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Collected by Djian

Captured!
by Soleil ©

copyright, including rights of reproduction, remains Soleil
sonsoleil@hotmail.com

Sarah and three friends
are captured by a gang of thugs.
Ruthless humiliation and
degradation ensues.

1-6 | 7-10

Captured!

Part One

Sarah huddled against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. The concrete floor
was cold and hard, and she could feel rocks and pebbles digging into her ass
through the thin fabric of her shorts. She was tired and frightened, as were the
others who sat by her, backs pressed against the wall, heads down, as
instructed.

There were four of them, two men, two women. They were part of a singles holiday
group - offered the choice between visiting yet another museum or spending a
last afternoon on the beach before flying home, they'd chosen sand and sun. Now,
they were nothing more than captives, snatched off the isolated, idyllic beach
by three balaclava-wearing men. Dressed only in light clothing, their hands were
bound behind their backs and then they were frog-marched through the jungle to a
damp, dark hut, far from civilization. And they still didn't know why.

Not daring to look up, Sarah strained her ears to hear the whispered
conversation taking place at the other side of the room. Their captors were
discussing something amongst themselves; their attention was momentarily
diverted. Out of the corner of her eye, Sarah saw movement and realised John,
closest to the door out of all of them, was shuffling toward it on his ass in a
valiant effort to escape. Sarah didn't know him well, but she knew he was game
for anything. She held her breath as she watched him, he was almost there, and
though their hands were bound, their legs weren't. If he got away, he could run,
run for help. Silently, she urged him on, willing him to escape.

Then, movement from the other side of the room. With a sinking heart, Susan
realised John had been spotted and one of their captors, the leader, moved
swiftly to intercept him.

John howled in pain as the man brought one of his boots down hard on his foot,
grinding it mercilessly into the concrete. Sarah and her companions gasped in
horror at the sound of splintering bone as John's toes broke. Then, a swift kick
to the ribs and John doubled over in agony, winded from the blow. Hauling him up
by the armpits, the man threw John back against the wall as if he were a
feather. Then, he turned to face the rest of them, his eyes icy behind the
balaclava.

"Don't fucking try it again. That goes for all of you. You'll do what you're
told, when you're told to do it. If not, you'll suffer the consequences."

Sarah was sickened by what they'd just witnessed, and felt a hot rage boil up as
the man stood before them, glaring down at them. Like his companions, he was
dressed in khaki pants and a close fitting black T-shirt. Black boots, laced,
and a black balaclava. His gun was jammed almost casually into the waistband of
his pants, and he had a knife tucked into a sheath. An aura of quiet menace
surrounded him. Sarah didn't care.

"Bastard," she snapped, her lip curled in disgust as she looked up at him. "Is
this how you get your kicks? Kidnapping and bashing people, just for the hell of
it? Why did you bring us here? Bastards." Sarah spat at the man before her,
coating his the toe of his boot with saliva.

"Sarah, be quiet!" hissed Rob, who was sitting next to her. "You'll get us all
in trouble, look at John!"

"I don't care," said Sarah. "They're nothing but spineless thugs. Fucking
cowards." She spat again, hitting the other one of the man's boots.

The other men crossed the room to join their leader. "She's a feisty one, isn't
she?" one of them said, sneering at the group. "You want me to teach her a
lesson?"

"Shut up. I'll deal with this," the leader replied, steel in his voice.
Addressing the shorter of his two companions, he said "You watch the door.
Anyone moves, stop them." Turning to the other, he directed him to tie the
ankles of the captives together with lengths of rope. "But don't tie hers," he
said, pointing at Sarah. I'll take care of her."

The hairs on the back of Sarah's neck stood up as the man approached her, boots
crunching on the floor. Reaching down, he grabbed a fistful of Sarah's hair,
wrenching her head up so her eyes met his.

"Stupid bitch," he said quietly, his voice hard and his eyes cold. "Stupid,
silly bitch. I warned you, didn't I? I told you you'd all pay the consequences
for fucking with me. Actually," he said, almost thoughtfully, "I've decided
you'll pay the consequences. Just you. Right here, in front of everyone."

Sarah squirmed in an effort to get free. "You're hurting me," she said, wincing
as he pulled her hair.

"Hurting you? I haven't even fucking started. Get up, cunt."

Climbing unsteadily to her feet, the man's hand still tangled painfully in her
hair, Sarah stood, shivering with fear. Leaning in close to her, the man spoke
quietly and deliberately in her ear.

"I'm going to untie your hands, and you're going to strip for us, do you
understand? You're going to strip down to your bra and panties, and then we'll
see whether I'll hurt you or not. Okay?" He fumbled for the knots that tied her,
and released her hands.

Sarah was horrified. Strip? He was going to make her strip? She flushed red with
embarrassment. "Please don't make me do that," she begged. "I'm sorry I spat on
you. Really, I am. I was worried for John, and we're all tired and frightened.
I'm sorry," she said helplessly.

When it came, the slap across her face was unexpected and snapped Sarah's head
back, leaving her dazed and rattled. The crack echoed through the room, and the
other prisoners stared in shock.

"I don't give a fuck if you're sorry. I don't give a fuck if you're tired and
scared. The only thing I give a fuck about is seeing you do what you're told,"
the man hissed, tracing the red of his hand print across her skin with his
fingers. "So, fucking do it. We're waiting."

Crying now, Sarah lifted her shirt over her head, and wriggled awkwardly out of
her shorts. Standing there in her bra and panties before everyone, she crossed
her arms over her breasts in an effort to preserve some dignity.

"On your knees, bitch," he ordered, kicking away her clothes. "On your knees,
and lick my boots. Clean up that shit you spat on me. Do a good job, or you'll
regret it."

Whimpering, Sarah sank to her knees and did as she was told. His boots were
dusty, and she grimaced as she licked her dried saliva from the steel capped
toes. He laughed as she licked, enjoying her humiliation. As she knelt over his
feet, he suddenly surprised her by pushing her backwards with his foot, and she
fell awkwardly on her back, her head hitting the hard floor. Stunned, she lay on
the ground in a jumble of arms and legs as he loomed over her.

"Good, but not good enough," he snapped, drawing his steel bladed knife. It
caught the late afternoon sun, glinting wickedly as he turned it over in his
hands.

Rob had had enough. "Leave her alone," he said, struggling against his bonds in
an effort to get loose to help Sarah. "Just leave her alone, let us go and we
won't tell. We'll leave, and we won't say a word. Right, guys?" He turned to the
rest of the group, seeking their agreement. The other woman nodded, frozen in
fear. John didn't say anything; he was still unconscious in the corner.

"You know, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I'm gonna let my friends here
fuck your girlfriend. How about that?"

Rob went pale, and Karen, his girlfriend, started crying. Nobody said a word.

"We understand each other, then. Good man. Instead, I'm going to fuck her," he
said, nudging Sarah with his boot.

Sarah looked up at him in terror as his words sank in. "Please, no," she
whispered. "Not that. Please, let me go. Please."

"Not a chance, babe, not a chance," the kidnapper grinned, squatting down beside
her. Sarah flinched as he dragged the blade of the knife lightly over her
exposed belly, then up towards her breasts. With a practiced flick of his wrist,
the blade cut through her bra, slicing it in half. The fabric fell away,
exposing her soft, full breasts. Too frightened to move, Sarah lay helplessly on
the cold floor, begging silently for someone to help her. "Spread your legs,
slut," he ordered, twisting one of her nipples cruelly. "Knees up, and spread
'em nice and wide for us. My mates and I want to see your cunt before I fuck
it."

