Sommer Storms Ch. 03

Paradise does not exist. I'd spent enough time in postardesque destinations to realize that it's all a front, a beautiful slight of hand. Where there's white sand, blue water and warm breezes, there's also cockroaches, dengue fever, eight-dollar heads of broccoli, over fishing, cyclones and drinking water swimming with parasites.

Paradise does not exist. That's what I believed until the afternoon Jules and I spent torturing my new slave.

Sommer's passion was not limited to protecting marine life, I discovered. Every task she was given, she attacked as surely as she had attacked the illegal fishermen. Every ounce of pain we delivered to her, she absorbed with a determination made all the more beautiful by the agony carved on her bronzed face. Even when she hated it, she loved it.

And then, suddenly, unexplainably, she didn't.

From her bag of toys, Jules had pulled a dozen super balls. Small, rubber balls, kids toys, that bounce like crazy as soon as they hit a solid surface. She had tossed them in the air for Sommer to fetch, in her mouth, on her hands and knees, within a specified time limit. There would be a punishment for failure, and failure was a given considering how erratically the balls bounced and the multitude of directions they bounced in. It was one of her tamer tasks, a break between our other activities, which were growing progressively nastier -- one-upmanship starting to rear its competitive head between Jules and I, just like the old days.

Sommer, still gloriously naked, had scrambled off frantically after the balls - the classic over achiever, determined to beat the system. But after retrieving the third ball, which had dropped inside Jules's purse, her energy vanished, and she loped back to Jules, ball in mouth, with a flat expression on her face. After a halfhearted crawl to the next ball, she flopped over onto one hip and uttered her safe word.

"Sommer, are you OK?" I asked, striding to her side.

She spit the ball into her hand. "No," she said, standing and hurling the ball across the room as hard as she could. It ricocheted from wall to floor to table, barely missing Jules's head as it whizzed by.

"Whoa! Easy Babe Ruth, you almost took an eye out with that one!" Jules said, rising from her chair.

"Good," Sommer said, yanking the collar off her neck and hurling it to the floor.

What had just happened? Was she jealous? Angry? This girl was such a riddle. Five minutes earlier she had been lapping up everything Jules threw at her, now she was glaring at her as if willing laser beams to shoot from her eyes and disintegrate the buxom blonde where she stood.

"Sommer?" I asked, stepping cautiously closer. I recognized the volatile mood and kept a safe distance; who knew what she might do. "What's going on?"

When she turned her eyes to me, I could see a conflict swirling behind them. "Nothing. My foot hurts," she muttered, flicking her eyes down to the quasi-cast Jules had made for her.

An obvious lie, but why? I moved until I was standing in front of her, blocking Jules from her view, then I spoke in a voice that was low but commanding, "Tell me the truth." I watched her bite her lip then I grasped her chin between my thumb and forefinger, hard enough to let her know I was serious, "Now."

She didn't answer, just pulled away from me and stomped over to the table where Jules's purse sat, grabbed the straps in one hand and threw it to the wood floor, the guts of it spilling out everywhere.

"Hey! What the fuck?" Jules came running to the aid of her wounded handbag.

Sommer crossed her arms and glared at her with her laser beam eyes.

I looked at Sommer, looked at the purse, asked myself what the sea god's daughter could be angry at now, then the light bulb flipped on.

"I'll take that," I said, snatching the purse from Jules's hand, much to her surprise. I examined the offensive accessory then held it up toward Sommer, "Eel skin?"

She nodded. Lips pressed together.

"Ah." I placed the purse back on the table then helped Jules to her feet before wedging myself between the two angry women.

Now I had a dilemma. My new slave was livid and I knew that all the orders and masterly commands in the world weren't going to make one dent in her anger. Besides, I liked this about her, her passion, and I wasn't in any hurry to strip it from her. On the other side, was my best friend who had traveled several thousand miles to rescue me from an imagined broken heart. She would never be the PETA poster child but she wasn't a bad person. We were all stuck here for the night and I would be damned if that night was going to be spent with the two of them giving each other the stink eye across the room.

"Jules," I said, "remember how you offered to bottom for me when you arrived?"

"Yes but that was bef--"

I raised a silencing hand. "You offered, I'm taking you up on it. No more arguments. You've offended Sommer -- unintentionally, I know, but you need to make amends for it. Let's call it a lesson in environmental awareness."

