen soon, I won't have a life to go back to. Tell me about her, I'm begging you."

Bonita turned away, tears in her eyes. She ran away from Carla, leaving her with a mystery, one she knew in her heart was central to why she was here. She also realized that it was more than loyalty that kept Bonita here. Bonita loved Quinn very much. Why? Quinn was a kidnapper, a man who obviously believed that he was entitled to whatever he wanted, including people. How does such a man inspire such deep love in someone? Carla was sure that Carlos and Juan were the same. She needed to understand how a man that was so beloved by so many (Carla remembered the joy at his appearance at the village) could hold her here, against her will, in what amounted to slavery.

Carla spent the rest of the day going back through the boxes she had searched through yesterday. Taking a notebook from Quinn's office, she made a written inventory of everything. She also went through the jewelry, looking for engravings. As far as she could tell, M had only the one box of jewels, or at least, only the one box of engraved pieces. She kept the notebook in a drawer upstairs, certain that Quinn would never come up here by himself.

The next day, she began to go through the things in the other rooms. With Quinn gone, her pressing desire faded somewhat, though she was aware of it in the back of her mind. It galled her that the arousal and need seemed to be keyed to only Quinn. Juan, Carlos and the foreman, a man named Lashan, did nothing for her. That day, at dinner, Quinn was there. As soon as she set eyes upon him, Carla's body pulsed with desire. By the time she had finished dinner, her pussy was damp and that ache in her belly was back. She knew it was just a matter of time before it became unbearable.

After dinner, Carla followed Quinn into his office. He sat down at his desk and looked at her expectantly. Carla stared at him, trying to see into his mind, his soul. All she saw was an utter lack of hostility or threat. He was just there, looking at her with an admiration that boggled her. Carlaknewthat she was not pretty or desirable, yet when he looked at her, all she saw was admiration and a little bit of lust. It galled her to admit it, even in her head, but she saw the man who had seduced her so many weeks ago, not a vicious kidnapper.

"Quinn?"

"Yes, my dear."

"Why are you doing this? What am I to you?"

"Like I told you before, I want you. I mean to have you, willingly."

"No, you said more. You said I was your second chance. What second chance? Who, or what was your first chance?"

Quinn's eyes grew vacant. "That was a long time ago. I will not talk of it." The pain in his voice was clear.

Carla looked him in the eyes. There was an emptiness there that was painful to behold. Something or someone had torn out a part of Quinn's soul. She found her hatred of him waning, vanishing in the face of the evidence of loss. She realized that he was trying to fill a void that had been in him for who knows how long. He was going about it the wrong way, but the desire was something she understood. Four times in her own past, she had given her heart to someone and had it broken. She could not hate the heartbroken. She spoke before she could change her mind.

"Quinn, I'll have sex with you." As his eyes brightened and he started to stand, she held her hand up. "Let me make one thing clear. There is no love here. I'm agreeing to let you bed me in the same way that a captive in antiquity might agree to fuck her captor. Essentially, I'm agreeing to be your sex slave. I won't initiate anything. If you want me, you tell me when and where, and I will reluctantly comply. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Carla, I understand. It's no more than I can expect, under the circumstances. It is my hope that you will enjoy our trysts. I will certainly try to make sure that your body enjoys them." He pulled his key ring out and started to approach her with the key to her bindings.