Sarah was really crying now, she couldn't believe what this man was planning on
doing to her in front of all these people. Try as she might, she couldn't bring
herself to do as he ordered, she just couldn't bring herself to spread her legs
like she'd been told. Instead, she gathered all her courage and tried to get to
her feet to escape but it was a futile attempt.

Knocking her back to the floor with another backhand to her face, her tormentor
wrapped his hands around her neck, his thumbs pressing painfully into her
throat. "I've just about had enough, bitch," he snarled, his blue eyes blazing
into her petrified eyes. "You're making me angry, and you don't want to get me
angry. Spread your legs, do it now, do it right now before I really hurt you."

Backhanded into submission and choking from the pressure he'd applied to her
neck, Sarah did as she was told and spread her legs.

Releasing her, he reached for the knife again. "Wider," he snapped, tracing the
blade down her naked thigh. "Nice and wide for us, babe. We want to see
everything."

Sarah complied, tears streaming silently down her face. The other captors stared
at her, drinking in her smooth, pale skin and creamy, bare breasts.

Flicking her panties with the knife blade, the leader said "Shame these are
covering your cunt, right, bitch? We can't see a fucking thing. Gotta fix that."
Then he slid the blade between the waistband and her skin, and sliced at her
panties. Reaching down, he tore the fabric away from her with one of his large
hands, leaving her totally exposed, her legs spread wide and her cunt naked and
open.

Sarah shivered as he used the tip of the blade to separate the folds of her
pussy; if she moved even an inch, he would surely cut her. Laughing, he pressed
the tip against her clit, harder, then harder still. Sarah was sure he was going
to cut her, she was sure he was going to hurt her. Then, just before he broke
the skin, he withdrew the knife and put it away. "Don't want to be cutting you,"
he remarked, "not yet, anyway. But struggle against me, and I will. It won't be
your cunt, either, bitch," he crooned, dragging a finger lightly across her
throat.

Lying there naked on the cold concrete floor, legs spread, Sarah wished with all
her heart she'd kept quiet. This man, this stranger, was going to fuck her and
use her like a piece of meat, and she'd never been so scared. With horror, she
watched him with wide eyes as he drew his gun from his pants and brought it down
close to her face.

"Can you see it, bitch?" he demanded, pressing it lightly against her lips.
Quivering with absolute terror, Sarah turned her face away from him and the gun.
Grabbing her hair again, he pulled her head back around. "Open up, slut," he
ordered. "Suck my gun like you'd suck my cock. Now."

Flushing with shame, her legs still spread wide and very much aware all eyes in
the room were witnessing her humiliation, Sarah's lips formed an "o" around the
butt of the gun as she sucked it into her mouth. "Nice," he said, softly, the
fingers of his other hand still buried in her hair. "But do you fuck as well as
you suck? Get it nice and wet, slut, cos we're about to find out."

Taking the gun suddenly from her mouth, he moved down between her spread legs
and jammed the butt of the gun against Sarah's pussy. Jerking in a reflex
action, Sarah stifled a scream as she felt the cold steel against her sensitive
flesh. "You might want to spread your legs wider, slut," he said as he probed
her soft folds harshly. "Cos I'm gonna fuck you with this gun, like it or not."
Forcing the gun into her reluctant body, he taunted her. "Looks like you didn't
get it wet enough... too bad, I did warn you." Sarah writhed with pain as the
tip of the gun sank into her cunt; she wasn't wet and her body's natural
lubrication had yet to kick in.

Sarah realised the other men had come closer to watch what was being done to
her, and she closed her eyes in shame as their leader continued to push the
barrel gun into her cunt. "Fuck, would you look at that?" one of them commented.
"This bitch is loving it!" The gun continued to penetrate her body, her pussy
lips opening wide around the cold steel. "Please, that's enough," she begged,
but her pleas fell on deaf ears as her tormentor continued to fuck her roughly
with the gun, verbally abusing her as he did so.

"You like it, slut? he asked, twisting the barrel even more deeply inside her,
bruising her delicate folds. "You like being used like the cheap slut you are,
here in front of everyone? Not so feisty now," he grunted, as Sarah pleaded with
him to stop, begged him not to hurt her any more.

"Stop? You want me to stop?" He let go of the gun, but left the barrel buried
inside her so the gun hung out of her cunt. "Okay, I'll stop. But only if you
tell me what you really want"

Sarah looked at him in shocked disbelief. What she really wanted? "I.. I don't
understand," she sobbed in confusion. "I just want you to stop, I want you to
let me go!"

"Wrong answer," he snapped, nudging the gun with his foot to remind her it was
still there. "No, baby, what you really want is for to fuck you from behind like
the animal you are. That's what you really want, isn't it?"

Realizing he'd never leave her alone until she begged him to fuck her, Sarah
complied with his demands. "Yes, that's what I want," she moaned, wishing it
were over.

"Then beg for my cock in your cunt, bitch. Beg me to turn you over and fuck you
like some cheap whore. Beg me to use you. Make it good, or I'll get my friends
here to fuck you instead. Both of them. They don't require begging." He grinned
nastily at her while he waited for her answer.

Sarah realised she had no choice. "Please," she whimpered, "Please will you fuck
me like a slut from behind? Please, I'm begging you to fuck me, please! I swear
I want you to fuck me, please use me."

He laughed cruelly as he slid the gun from Sarah's cunt and flipped her onto her
front. Her breasts grazed against the floor, tearing her skin so that blood
tricked slowly down her cleavage.

"You fucking begged for it, bitch. I'm gonna fuck you harder than you've ever
been fucked before," he grunted, drawing her hips up so that she was kneeling on
all fours in front of him. She heard him unzipping his pants, and tensed as she
felt the hardness of his cock pushing against her hole. Slapping her ass
sharply, she whimpered softly as he shoved himself into her, penetrating her now
wet cunt roughly.

Tearing into her ruthlessly, he plunged his cock into her over and over again as
she begged him for mercy. He paid no attention to her as fucked her
unceremoniously in front of her friends and his friends, her degradation and
humiliation plain for everyone to see. He slammed into her again and again, with
no thought for her feelings or discomfort. She could see the bulges in the pants
of the men in front of her as they watched her getting fucked so hard, and she
could feel the fingers of the man behind her kneading the flesh of her ass as he
pounded her cunt.

Then, in a final act of humiliation, he withdrew his cock from her used pussy
and came all over her reddened ass, spilling his cum over her as she lay on the
ground, used and bruised. Nudging her with his boot, he said, "Never piss me off
again, bitch."

Part Two

The next day dawned bright and sunny, contrasting sharply with the dark despair
the prisoners felt, still captive in the stony hut. They'd been thrown a few
threadbare blankets the night before and Sarah had wrapped hers around her
eagerly, desperate to cover her nudity and the shameful evidence of her assault.

She awoke to the nudge of a boot in her ribs. Looking up, her eyes focused on
the leader of the kidnappers.

"Get up, bitch," he ordered.

Unsteadily, Sarah stumbled to her feet. Every muscle in her body ached.

"Drop the blanket."

Compliant now, Sarah did as she was told. Slowly, she let the blanket slide to
the floor and she was naked once again. There were gasps of shock from her
companions as the extent of her assault became clear. Whistling softly, the
kidnapper drew his gun and traced the bruises flaring angrily on Sarah's pale
skin. Visible finger marks marked the creamy flesh of her breasts and there were
vivid bruises on her cheek where she'd been slapped. The skin of her knees and
the palms of her hands were grazed and torn from when she'd been forced to kneel
as he fucked her. Her thighs were streaked with dried semen.