I turned to Sommer, "And you can wipe that smug smile off your face right now. I asked you a direct question and you lied to me. If you want to be my slave you'll damn well learn to respect me, right now."

I can't speak to what possessed me, only that I was on a control high and my body was being guided by instinct. I raised my hand and delivered a solid smack to Sommer's face. There was no anger in it, only a need to clarify our respective positions.

Outside the wind was beginning to howl, adding to the rising tension in my veins.

"Here's how this is going to work..." I began, walking away from two very shocked women, hands clasped behind my back, mind racing.

*

I like to hurt women. I can say that now but for years it was the shameful secret I kept as buried as the comic books stashed beneath my mattress - their images of hapless superwomen, chained and beaten, calling out to me late at night as my parents slept in vanilla bliss down the hall. I was well into my twenties before I learned that there were women who actually liked to be hurt, who craved it, who wanted what I had to offer.

In many ways, Sommer, now on all fours on the wood floor, eyes full of new respect for her 'master', was the mirror image of the person I had once been. Struggling against what society said was "normal" to accept what she was inside.

Jules, naked gagged and bound to the wooden post in the center of the room, had long ago embraced her sadism. But she did not like being on the opposite end of that spectrum, which at this moment, watching her pained expression as her face pressed against the wood, made me feel very, very warm inside.

I was taking my time. Letting the women's minds do much of my work for me, heightening the fear.

There was a decorative display on the wall -- an old fishing net, with various fishing lures hung in it. I pulled off the largest of the lures I could find, checking the hook to ensure it was free of rust. It was.

It was also very sharp.

At the speed of a sloth, I walked until I was directly in front of Sommer, she tilted her head up, her eyes wide and fearful.

"Poor fish," I said, clucking my tongue and shaking my head in mock pity. "Can you imagine what it must feel like to get hooked by this?"

I dangled the long, metal lure in front of her, then hung it from my thumbnail to demonstrate how sharp the hook was. When Sommer's mouth twitched, I felt my cock stiffen.

I walked away again, just out of sight. Neither she nor Jules needed to see that I was pinching down the barb of the hook. Just like in those movies where they use ice to make the bad guys believe they are being burned by a hot poker, a little trickery on my part would go a long way to increase my victim's distress. And the hook was still plenty sharp, even with the safety precaution.

"Now, Jules, you sweet butcher of eels, I'm going to place this nasty piece of tackle in Sommer's mouth," as I spoke, I motioned for Sommer to spread her lips. She did, despite the fact that they were trembling. "Then I'm going to have some fun with her hind quarters." I ran my hand along Sommer's back, stopping on one ass cheek. The cheek tensed, which was all the Madman inside me needed to assume full control.

"When I'm done with my precious slave, I shall remove the lure and have her spit into a cup. If there is so much as a micron of blood in her saliva, then you get a pass, Jules, I shall untie you, and we'll carry on with our evening."

I walked over to Jules, who was positioned just perfectly so that she and Sommer could see each other, and rested my hand on her voluptuous cheek, as well. "But if that saliva is clear then I am going to let Sommer here have her way with you and..." I paused, reached over to grab the purse that had started this mess and sat it in front of Sommer's face, "something tells me she is not going to be merciful."

If I'd had a black moustache I probably would have twisted it and laughed maniacally. As it was, I kept my cool, double checked the lure hanging from Sommer's mouth and grabbed one more goodie from my stash.

When I showed the butt plug to Sommer, I thought she was going to faint.

"Almost forgot this!" I said, with a peppy grin.

Jules and I had already used a smaller plug on Sommer and, despite being so embarrassed she had turned red from bow to stern, she had taken it surprisingly well.

I took my time working the plug into her, using copious amounts of lube and also pleasuring her pussy, which I was not surprised to find dripping wet and eager. But once I had the toy in place, the time for gentleness was over.

I started with the crop Jules and I had used earlier. As a warm up.

Raising my arm, I took a moment to savour the tableau: Jules bound and staring desperately at the lure dangling from Sommer's mouth, Sommer staring at the eel skin purse, fighting her embarrassment and fear, determined to win, the golden ass cheeks already painted with welts, and the blue base of the butt plug as a reminder of what I had planned for a finale.

