Island Slave Ch. 03

Carla found that she was not as bothered by her find as she expected to be. Part of it was the anti-climatic nature of the find. After the painting and Quinn's fascination with bondage, this was to be expected. What did disturb her was the curiosity she was feeling. "What would it feel like?" she would find herself asking as she looked at each item in the drawers. The thought of looking like that woman in the picture scared her. Yet, she found she was aroused as well. "What is happening to me?" she whispered.

She wandered around the room, placing herself against the devices in the room (she bent over the horse instead of straddling it). She picked up whips, finding them in far better condition than the leather clothes upstairs, possibly because of the sealed nature of the room and the drawers. The ever present dust kept her from experimenting with the gags. It was only when the lamp started to flicker that she realized how long she had been in here. The lamp had been a quarter full and now was near empty.

Hurrying, she closed the door and set the lock to look as if it was locked. She returned to key to its hiding place and went to bed. She slept well past breakfast in the morning, telling Bonita that she had trouble sleeping the previous night, not entirely a lie. Quinn returned in the afternoon with her cards and PDA. She spent the rest of the day writing out greetings and assuring anyone who would have reason to miss her that she was alive and well. Once the cards were addressed, she gave them to Quinn for being checked over and mailing.

That night, Quinn asked her to come to his study after dinner.

When she entered, Quinn was sitting at his desk, as usual. "Quinn?" she asked.

Quinn stared at her for a minute. Carla could detect a different look on his face, almost predatory in nature. Carla shivered under that gaze. Yet she was feeling arousal as well.

Quinn slid his chair out from his desk. "Carla, come over here."

Trembling, unsure of what she was frightened of, Carla walked over and stood next to him.

"Lay yourself across my lap."

"What are you going to do, Quinn?"

"I'm going to spank you."

"Why? What have I done? What gives you the right?"

"Carla. You agreed that I could do whatever I wanted."

"I meant sex!"

"This is sex. Spanking you will turn me on. It might turn you on as well. I'm not taking 'No' for an answer. Lay yourself across my lap." The last sentence was spoken with great force, something Carla had not heard from him before.

Carla felt tears coming to her eyes. She had been afraid of this ever since she found the dungeon. Had he discovered her knowledge? Was this his way of telling her he knew? Fearfully, she draped herself across his lap. She wasn't even sure why she did. She should have ran to her room, hidden in that one sanctuary he seemed to allow her. Instead, she submitted to his demand.

Quinn pinned Carla's legs between his own and grabbed her hands to hold behind her back with one of his hands. That hand also pressed her against his knee, holding her in place. He rubbed her ass with his free hand, feeling Carla tremble in his grasp. His fingers slipped between her legs, finding her pussy wet. Smiling, he caressed her cunt until she was moaning and writhing on his lap. Then he slapped her once.

"Ow!" Carla's cry of pain was as much from surprise as from pain. His slap was not that hard, but she was not ready for it and she was sensitized by her arousal.

Quinn's hand impacted her ass again. She tried to jump but was held firmly in place by his hand and legs. Again and again, Quinn's hand hit her ass. The sharp stings were blending into s single sensation that was part pain, part heat and part… arousal? It was that last sensation that sent Carla into a crying frenzy. The pain was not enough, but the very thought of being aroused by being spanked was anathema to her. She was not that kind of woman!

Yet, it seemed that she was "that type" of woman. Even as the slaps against her butt burned into her senses, she could feel moisture forming on pussy lips. Her clit was sitting right against his leg, pushing into it with each blow. She wasn't sure just when it happened, but the spanking itself ceased to be painful, as if she had gotten used to it. It was now merely sensations, erotic sensations. Carla realized that she was nearing an orgasm. Desperate to not cum from a spanking, she started to struggle, to try to get loose. Quinn was too strong, though, and she had no leverage. Before she knew it, she was lost in a climax, her body trembling under the waves of pleasure that emanated from her pussy and rolled over her.

When she came down from her orgasm, she noticed that she was no longer being spanked. Instead, Quinn was rubbing her ass with gentle caresses. Her tears continued to flow from the shame she felt.

"Carla, why the tears? Didn't you enjoy this?"