"Look at you, you dirty slut. You're a fucking mess. What are you?"

Unsure of what to say, Sarah didn't respond.

Pressing the butt of the gun into the bruises on her breast, he snapped, "Answer
me, I'm waiting."

"Uh, I'm a mess," she replied hesitantly, sure that wasn't the right answer.

"What else?"

Realization dawned on Sarah. "Umm, I'm a dirty slut," she said, her face red as
she spoke the words.

Jamming the gun back in his pants, his hand moved lightening fast as he grabbed
a handful of Sarah's hair, pulling her closer to him. His lips close to her ear,
he said, "When you speak to me, you'll address me as Sir. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Sir," Sarah whispered, humiliated.

"So, we'll start again. What are you? Nice and loud, I want everyone to hear
you," he grinned.

"I'm a dirty slut, Sir. I'm a mess, Sir."

"Yes, you are," he agreed, releasing Sarah's hair. "In fact, you're such a
dirty, messy little slut I'm gonna allow you to clean up a little. Isn't that
kind of me?"

"Yes, Sir," said Sarah instantly, though privately she thought he was the
furthermost thing from kind she'd ever known.

Turning to the others, the leader told one of his buddies to watch Sarah's
companions. Motioning to the other, he said, "You and me are gonna take this
bitch down to the beach so she can clean up."

Sarah's ears pricked up. They were going down to the beach? Maybe someone would
see them, and they'd be rescued. Or, perhaps she could escape. She was a strong
swimmer - perhaps she could get free that way.

Slowly, the little group picked their way through the jungle in single file. It
was difficult going - Sarah's hands were bound behind her back once more and
every so often, the man bringing up the rear pushed her along as she dropped
pace. Sarah had no clothes, of course; they'd been cut off her last night. But
she'd been permitted to wear her sandals, though they were flimsy and afforded
her little protection. But finally they emerged from the dark greenery, and
Sarah reveled in the feeling of the sun on her face.

Releasing her hands, S said, " Don't even think about trying to escape. You try
anything stupid, and I'll kill you. Understood?"

Sarah believed him. "Yes, Sir."

She watched as S stripped his shirt off and bent to untie his boots. He left his
pants on. Then, ordering his companion to keep look-out on the beach, he pushed
Sarah toward the water. "Get in and wash yourself," he snapped.

Sarah walked into the ocean, sighing as she felt the cool water wash over her.
Then, she winced as the salt stung her cuts and grazes - she really was a mess,
she thought. Gingerly, Sarah began washing off the dried blood that stained her
body. S was right beside her, watching her like a hawk, never letting her too
far from his reach.

"Have you washed your cunt, slut?" asked S, softly.

"Uh... yes Sir," said Sarah, blushing.

"Really? I wonder whether you've done a good job. I wonder whether it's fit for
use. Get out, and lie on the shoreline. I want to inspect you. "

Fit for use? Sarah thought. What did that mean? Surely he wasn't going to fuck
her again; she'd behaved and obeyed all his commands. Nervously, she waded out
of the water into the shallows and lay as instructed on her back on the wet
sand, the tide just washing over her bare feet.

"Soles of your feet together, bitch," he ordered, getting out of the water
himself. Sarah obeyed immediately, watching his handsome face harden as he raked
his eyes over her. In this position, her legs were spread wide enough so he
could see her naked, wet pussy - but it wasn't good enough for him.

"Spread your cunt open with your hands. I want to see everything."

Humiliated, Sarah reached down and opened herself to him, tears gathering in her
eyes as she did so. He squatted down at the base of her feet for a closer look.

"How the fuck am I supposed to see if you've cleaned yourself to my satisfaction
with all that fucking hair in the way?"

Looking up, he called to his mate. "Get my knife, would you?"

His companion hurried to do his bidding, leering at Sarah as he passed the knife
over. The sun glinted wickedly off the sharp blade, and Sarah shivered in fear.
What was he going to do?

"Lie still," he said, resting the blade of the knife against the lips of her
pussy. "I'd hate to cut you, it will only make it more painful for you when I
fuck you again."

Sarah closed her eyes tightly as the knife slid over her cunt, razoring through
her pubic hair like it was butter. He flicked the knife over her lips with
practiced ease, grazing her delicate skin lightly but never once slicing into
her. Finally, after what seemed an age, the job was completed to his
satisfaction. "That's more like it," he said, leaning back on his haunches to
admire his work. "Now I can see whether you're indeed fit for use."

Using his thumbs, he spread Sarah's cunt so she was open and gaping. Then,
telling her to hold herself open for him, she gasped as he slid two fingers
inside her to the knuckles. "Feel good, slut?" he asked, grinning at her.

Sarah didn't answer.

"I said, does it feel good?" he snapped, forcing his fingers even deeper inside
her so the base of his hand met her cunt.

"No, Sir," groaned Sarah, because it didn't feel good to be fingered against her
will on a beach by a man she didn't know, and in front of a man she didn't know.

He withdrew his fingers suddenly, and Sarah whimpered with relief. Was he going
to stop?

"Doesn't feel good, huh?" he smirked. "We'll see how you like this, then. Hold
your cunt open. Wide open, bitch. "

Wetting his hand in the water, he worked three of his fingers into Sarah's cunt,
twisting them as he did so. "Oh, please don't," begged Sarah, as she felt the
walls of her pussy separating to accept the offending intruders. She was still
sore from last night, and the salt water on his hand exacerbated her pain.
Laughing cruelly, he worked a fourth finger into her cunt, and Sarah cried out
as his hand invaded and filled her. "Look at me, bitch," he hissed, as his
fingers moved inside her, violating her.

Sarah raised her head and looked at him, fear in her eyes. "Do want me to stop?"
he asked, his blue eyes cold and hard as they bored into hers.

Sarah nodded, dazed.

"Then beg me to stop."

"Please Sir, please let me go," Sarah begged, her voice tinged with desperation.
"Please, Sir, you're hurting me - please stop!"

"Not good enough," sneered S. "I guess you don't want me to stop after all, huh?
I reckon you're enjoying this. In fact, given you're such a slut, I think you're
fucking loving it."

He moved his fingers out of her slowly, and Sarah thought maybe he was going to
stop. But she was wrong. He was just repositioning his hand. Tucking his thumb
into the palm of his hand, he slid his fingers back into her cunt, this time
including his thumb. Stars danced in front of Sarah's eyes as his large hand
filled her - what she thought was pain moments ago she now recognised as mere
discomfort. For this was pain, he was trying to work his whole hand into her
tight cunt and she begged him not to.

"Shut up, bitch. I don't want to hear a fucking word, not even a whimper, out of
you. I'm gonna fist you here on this fucking beach, and there's nothing you can
say or do that'll make me change my mind. If you piss me off, I won't be as
gentle about it as I have been so far, either. Are we clear? Are we?" And he
twisted his hand inside Sarah to add weight to his words.

"Yes Sir," cried Sarah, helplessly. What could she do? He continued working his
hand inside her, but it was difficult. Her cunt was tight and unused to such
penetration. He met firm resistance as the bridge of his hand sank into her but
he pressed on regardless, turning his wrist as he pushed his hand deeper and
deeper into her pussy. "Ohhh..." groaned Sarah as the bridge finally slipped
inside her; he'd done it, she realised with shock. His hand was buried inside
her, up to his wrist.


"Finger your clit for me," he ordered, opening and closing his fist almost
imperceptibly inside her cunt.