I brought the crop down. Hard. Sommer squealed around the hook in her mouth. God but that was delicious. Once more I smacked her ass, and again her muscles tensed and that pitiful squeak escaped.

The Madman was hungry. I lashed her at least a dozen times in quick succession, each strike more brutal than the last. The squeals became genuine cries of pain. Muted, garbled cries, which was even better.

Part of me wanted her to win. But part of me, the worst, darkest part, wanted her to lose, to bite down, to hear a genuine scream as her flesh was punctured. Just the thought drove me further.

I raised the crop, except this time I didn't strike, just followed through to one side, letting it slap against the floor. All Sommer's muscles jumped, waiting for the hit that never came.

The mind fuck is every bit as satisfying as corporal punishment.

The crop fell to the floor, I placed my hands on her burning cheeks for a moment, and felt her relax, then I jostled the butt plug and worked her swollen clit with my fingers, keeping it up until she moaned around the hook. She had become my instrument and I wanted to hear every sound I could produce.

As I pleasured her, I turned to look at Jules. She was wet too, I knew it. And jealous. This, what I was doing to Sommer, was exactly what she wanted to do.

When Sommer was good and relaxed, I stood and moved to the row of toys I'd pilfered from Jules's luggage. "What should I use next?" I asked Jules, my hand hovering over a cane but then moving quickly to a rather spiky hairbrush. "Oh, good choice, this one will hurt like a bitch!'

Sommer turned her head so quickly in my direction that the lure swung dangerously back and forth.

"Careful, careful," I cautioned her.

I waited a few moments after stepping behind her. There's a certain poetry to a heaving chest, an arched back and a head looking over a woman's shoulders, eyes full of dread.

With a short, sharp stroke, I brought the bristled end of the brush down on Sommer's ass and she screamed. Her flesh was tender from the crop and all those tiny bristles might as well have been knives. Every time I hit her with the brush, her body shuddered. The Madman was barely able to control himself, he wanted blood.

I can't remember how many times I struck Sommer with the brush, but I know that at one point, as I moved for a better angle, I accidentally stepped on her uninjured foot and the yelp was so satisfying I did it again.

That spurred me on. I ran a manic hand through my hair, flung the brush aside and pulled a thick, leather belt from the line up of instruments. Drunk on pleasure, I lashed out, almost haphazardly, bringing the belt down on those lovely, lean thighs and calves then up to the ass again. Working my way back and forth, sweating and snarling. Until I heard the sobs.

Sweet mercy, now here was music. Here was the symphony only a Madman could compose.

I dropped the belt on Sommer's back, pulled off my shorts, dug my hands into her hips and rammed my throbbing cock inside her. There was no civility, no precision, no finesse, only primal urge. I wanted to fuck her as hard and deep as her body would allow, or as I could force it to allow.

My fingers digging into her welts pushed more screams from deep in her throat but there were moans of ecstasy mingled in there as well. The 1812 Overture was playing in the back of my brain and each thrust of my hips felt like a cannon going off inside me. I could come at any instant but I forced myself to stop, to calm.

She was so close, she was teetering on the edge of the abyss. I had every intention of pushing her off...soon.

With as much restraint as I could muster, I pulled out, my member slick with Sommer juice. Then I pulled the butt plug out slowly, letting her squirm against the sensation. Her legs were spread wide, her back arched painfully, she would take whatever I gave her now.

After another thick coat of lube, I pressed the head of my cock against that shy asshole of hers. And slowly, slowly, I was in. She was no longer a virgin. It didn't take long for my restraint to dissolve or for her body to respond to the host of new sparks firing inside of it. Hands latched onto her hips, I pushed my way deep inside, then started to thrust wildly.

A guttural cry bellowed from Sommer's lips as she came, her body launching into convulsions around me. That did it, cannons firing in my brain, I unloaded myself in her virgin hole, with my own savage cry.

After a long blissful moment of recovery, I pulled out, cleaned us both up, grabbed the shot glass I had set on the table, and made my way -- on rubbery legs -- to Sommer's mouth.

Her eyes were watery and red with tears, streaks of black ran down her cheeks from the mascara Jules had glooped on her, her hair was stuck to her head with sweat. Gently, I removed the lure form her mouth and held out the glass. She let a thick stream of saliva fall into it.