"I'm ashamed. I came from being spanked. It's not right to enjoy pain like this."

"The only thing wrong is to be ashamed of enjoying an orgasm. Tell me, did I truly hurt you?"

Carla wiggled a bit, still pinned by Quinn's legs and hand. "No, I don't think so. My butt still stings, but I don't think it's damaged."

"Our body is far tougher than most people give it credit for. Now, don't think about the answer, just give the first response that comes into your head. Do you want me to do this again?"

"Yes!" As soon as she said it, she started crying again. "No, please. I can't. I feel so ashamed."

Quinn reached down and stroked her pussy. It was juicing again and Carla moaned at the touch. "Carla, you're aroused by the very thought of another spanking. Don't deny yourself something that you clearly enjoy."

"It feels so wrong, Quinn."

"That's part of what makes it so attractive. It's that taste of decadence. We all find the forbidden enticing. Just go with the flow. After all, you've already said I can do what I want. Let yourself enjoy what I want."

Quinn continued to lightly stroke her cunt lips as they talked. Carla was soon wriggling on his lap again as sparks of pleasure arced through her body. She was tempted to give in, accept the pervert she was becoming. Already, the restraint she was under was a turn on, had been for many weeks. Unable to respond to the sensations he was inflicting on her in any other way, Carla moaned and pleaded for him to continue.

Suddenly, Quinn stopped. As Carla started to protest, he said, "Shhh. Go to my room. Arrange yourself on my bed in any way you like."

"Please, Quinn. I can't go out there looking like this."

"Looking like what?"

"Like I've been spanked and am so in need of being fucked."

"It's okay, Carla. No one will care. They've seen you naked and in need before. They will again. Go, prepare yourself for me."

Quinn released Carla and she stood, unsteady. Her ass was still tingling from the spanking and her pussy was aching, wet and swollen. She left the study and walked down the halls to Quinn's bedroom. As she did, she thought about how she wanted to present herself. It would only occur to her later, that she had become so accepting of being for his pleasure and use. Her thoughts were concerned with how to make herself look enticing to him, not with what she might like or enjoy.

She rummaged through the drawers he stored the lengths of rope in, finding several longer pieces. She used two to tie her feet spread apart between the head and foot of the bed, still standing on the floor. A third, much longer piece was tied to the rings in her cuffs. The long loop that was formed was tossed over the bed posts on the opposite sides of the bed. Once that was done, she was unable to rise her chest off the bed more than a foot and she could not lean back to stand. The blindfold she had put on, setting on her forehead, was slipped over her eyes by ribbing against the sheets.

Carla was now strapped to the side of the bed, her waist bent across the edge. Her legs were wide apart and incapable of being pulled closed. Her hands were stretched away from her body, which was lying on the bed. She was unable to see anything. The sheer helplessness was keeping her highly aroused and she had just enough freedom of movement to wriggle her pussy against the edge of the bed. Her breath came up short when she heard the door open.

She could hear someone undressing and then moving across the carpet to the far side of the bed. The ropes on her hands tugged and she found them tighter, her freedom of movement gone (Quinn had looped around the bedposts on each side). Now she was pressed tightly against the bed and unable to wriggle her body at all. She tugged at the ropes holding her and was shocked to find her nervousness easing as the lack of freedom was confirmed.

"Carla. Can you feel this?"

Something made of leather was pulled across her back. It felt thin and long. She nodded.

"This is my belt. Would you like me to spank you with it?"

Carla gasped at the thought. She felt her pussy clench in anticipation. In her head, she was screaming, "No!" but outwardly, she gave a little nod of her head. Biting her lip, she tensed as she waited for the first blow to land. It landed with a loud, "Slap!" and Carla groaned. Her already sensitive ass felt less pain than it should have, more like the feel of a baseball hitting the heel of your hand inside the mitt than the expected agony of a belt.

Every slap of the belt was like that, painful impacts that were, surprisingly, not as bad as she remembered receiving for discipline as a child. Each shoved her clit into the bed. Soon she was moaning and lifting her ass slightly to meet each strike. Her entire body was tingling. She could feel another orgasm approaching, only this time it was different. It was like her entire body was her cunt. The intense tingle was growing all over and when she exploded, it had no center. Her body pulled against the ropes in its gyrations. Except for the ropes holding her, she would have shaken herself off the bed.