Sarah thought he'd gone mad. He wanted her to masturbate for him, here on the
beach with his fist in her cunt? This was worse than when he made her beg him to
fuck her in front of everyone last night. But she dared not disobey, so she
moved her fingers down to her clit, grazing the top of the hand that was
violating her so brutally as she did so.

"Rub it, bitch," he snapped, moving his hand inside her more roughly.

Sarah obeyed, even though she was nowhere near aroused. Would she have to
pretend to come? Or did he really think she'd be able to?

"Look at you," he laughed, "legs spread, fist in your cunt, rubbing your clit.
Fuck, I'm gonna have some fun with you when we get back to the hut later on. I
might even give you my friends this time."

He stopped moving his hand, and gazed at her. "What are you?" he asked quietly.

"A slut, Sir," choked Sarah, her fingers still working busily on her clit.

"Yes," he agreed. "Yes, you're definitely a slut. I don't normally waste my time
and attentions on women like you, I think you should thank me."

What happened next surprised them both. As Sarah thanked her captor for fucking
her with his hand, her orgasm exploded, her pussy muscles clenching and
unclenching tightly around his invading hand. "Thank you Sir," she gasped, hips
rocking as she came violently. Then, her head snapped violently to one side as
he delivered a stinging slap to her face with his free hand.

"Next time you come, slut, you fucking ask me for permission." He wrenched his
fist from her body, leaving her crying in the sand, her cunt open and used. "Get
the fuck up, we're going back."

Part Three

Night fell and darkness descended on the prisoners. Defeat hung heavy in the
air; they'd been captive for two days now and no end to the ordeal seemed to be
in sight. Wrapped in her blanket, Sarah huddled down next to Karen and Rob. John
was missing, though. He was gone from the hut by the time she returned from the
beach but she didn't ask the others where he was. They'd been warned not to
speak unless spoken to and nobody dared disobey, least of all Sarah.

Footsteps, and one of the men strode in, bags in hand. He'd left just after
Sarah and her tormentors came back and he'd been gone for some hours. "Fucking
boat almost died on me," he swore, dumping the bags on the old wooden table at
the far end of the room. "Didn't think I'd make it back."

Rummaging through the bags, he seized an apple and crunched into it. The
prisoners watched him jealously - they'd been given no food and little water
over the course of their incarceration and all were hungry and thirsty. Noticing
their longing stares, S grinned. "Hungry?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Silence. Nobody wanted to speak.

He crossed the room and glared at the little group. "Have you all gone deaf? Am
I talking to myself?"

Karen shifted nervously under his glare and inched closer to Rob. The men
terrified her, the leader in particular. She remembered Sarah's brutal treatment
at his hands and she hadn't forgotten how he'd threatened to let his friends
rape her. But, yet again, it was Sarah he pounced on.

"I thought you, of all people, would have learned by now," he said, leaning down
and twisting her hair so she was forced to look up at him. "I asked a question,
didn't I?"

"Uh, yes Sir," winced Sarah as his grip on her hair became almost unbearable.

"Well? What's the answer?"

"No Sir, we haven't gone deaf. You're not talking to yourself, Sir. And, yes,
we're hungry, Sir. And thirsty, Sir." Sarah sighed with relief as his grip on
her hair loosened. He squatted down in front of her, one hand absently stroking
her hair while he searched her green eyes with blue chips of steel.

"You've had a long day, haven't you, Sarah?" he asked softly, almost gently.
"Would you and your friends like some water? Food, perhaps?"

Sarah's eyes filled with tears. Such tenderness after her rough treatment was
unexpected. "Yes, Sir, we'd be very grateful, Sir," she replied, trying not to
cry. Her efforts were in vain. Large, fat tears welled and spilled down her
cheeks, leaving damp trails in their wake.

S traced the tracks with his index finger. "Beautiful," he murmured, his lips
warm against her ear. Collecting the moisture, he brushed Sarah's lips lightly
with his finger. Despite herself, Sarah's lips parted and she sucked her tears
from his finger, tasting the saltiness on her tongue. "What will you do for me,
I wonder? What will you do so your friends can eat? What will you do so you can
eat? Will you do what I want you to do?"

"I'll do anything, Sir," Sarah whispered. "I'll do what you tell me to do.
Please don't hurt me again, please."

S gathered Sarah in his arms and held her close to him. His warmth seeped
through her thin blanket, soothing her bruises and abrasions. Unconsciously,
Sarah relaxed against his hard body, seeking comfort and reassurance from the
man who had treated her callously and coldly. "You're such a slut, aren't you?"
he asked, rubbing her back in a circular motion. "You should hate me, but here
you are, cuddling up to me like a bitch in heat. "What are you?" He tipped
Sarah's head back and looked deeply into her eyes.

Sarah knew what to say. "I'm a slut, Sir," she said, breaking his gaze as she
shivered in humiliation. He was right, what was she doing? First, she came on
his hand while he fisted her brutally on the beach, and now this. How could she
seek comfort and strength from a man who'd been so ruthless with her? What was
the matter with her? She hardly recognised herself.

"My slut," he agreed, standing. "Get up, and lose the fucking blanket while
you're at it." His voice was hard now, his eyes cold.

Sarah did as instructed, fearful of what she'd be told to do next.

"There's bags on the table with food and water. You may give your friends a
bottle of water each, and some of the fruit. But be quick about it."

Sarah scurried to the table, anxious to carry out his orders before he changed
his mind. Carrying one of the bags back to Rob and Karen, they thanked her as
she gave it to them. Rob offered her a bottle of water as she sat beside them
again and she took it gratefully - her throat was dry and parched and she ached
for a drink. Breaking the seal, she froze as she heard S's command.

"Stop!" he snapped, glaring at her.

Confused, Sarah stopped what she was doing.

"Did I give you permission to drink, bitch?"

"No, Sir," she replied, shame creeping over her. He was fucking with her head
again. She had learned to recognise the tone in his voice and knew she was on
dangerous ground.

"That's right, I didn't. Since when do you take matters into your own hands? I
show you a bit of kindness and you think you run the show. I give you an inch,
and you take a mile. Let's get one thing clear. You don't do anything, you don't
say anything, and you don't think anything unless I tell you it's okay. Do we
understand each other?"

"Yes, Sir," muttered Sarah, sulkily.

"Yes, Sir, no, Sir, three bags full, Sir," she added, in a reckless display of
defiance.

A palpable hush descended on the room as all watched for S's reaction to Sarah's
rudeness. It wasn't long in coming.

Quick as a flash, he crossed the room and hauled Sarah to her feet. He dragged
her to the table at the far end of the room and bent her over it face down so
her ass faced the others. Kicking her legs wide apart in one vicious move, he
ordered one of his men to fetch the coil of rope lying in the corner. Ignoring
Sarah's protests and pleas, he proceeded to secure her ankles and wrists to the
table legs, tying her so that her arms and legs were spread in a star fashion,
her breasts squashed painfully against the table top. When he was done, she was
tightly bound and couldn't move at all.

Stepping back, he admired his handiwork. "Should I gag you?" he mused aloud.
"Nope, don't think I will. I want to hear you scream, bitch."

Sarah tossed her head from side to side, fearfully wondering what he planned to
do. She could hear him, but she couldn't see him; he'd positioned himself so
that was the case. Then, she heard the sound of his belt buckle being undone and
the snap of leather as he whipped it from the loops of his pants. Cringing now,
she realised he meant to hit her with it and she begged him not to.

"Please, Sir, I'm sorry Sir, I was rude and I didn't mean it. Please don't hit
me, Sir, please!" she begged in desperation.