I brushed my hand across her cheek, smiled, leaned in and kissed the top of her head.

The glass, I carried over to Jules, holding it aloft in front of her eyes.

She frowned at the clear liquid.

"You were right, Jules. She's perfect," I said, my face warm with affection as I glanced back at Sommer, who had sunk to the floor to enjoy the afterglow.

I placed my hand on the hollow of Jules's lower back and slid it downward until my finger just slipped inside her lips. She was as ready as Sommer had been.

"Enjoyed that show, did you?" I asked pressing my lips close to her ear. "Good, now it's your turn."

*

Damn. Sommer was a natural.

Maybe she had some sadistic tendencies of her own or maybe staring at the eel skin purse while being flogged had enraged her? Regardless, after a brief rest, during which I gave her a condensed education in BDSM safety, I passed her the crop, gestured to my row of torture implements and nodded at her to have fun.

Since I knew I was done for the evening, I poured myself a rather generous glass of single malt scotch and found a comfortable chair to relax in for the show. It was pitch black outside, any trace of stars shrouded by clouds, but inside it was cozy and oh so visually pleasing.

My slave surprised me by first untying the gag I'd put on Jules. Did she want to hear the screams?

Next she picked up the eel skin purse and shoved the straps into Jules's mouth.

"Drop it and you'll regret it, murderer," Sommer said, pinching Jules cheek, before lashing out with the crop on her thigh.

In a way, watching my friend was even better than watching Sommer. The latter actually wanted the pain, the former most decidedly did not. There was no fear in Jules's eyes, just a whole lot of 'When I get out of this I'm gonna show you what a murderer I am!'

Sommer played with the crop, the belt, the brush and even the kikau broom I'd used on her the night before. As her arm rose and fell, she delivered long, fiery lectures on the many species of eels, facts about how endangered the ocean's creature's were, and reprimands for narcissistic bitches who don't care how many beautiful animals die as long as they get a nice purse out of the deal.

Sommer stalked over to the pile of goodies and grabbed out the large dildo Jules had made her carry in her mouth earlier that day.

"Do you want to go back in your cave, Mr Moray Eel?" Sommer asked the dildo.

The dildo 'nodded'.

"Okee dokee then!" Sommer said with a perky grin, "I bet you want to get in there fast, too?"

Once more, she made the dildo nod. I nearly spit out my mouthful of scotch when I saw the look on Jules's face.

Sommer used her good foot to kick her victim's legs further apart. With little ceremony, she shoved the large 'eel' into its 'cave'. Jules howled against the strap of the purse.

Plunging her hand into Jules hair, Sommer yanked her head back, "And don't you dare come, murderer, or I'll find another giant eel for your other cave!"

In the warm glow of a light scotch buzz, I closed my eyes and listened to the melodic mix of Jule's muted groans of pain and pleasure, the slaps and smacks of Sommer's lashings, the howling of the wind and the crashing of the breakers against the reef.

Yes, paradise does exist.

I didn't even realize I'd drifted off to sleep until Sommer's voice woke me.

"I asked you if I should let her come or not?" she said, hands on her naked hips.

Looking around her, I saw Jules practically hanging from the post, her legs shook, tears and saliva flowed. Her head, I could tell, was tired from holding the purse (that'll teach her to pack so heavy) and I swore I could see the insides of her thighs glistening from her own juices.

"If you think she's learned her lesson," I said, yawning.

Sommer gave me a curt nod and hurried back to her victim. I heard the low buzz of a vibrator and watched Jules basically hump the post as she came, purse dropping from her mouth with a THUD.

My cue.

"Are we all friends again?" I asked, as I untied Jules from the post.

"If she promises to get rid of that...thing, and not buy any more," Sommer said.

"Jules?" I asked, lifting her chin with my fingers.

"Yes, OK, I promise," she half moaned, shuddering from aftershocks.

"Good, good," I said. Now I think we could all use some sleep.

*

I woke to Sommer's body pressed into mine.

Don't get used to it, you only have one day left and then she's gone.

Careful not to disturb my sleeping eco-warrior, I pulled off the sheet and moved so that I could admire my handiwork from the evening before. She would be sporting some wicked bruises for awhile. I wished I could stick around long enough to watch them fade but I still had two more islands to hit before I was done with material for the book.