"I can't believe it happened again. I can't believe I respond like this. What's wrong with me?"

"There's nothing wrong with you. You've simply discovered a part of yourself you didn't know about before."

"But, what will I want next? How far will this go?" Carla's vision was dominated by the memory of the painting, the whip marks, the longing mixed with pain, the ecstasy. She was terrified that she would actually crave that much, would willingly go that far.

"I don't know. There's no place you can go that will be too far, Carla. What's happening tonight isn't wrong, it's merely different than what you've been taught." After a pause, Quinn continued. "It's my turn. Now!"

His hand probed between her legs, coating his fingers with the copious fluids there. He brought them up to her ass, spreading the lubricant between her spread cheeks. Carla panicked.

"No! Please, I've never done this. Please don't Quinn."

"Shhh. It'll be all right. You can take this, just like everything else."

Carla whimpered and tried to clench her ass shut. The spread of her legs prevented her. Her asshole stood revealed and open for intrusion. Quinn's finger rubbed juice into the opening and then pushed against it. In spite of her struggles, the finger entered. For a minute or so, it just rested there, not moving or pulling out. Then it left, only to return with more lubricant, forcing in. This time, the finger worked its way in and out, to be joined by a second one when the passage was easy enough. More juice was added, more motion and then another finger.

With his fingers still embedded in her ass, Quinn's cock entered her pussy, coating itself with her lube. Once he was thoroughly soaked, he pulled out and replaced his fingers with his cock. With steady, firm, but gentle pressure, he forced himself into her. Carla strained against the massive seeming intruder to no avail. Her ass could not clench. His cock was soon fully in her ass, resting there, throbbing as the pressure inside pulsed with each attempt by Carla to force him out.

Eventually, her struggles stopped and she realized that it was not anywhere near as painful as she expected. It was full, very full, but the pain from the initial spanking had been greater. Once he was sure of her acquiescence, Quinn began to thrust. The first dozen or so thrusts were a return of pain, but Carla was soon stretched enough to feel the pushes and pressure without the pain. She shocked herself when she discovered that she was thrusting back against him, cooperating with her own sodomizing.

Just as with the belt, each stroke was pushing her clit against the bed. Before she realized what was happening, Carla found herself in the throes of a third orgasm. She wailed, loudly, trembling in a combination of exhaustion and pleasure. As her spasms pinched the cock in her ass, it came, filling her bowels with cum.

As Quinn pulled out of her, Carla collapsed on the bed, panting in exhaustion. Her body, overloaded by the intense sex it had experienced, twitched in its bonds. Still blindfolded, Carla could not see Quinn walk around to her hands. The loosening of the tension on her wrists was the first clue that she had that he was releasing her. Freed, she collapsed to her knees. She slowly became aware of the lingering pain in her ass and the aches in her legs and hips.

Carla pulled her blindfold off and looked around the room. Quinn, naked, was looking down at her with a smile on his face.

"So tell me, Carla, did you enjoy yourself?"

Unable to even think of lying, she simply nodded her head.

"Here," he said, extending a hand, "I'll help you to your room. I suspect you'll sleep for quite a while tonight."

Quinn helped Carla to her room, his shoulder taking much of her weight. She was asleep within a minute of reclining on the bed. Quinn looked at her as she started to snore softly. "So much like her, so much like Melanie." He left the room, returning to his own room. Quinn was tired too, though not as much as Carla was.

Quinn was right. Carla did sleep late the next morning. Her dreams were of the woman in the painting, being whipped and shuddering in ecstasy. They ended with someone out of the scene pulling a rubber mask off, just like a Mission Impossible episode, revealing that the woman had been Carla all along. The most disturbing part of the dream to Carla was how much it did not feel like a nightmare. There was no waking in a cold sweat or screaming in terror at the ending of the dream. It was as if a part of her had accepted the truth of the dream.