"Shut up, slut," he said grimly. "Take your punishment like the disobedient, bad
mannered cunt you are and I might let you see tomorrow. I'm gonna strap you
three times with my belt, and you're going to count each one off. Are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," said Sarah, wishing with all her heart she hadn't been so foolish.

The belting began. Sarah heard the swish of his belt through the air the spilt
second before she felt its impact. The first blow licked across her ass and sent
red-hot pain burning through her body. Yelping in pain, Sarah tried to wriggle
away but she was bound tightly, there was nowhere for her to go.

"Count," he demanded, steel in his voice.

"One," gulped Sarah, her throat thick with tears.

The belt struck again, striping her ass with fire as the leather bit into her
soft skin. He hit her in exactly the same spot as he did before, layering stripe
on stripe. "Two," moaned Sarah. The pain was fierce and exquisite - she could
barely breathe. Red heat turned to white-hot agony as the final blow landed,
dead on target.

"Three," screamed Sarah, pushed almost to breaking point. "Please stop, please,
please stop. I'll do anything you want, but please don't belt me anymore!"
Sobbing, she desperately wanted to rub the rawness of her ass but she was tied
tight and couldn't move a muscle.

Howling, she thrashed on the table as S brought his hand down on her ass with a
brutal spank. The sound of flesh on damaged flesh ricocheted through the room as
he spanked Sarah's ass over and over again with heavy blows, tormenting the
helpless woman before him. Her skin throbbed and burned; the pain of the belting
and now the spanking was almost more than she could bear. S finished the
spanking with a couple of stingingly hard smacks, then suddenly thrust two of
his fingers between her legs, deep inside her cunt.

Then, she shuddered as he poured cold water from one of the bottles over her hot
ass, the water washing over her heated skin and trickling down between her legs.
"Never speak to me like that again. Are we clear?" he asked, his fingers still
buried inside her.

"Yes, Sir," sobbed Sarah helplessly. For Sarah, the humiliation was much worse
than the pain of the belt and his spanks, or the violation of his fingers.

Withdrawing his fingers from her cunt, he walked around the so she could see
him. "Your pleas mean nothing to me, your obedience is everything. Good behavior
will be rewarded; unacceptable behaviour will be punished. It's that simple. Do
you deserve a drink?"

"Yes, Sir, if it pleases you, Sir," whispered Sarah, hoping her punishment was
over at last.

"We'll see if it pleases me," he replied, picking up the bottle of water from
where it lay on the ground. He'd poured most of it over her ass but there was
still a bit left on the bottom. Moving behind her again, Sarah groaned when she
felt him drag the neck of the bottle down the length of her pink cunt lips. The
glass was cold and hard. She wondered what he was doing.

Using the fingers of one hand, he spread her pussy apart so her slit was open
and exposed. Then, in one swift, brutal movement, he inserted the neck of the
glass bottle deep inside her cunt. Cringing, Sarah heard the shocked intake of
breath from Rob and Karen as they watched in disbelief, and the appreciative
laughs of S's friends as the bottle sank into her body. She squirmed on the
table in an effort to free herself, but the flat of S's hand smacked down on her
used ass, stopping her. "I told you not to move, bitch. Just lie there while I
fuck you with this bottle like the slut you are."

Sarah obeyed as he humiliated her in front of his audience, rolling the bottle
around inside her as he spanked her once again, but not as harshly this time. It
was more of a rhythmic, measured spanking, and the sensations were different
than before. To her shame, Sarah realised she was almost enjoying the joint deep
penetration and spanking!

A reluctant moan escaped her as S pushed the bottle deeper inside her. First the
neck and then the body slipped into her pussy, so deep that it hit her cervix,
causing her to wince a little in pleasurable discomfort. And still he spanked
her, over and over again as he fucked her shamelessly. A blush crept across her
face as her captor laughed softly when he pulled the bottle from her cunt. It
was coated with her pussy juices - the evidence of her pleasure was plain for
all to see.

"Such a fucking slut," he said, coming around to the front of the table. "Untie
her," he said to one of his mates, who hurried to do his bidding. Sarah sighed
in relied as her aching arms and legs were freed, but she dared not move into a
more comfortable position until S allowed her.

"Sit up, bitch," he ordered. "Up on the table top, knees bent, legs open. Show
your cunt to your friends."

Sarah hung her head in shame as she followed his instructions. She sat in the
middle of the table with her legs wide apart, her wet pussy betraying her in
front of everyone.

S burrowed though one of the bags on the floor. He selected a large orange
carrot and a ripe banana and placed them on the table next to her. "Still
hungry? Which would you like to eat? You choose," he said mildly, fixing her
with a steely stare.

Sarah didn't know what to say, this was most unexpected and she was unsure where
he was going with this. Erring on the side of caution, she chose the carrot; it
was the closest thing to her. "I choose this, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

"Shove it in your cunt."

Sarah stared at him, eyes wide. "Pardon, Sir?" she choked in disbelief.

"You heard. Shove it in your cunt. All the way, as far as it will go. Big end
first. Quickly, before I do it for you. You won't like that, I can assure you."

Sarah knew he meant business. She briefly considered begging for respite, but
realised it would make no difference. Hesitantly, she picked up the carrot and
pressed the carrot against her pussy. It slid inside her easily; her cunt was
wet although her shame and humiliation was plain to see. The other men crowded
around the table for a better look at her as she pushed the carrot between her
splayed legs, deeper and deeper until just the bottom of it could be seen
protruding from her slit.

S offered her the bottle, the neck still glistening with her juices. "Drink," he
commanded.

Sarah looked at him in horror. She couldn't drink from the very bottle he just
fucked her with! "Uh, no thanks, Sir," she whispered, unable to meet his eyes.
The carrot was still embedded in her cunt; there was not much left of her
dignity to strip but this was too much.

"Fucking drink it," he said quietly, pulling her head up by her hair so she was
forced to look at him. "Do it now."

Face burning, Sarah took the bottle from him and raised it to her mouth. She
tipped the bottle up and felt the cool water slide down her dry throat. Sarah
was careful to avoid the bottle actually touching her lips - she didn't want to
taste herself if she could help it. Finishing the water, she handed the bottle
back to S.

"Lick yourself off it, slut," he said, refusing to take it. "Lick the bottle
clean, and do it properly."

Defeated and humiliated, Sarah did as she was told. Hesitantly, she flicked her
pink tongue over the glass, swallowing her own juices as instructed. She gasped
as he tugged the bottom of the carrot that was just visible in her cunt and
jerked her hips as if to stop him. S smiled cruelly at her as she did so,
reveling in her degradation. "You're loving it, slut. Don't pretend otherwise."

Closing her eyes, Sarah finished licking herself from the bottle and moaned as S
pulled the carrot from her moist cunt. It made a sucking noise as he withdrew it
from her body and he held it up for everyone to see. "Look, it's dripping with
her sluttishness. I knew she was loving this." Taking the bottle from her, he
handed her the carrot instead. "You know what to do, bitch. Don't disappoint
me."

Sarah knew exactly what he expected. Feeling strangely empty and frustrated, she
licked juices from the carrot, then ate it, legs still spread wide. For now, her
punishing humiliation was complete.

Submitted with love and thanks to Sir, my inspiration :)

Part Four

Sarah awoke suddenly, her skin pricking with goose flesh. Shivering, she
gathered her thin blanket around her as she lay there quietly for a few seconds,
trying to work out what had woken her. A small oil lamp was glowing in the far
corner of the room, but it didn't cast much light and it was difficult to see
clearly. Ears straining, she heard muffled noises from the far corner of the
room and wondered what was happening.

Sarah knew the leader wasn't around - after humiliating her on the table
earlier, he'd conducted a whispered conference with his sidekicks and left the
hut shortly thereafter. He hadn't returned by the time they bedded down for the
night. Sarah wondered where he was, but she was grateful he wasn't around to
torment her. Blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she let out an
involuntary gasp at what she saw. The thugs had Karen! Careful not to draw
attention to herself, she craned her neck in an attempt to see what was going
on.

Karen was naked and on her knees in front of the two men with her hands bound
behind her back. She was gagged with what looked like a dirty old rag and she
was shaking visibly with fear. Sarah felt sorry for her; she knew Karen was
terrified of the men. She wondered where Rob was, and looked around for him.
Surely he would have tried to protect his girlfriend? But she couldn't spot him
anywhere - what was going on? Karen's muffled sobs refocused her attention on
the corner of the hut.

"You'll do as you're told, is that clear, you little bitch?" one of the men
hissed as Karen cowered before them. Unable to answer him through the gag, Karen
nodded her head, her eyes rolling in fear.

Sarah was certain the men shouldn't be doing this. In the time they'd been in
the hut, the only one of them that had punished or assaulted she and her
companions was the leader, the man she called Sir. The other men didn't get a
look in. But with S gone, Sarah supposed the thugs had seized the opportunity to
have a little fun of their own and, much as she felt sorry for Karen, she was
glad it wasn't her.

Sarah watched as one of the men ripped Karen's gag off. A piercing scream ripped
through the room and Sarah winced as the thug slapped Karen viciously across the
face, snapping her head back with the force of the blow. "Scream as loud as you
want, slut," he sneered. "There's no one to hear you apart from your filthy
friend over there in the corner. And your boyfriend's no good to you now, not
since we took care of him."

Sarah wondered again what they'd done with Rob. Casting a glance toward the
door, she spotted drag marks on the floor coupled with fresh bloodstains. Had
they killed him? Or just knocked him unconscious? At any rate, he was no longer
in the room.

Unzipping his pants so that his hard cock sprang free, one of the men grabbed
Karen by the hair and forced her head into his groin. "Suck it, cunt," he
grunted as Karen shook her head violently, refusing to open her mouth. Tears
rolled down her face as she struggled against him. She was strong in resistance
and slipped from his grasp as he fumbled with her. Momentarily free, Karen
scrabbled wildly on the floor in an effort to put some distance between her and
her captors but her hands were still bound and she couldn't go very far.

The thug kicked out at her in frustration - getting this bitch to suck his cock
wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. The situation was getting out of hand
rapidly, and he was conscious he looked like an idiot in front of his companion.
The kick caught her a glancing blow in the side and Karen let out a soft woomf
as she lay breathless and winded on the hard ground.

"For fuck's sake, let me handle this," the other guy snapped. Reaching down, he
picked the winded girl up under her arms and shook her so violently her teeth
rattled in her head. "Let's try this again," he said, dropping her back on her
knees. Dazed and still a little winded, Karen whimpered as he tangled his hand
in her hair, forcing her head toward his crotch. "Open up, bitch," he snarled,
rubbing his hard cock over her lips.

Turning her head away in an effort to escape the oral assault, Karen refused yet
again to open her mouth. Laughing cruelly, her tormentor pinched her nostrils
together, cramming his cock into her mouth in one swift movement as she gasped
for air. The man held Karen's face firmly in his hands and forced himself
further into her mouth as she spluttering and choked. Saliva ran down her cheeks
as he ruthlessly fucked her face, jerking his hips back and forth as he thrust
deeper into her throat.

Coming around behind her, the second thug reached down and twisted Karen's
nipples in an act of vicious revenge as she continued to suck his friend's cock.
Moaning in shock and pain, Karen bit down in a reflex action on the hardness
invading her mouth, her teeth slicing through the sensitive flesh like a hot
knife through butter.

Howling in pain, her captor stumbled backward, wrenching himself from Karen's
mouth. He collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony, blood pouring from the bite
marks on his cock. His friend, whose rash actions caused the disaster, rounded
on Karen in a fit of rage. "Look what the fuck you've done, you stupid pig!" he
shouted, kicking her to the floor. "You fucking cunt, look what you've done!" As
she fell, Karen's head knocked against the floor, rendering her unconscious. But
the thug didn't notice, and raised his hand to hit her. As he was about to
strike, he was stopped by a quiet, menacing voice that echoed through the room.

"What the fuck is going on in here?"

Sarah's heart leapt into her throat; it was S, he was back! She watched
wide-eyed as he stalked across the room, his face dark with anger. The thug
lowered his hand slowly as he stared at the leader sulkily. The other guy was
crying softly on the floor, cradling his injured, bleeding cock in his hands.

"I asked you a question. What the hell happened? I leave you fuckers on watch
for a few hours, and all hell breaks loose. What did you do to the guy outside?
What are you doing with her? And what the fuck happened to him?" he demanded,
nudging the injured man on the ground with the toe of his boot. "Where's Sarah?"
he added, peering around the gloomy room. Aware his leader was not in the best
of moods, the thug remained silent, a sullen expression on his face.

Spotting Sarah huddling in her blanket, S walked over to her. "Don't move," he
commanded over his shoulder to the men. Crouching before her, he searched
Sarah's frightened green eyes with his cold, blue ones. "What happened?" he
asked. "Tell me the truth. Don't lie to me," he warned. Sarah thought
frantically for a moment. If she ratted on his men, would they seek revenge on
her later? Perhaps when S left the hut again? She didn't know what to say.

"I'm waiting, Sarah," S said, impatiently. "Don't make me force it out of you."
There was a warning note in his voice, and Sarah knew she'd have to tell him. In
the end, she was more afraid of the consequences of disobeying him than she was
of the consequences of dobbing in his mates. In a small voice, she described
what she'd seen, how the men had abused Karen, and how Karen had bitten the
thug's cock when the other one had twisted her nipples. "But she didn't mean it,
really, she didn't," finished Sarah, desperate to protect her friend.

"And Rob? What happened to him? Why is he outside?"

"I don't know, Sir," replied Sarah, truthfully. "He was gone when I awoke, I
didn't see what they did him."

"Did they touch you?"

"Uh, no Sir," said Sarah.

Turning back to his men, S said "Is what she told me true?"

The uninjured man nodded sulkily. "Pretty much. We just wanted a little fun, is
all. We weren't gonna hurt her, not really. But we had to get her boyfriend out
the way first, we just gave him a little tap and dragged him outside. He's not
dead or anything."

"You stupid fuckers," S snapped. "You've fucked everything up. I fucking told
you not to touch any of them, didn't I? I should never have hired you cunts in
the first place." Even from a distance, Sarah could hear the controlled anger in
his voice, and cringed. What was going to happen to them all now?

Pulling his gun from the waistband of his pants, S thought for a moment, then
barked, "You, get down on the floor next to him. Do it now, before I change my
mind and shoot the pair of you." He waved the thug down with the butt of his gun
and than man scrambled to do his bidding, knowing S would make good on his
threat if he didn't.

Settling down next to his injured friend, he looked fearfully up at their leader
as S got the rope he had previously used to tie Sarah with. Working quickly, S
bound the two men together with their hands behind their backs, then bound their
feet.

"Wha..." started one of the bound men in surprise, but a harsh glare from S shut
him up.

S cocked his gun and aimed it at the men. "One more word, and the both of you
are dead. In fact, I think I'll gag the pair of you. I'm sick of the noise." And
he did just that.