By the middle of the advent calendar, Carla was down to a single room upstairs. She had managed to avoid returning to the dungeon, her dream and the spanking episode (which had yet to be repeated) scaring her away. She could feel the draw, though. The boxes of books were a relief after the discoveries in some of the rooms. As she went though the books, she, as expected, found herself losing time as she perused book after book that caught her eye. The books had been packed with no apparent order, mysteries mixed with romances and science fiction. Other than the lack of order, they were packed with the care that a lover of books uses. Only the books in the lone open box had any dust build up, the other boxed being sealed tight.

They ranged wildly in age as well. There were leather bound books from the turn of the 20^th century all the way to books published as late as 12 years ago. Each one showed evidence that someone had at least cracked the covers, if not read the entire book. More than once, Carla found herself looking around and marveling that anyone could have read all these books, as well as the ones in the library. "If only I had that much time to read what I wanted," she mused.

Each box received its own page from the notebook, detailing the titles, authors and publishing dates of each volume it contained. Carla was constantly thinking that it was a shame that there were not enough bookcases for all these books. The person who had assembled this collection meant for them to be read, not to sit in boxes. They would be better served in a public library or a school than sitting forgotten in this house.

There were a total of 27 boxes, each large enough to hold a 23 inch TV, full of books. It was at the bottom of the 17^th box that she found them. Two journals. One was the classic girl's diary with the locking cover. The name on the cover had apparently been written in magic marker and faded so much that it was illegible. It was still locked, and while it would be easy to open these cheap locks, she started to set it aside. It just did not feel right to read a little girl's diary.

As she did, however, she felt a breath of air across her face. It was warm and scented with banana. Carla looked around for the source of the breeze. The windows were closed and there was no fan. Carla struck a match, hoping to catch the direction. The flame went straight up, just as another breeze brushed her face, leaving the match unmoved. Carla's heart seemed to stop when she head a feminine voice, the softest of whispers, say, "Read."

"Who are you?"

There was no response, only the fading of her discomfort at the thought of reading the diary. She could not explain why, but Carla was certain that it was necessary that she read it. She went to force the lock on the diary and fond that it was no longer locked. Her breath was coming quickly. Looking around again, she opened the diary and started to read. Most of the writing was child like. 25 years ago, a twelve year old girl who signed her name Melanie started writing a diary. Like many preteens, she wrote to it as if it were a friend whom she named Roxy.

The girl in this diary needed that friend too. Her mother had just remarried to a man that the girl had described at 'wonderfully nice.' He had a son, older than she was, who was not so nice. The first three years of the diary was the girl telling her 'friend' about the abuse that was being done to her. Nothing was recorded to make Carla think that there was anything physical, but the words she recorded him calling her were appalling. Both parents tried to encourage her with "sticks and stones may break your bones, but words will never hurt you." Too bad that they do.

When she was fifteen, her entries were much less frequent. The step brother had left for college. Her writings were much brighter and happier. There was seemingly no lasting damage from the verbal abuse she had suffered, at least none that was recorded. What made this diary unusual was that it continued well into her adult years. The last entries were from 13 years ago. She had gone on a cruise and fallen in love with an islander named Quinn(!). She left the cruise ship to stay behind with him. The last entry in the diary was on the last page of the book.

"Dear Roxy, This is the last page, so I'll have to start writing to a new friend. I will miss you my imaginary friend. You've helped me tremendously over the years. I could never have trusted anyone else with my secrets. It seems appropriate to end you here. Quinn has asked to take our love to a new level. It's something that I've longed for, I think. It's a little scary, but I have to try. He wants me to keep a journal of my feelings and experiences. Good bye, my friend. Melanie."

Carla picked up the other book. It was a journal, kept in a composition notebook. On its cover was, "My Journal of Exploration by Melanie Thiesman." At 4:00 in the afternoon, on Dec. 22, 2007, Carla opened the journal and began to read…

*

I want to thank D. for another fine editing job. To those who have written me, afraid that I had stopped the story before it was finished, I want to reassure you that I will finish this story and any others I start. I'm teaching full time again and have less time to write than I had during the summer. They will be farther spaced, but they are being written. Look for chapter four in letters and transcripts.