Crossing to Karen, S nudged her with his foot. She was still out for the count.
S dragged her over where Sarah was crouched, and covered her with a blanket.
Untying her arms, he made her as comfortable as he could. Then, he went outside
and dragged the still unconscious Rob back into the hut. Blood oozed from a
nasty gash on Rob's head, and Sarah assumed he'd been pistol-whipped. He lay him
next to Sarah, and covered them both with a blanket. Then, he moved around the
hut, gathering ropes and other items and stuffed them into his rucksack.

Sarah wondered if maybe he was going to kill them all. But, if that were the
case, why would he have tried to make Karen and Rob more comfortable? Screwing
up all her courage, Sarah decided to ask him.

"Sir?" asked Sarah, timidly. "Uh, may I ask what you're doing?"

S stopped what he was doing and fixed Sarah with a steely glare. "I'm leaving,"
he said, and resumed packing.

"But, Sir? What about us?" asked Sarah, her eyes welling with tears. She didn't
want to be left alone with the two men, incapacitated though they were. And if S
took the boat, they'd surely die on the island before anyone found them.

S crossed the room and crouched before Sarah.

"What makes you think I give a fuck about any of you?" he said, in a cold,
measured tone.

Sarah started crying. She couldn't help it, she'd been through so much and all
she wanted to do was go home. There seemed to be little chance of that now. Even
more surprisingly, she realised she didn't want S to leave. Why that was, she
didn't know. S watched her silently as her face crumpled and the tears rolled
down her face.

"Okay," he said. "I'm going to ask you a question. It's your first and only
chance, and you must answer yes or no. I won't enter into any discussion, nor
tolerate any questions. Before I ask you that question, do I make myself clear?"

Sarah thought for a moment, then nodded quickly.

S tipped her face up to his with a finger under his chin. Sarah shivered as his
eyes bored into hers. "You're really quite beautiful," he murmured. "Big eyes,
full lips, pale skin. Such soft, pale skin." He traced a finger down her cheek
and across her lips as he spoke, sending shivers down Sarah's spine. In spite of
herself, Sarah moaned gently, her lips parted as he caressed her. "Such a slut,"
he whispered. Then, he slapped Sarah's face with a stinging open-handed blow,
her cheek blushing angrily where he'd struck her. Sarah stared at him, stunned.

"You have a choice," he said quietly. You can either stay here with the rest of
these idiots, or you can come back to the mainland with me. If you come with me,
you will do as I tell you. You will be my slut, you will be my slave, and you
will cater to my every wish. You will do what you're told, when you're told. You
will behave. You will not try to escape, and you will not fuck things up for me.
If you do, I will kill you. So, that's your choice. Do you want to come with
me?"

An air of expectant silence hung over the room as S waited for Sarah's response.
Sarah wrestled with the question inside her head. Where would he take her? What
would he do with her? Would he let her go home? What did he mean about the slut
part? The slave part? She was confused, but as much as she didn't know what to
do, she knew she didn't want to stay in the hut. If she left with him, she had a
chance to escape once they were back on the mainland. If she stayed here, she
would surely die.

"Yes," whispered Sarah, at last. "Yes, I want to come with you."

Upon hearing her response, something flared deep in S' eyes as he looked down at
Sarah. "You're mine, now, bitch," he said softly. "Mine to own and control and
use as and when I see fit. You're mine. Don't make me regret taking you. Let's
go."

Part Five

When Sarah awoke, sun was filtering into the room through timber blinds covering
a large window. She lay quietly for a moment while she attempted to get her
bearings, then retched as waves of nausea washed over her. Her stomach heaving,
she tried valiantly to hold back the rising bile, looking around wildly for
something, anything to be sick in. Spotting a bucket beside the bed, she groped
blindly for it, then groaned as she gave into the feelings of nausea.

Minutes later, after expelling the contents of her stomach into the red plastic,
she lay back on the pillow gingerly and wiped strands of hair from her damp
forehead. Slowly, the events of the past hours trickled into her consciousness.
After telling Sir she wanted to leave the island with him, he had wasted no
time. He finished packing his things, then pulled Sarah to her feet.

"Hands behind your back!" he snapped, then bound her wrists together with a
length of rope.

"I agreed to come with you, you don't have to tie my hands," she complained.

Jerking her around to face him, S loomed over her. "Shut up, slut," he said,
grimly. "I don't give a fuck if you agreed to come with me. If I decide you need
to be tied, you'll be tied. You'll do what I want. Are we clear?"

Sarah bristled with annoyance, but kept quiet. She wasn't willing to rock the
boat at this stage in proceedings, not with the chance of freedom so
tantalizingly close.

"I said, are we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," replied Sarah obediently.

"Good. Now, move." S pushed her roughly towards the door, and she stumbled a
little as she tripped over her feet.

"But, Sir?"

"What?" he barked, impatiently. "You're starting to piss me off, and you don't
want to do that."

"Uh, what about Rob and Karen? And John, wherever he is? What about him?"

"I don't give a fuck about them. And unless you move your fucking ass out that
door right now, I'll leave you to rot here with them. Now, shut up and move!"

Sarah shut up and went. Much as she hated to leave her companions, she didn't
want to be left on the island.

It was still dark when they left the hut but as they picked their way down to
the beach, the first rays of morning light began to brighten the eastern sky.
Sarah caught glimpses of the ocean through the trees, and watched as the rising
sun cast glints off the rolling surf. "Look, Sir," she said, spontaneously.
"Isn't it beautiful? The sunrise and the ocean?"

They stopped momentarily on a small rise watching as the sun rose over the
water. "It is indeed beautiful," he replied, absently. Then, he shook himself
and pushed her on. "Hurry up. We haven't got much time."

They reached the beach. Sarah saw a small boat had been dragged up on to the
sand, and presumed that was their ticket off the island. They made their way
over to it, then S threw his pack into the boat and pushed it out into the
shallows. Clambering into it, he beckoned to her impatiently as she lingered
ankle deep in the water, enjoying the cool relief of the waves lapping over her
sore, tired feet. "Come on," he snapped, helping her as she climbed awkwardly
into the craft. It was difficult with her hands tied, but she managed at last.

As S started the outboard, Sarah wriggled around as she tried to get
comfortable. From when the little group had been dropped on the island a few
days previously, she remembered the journey back to the mainland took an hour or
so, but S' boat was much smaller. Her heart fluttered as she thought about
getting back, and maybe an opportunity for escape! As they moved through the
water, she dreamed of seeing her home again, and her friends and family.

Suddenly, S cut the engines, the sudden silence shaking her from her reverie.
She watched S warily as he rummaged through his pack, though she knew better
than to ask what he was doing. Pulling a bottle of something from the bag and a
bit of cloth, he shuffled over to Sarah, crablike fashion.

Unscrewing the cap from the bottle, he doused the rag with the contents. "I'm
going to knock you out," he told her. "I can't take the risk of you fucking
things up for me. We can do it the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. It's
really up to you, but if you choose the hard way, you'll end up fish food."

Sarah opened her mouth to protest, but the last thing she saw was S' hand
descending over her face, covering her nose with the damp cloth. Despite his
fish food threat, Sarah struggled briefly, then succumbed helplessly to the
darkness that flooded over her.

S watched as Sarah as she lost consciousness, catching her as she slipped gently
off the seat. Positioning her on the bottom of the boat so that she wouldn't
choke if she vomited, he started the engine again and headed for the mainland.

And that was all Sarah remembered. As for where she was - well, she had no clue.
Was this S' house? It certainly wasn't a hospital, and she wasn't at home, so it
must be his place. But where was he? Swinging her legs carefully over the edge
of the bed, Sarah looked around curiously as she tried to decide what to do.

The room was furnished sparingly. Polished floorboards, but no rugs. There was
the queen size bed she was sitting on, and two nightstands with lamps. A glass
of water stood on one of the tables and Sarah gulped the liquid greedily,
anxious to wash the taste of vomit from her mouth. Mirrored built in robes
covered one side of the room, and large windows ran down the opposite side.
There were no other furnishings, save for a laundry hamper in the corner.
Wondering what the time was, Sarah realised there wasn't even a clock. It was
daytime, at any rate. Though the blinds were closed, Sarah peered through gaps
in the timber slats and fancied she saw water in the distance. Sniffing the air,
she detected a faint, salty tang and decided the house must be near the ocean.
Footsteps outside, then the bedroom door opened.

"You're awake, I see," said Sir, entering the room.

Sarah looked at him in surprise. In the hut on the island, all she'd seen him
wear were the khaki pants and black t-shirt but now he was dressed in old blue
jeans and a white open necked polo shirt. No knife, no gun. He'd obviously
showered and shaved and he looked different, far removed from the thug who'd
treated her so callously and brutally.

"I only woke up a few minutes ago," she replied. "Uh... I was sick. In the
bucket," she said, apologetically.

"Yeah, chloroform tends to do that."

S leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded. They watched each other silently for
a long moment, sizing each other up.

"Stand up and take your clothes off." The command was quiet, but harsh.

Sarah flushed, suddenly uncertain. Dressed as he was, he looked less menacing
now than he did on the island. And he didn't have his gun or his knife, either.
Feeling she was on safer ground here than she had been on the island, she
decided to ignore his instruction.

"Actually," she said, I was hoping I could take a shower. I'm all dirty, and..."

S straightened up and walked purposefully towards Sarah. Flipping her onto her
stomach, Sarah wailed as S yanked down her torn and dirty shorts. Pinning her
down with one hand, he began spanking her ass sharply with his other hand. The
blows rained down, sending waves of raw heat licking up her spine and through
her body.

"Please, Sir, please stop! Please!" she begged, but to no avail.

S spanked Sarah relentlessly, coloring her pale skin an angry shade of pink,
then red, then crimson. Sarah squealed as bucked and thrashed beneath his hand,
but there was no relief. The sound of stinging slaps coupled with Sarah's sobs
reverberated through the room. Tossing her head in a struggle to escape the
onslaught, she suddenly caught sight of her reflection in the mirrored wall, her
hair wild and tangled, her face streaked with tears, her breasts spilling out of
her flimsy t-shirt. She watched blindly as S raised his hand again and again,
striking her ass with grim determination as he disciplined her. Their eyes met
in the mirror and he spanked her harder still, watching Sarah as her body arched
and twisted in response, her hot ass flesh rippling as each spank bit into her
delicate skin.

Finally, he stopped. Sarah groaned in relief as she reached around to rub her
damaged cheeks.

"Don't," snapped Sir.

Sarah moaned piteously, but she obeyed his instruction and just lay there on the
bed, still gulping back sobs. Slowly, she regained control of herself, her
ragged breathing slowing, then normalizing as the pain and heat of the spanking
subsided.

"Sit up and face me."

Sarah complied, wincing as her raw ass made contact with the cotton sheets.

S closed his hands around Sarah's neck. Sarah gasped for air as he squeezed her
throat tighter, then tighter again, her face turning white, then red as her eyes
bulged in her head as she struggled to draw breath. His grip grew tighter still
and she struggled in panic as she clawed at his hands with her fingernails in
desperation.

"Never forget who's in charge here," he snarled, releasing her suddenly. Sarah
fell back on the bed as she gulped for breath, sobbing as the air streamed down
her bruised throat and flooded into her starving lungs. Sarah realised nothing
had changed at all; S was as in control as ever, island or no island, gun or no
gun.

"There's a bathroom across the hall," he said, seemingly unconcerned with her
breathless torment and bruised flesh. "You've got 45 minutes to clean yourself
up. I suggest you do a good job, because we're going out. Laughing, he turned
and left the room.

Sarah remained on the bed for a moment, rubbing her injured throat. Going out?
Where were they going? What would she wear? Her clothes were torn and dirty and
her only shoes were a pair of flimsy beach sandals. All she had with her that
was hers was in the day pack she'd originally taken to the island. Mentally,
Sarah ticked off what she had. Her purse, some makeup, a bikini and a sarong. A
towel, and a book. Sunscreen and her camera. There was certainly no change of
clothes amongst her meager possessions, she thought despairingly. She didn't
even have her hairdryer! Smiling in spite of herself, she supposed that was the
least of her worries.

Miserably, she made her way to the bathroom. Stepping gingerly under the shower,
she sighed with pleasure as the cool spray doused her reddened bottom. The water
felt good as she soaped away the dirt and grime of the past twenty-four hours.
As she washed herself, she realised she hadn't bathed since the day on the
beach. Then, conscious of the time, she forced herself out of the shower and
dried herself with a thick white towel that was folded neatly over the rail.
Wincing as she did, she noticed the bruises and scratches inflicted on her over
the past few days were less livid, but still noticeable. Sarah also saw that
fine, stubbly hair was sprouting on her pussy. It itched a little, and she
scratched herself gently as she wondered if he'd shave her again.

When she was dry, she toweled her hair and ran her comb through it. Fishing
around in her pack, she assembled her little collection of cosmetics and applied
tinted moisturizer, mascara, and decided to go with the red, rather than pink,
lip-gloss. Then, a quick dab of powder on her nose courtesy of her compact, and
she checked her reflection in the mirror. Fluffing her curls with her fingers,
she twisted and turned in front of the vanity, silently bemoaning the lack of
styling products or a hairdryer. Did she look okay? Sighing, she decided she'd
done the best she could given the circumstances, then briefly wondered why she
cared anyway. After all, she had no one to impress, but she realised didn't want
to displease S. Her only problem now, she thought, was the fact she was still
naked. Wrapping the damp towel around her, she decided to find S, and ask him
what she should wear.

She didn't have to look very far. When she came out of the bathroom, he was
lounging on the bed in a cat-like fashion. He looked her up and down as she
entered the room.

"Lose the towel."

Feeling self conscious, Sarah blushed as the towel dropped to the ground.
Standing naked before him, she felt his eyes rake over her.

"Ummm...Sir?"

"What?"

"Uh, I don't have anything to wear, Sir."

"And?"

"Well, it's just that you said we were going out, and I just don't have anything
to wear, that's all," she stammered, shuffling her feet in embarrassment.

"Ah," he sighed, almost sympathetically, Sarah thought.

"The ultimate female complaint. I haven't got a thing to wear. Only, in this
case, it's true, isn't it, slut?" S raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

Sarah realized he was mocking her, that he wasn't sympathetic at all.

"Yes, Sir, it's true, Sir," she whispered.

"Dear me," he replied. "Whatever shall we do?"

He pretended to think for a moment.

"Well, slut, as luck would have it, I may have the very solution to your problem
over there in that closet. Why don't you go see?"

Sarah looked at him uncertainly, then went to the closet and slid back the
mirrored panel. A small pile of clothes was folded neatly on one of the shelves.

"Get dressed."

Sarah unfolded an impossibly short black lycra skirt. Holding it up, she stared
doubtfully at it.

"I don't think it'll fit me," she said in a small voice.

S clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Fucking do it, before I lose my patience and
make you go out naked!"

Sarah wriggled into the skirt, S watching with an eagle eye. The skirt hugged
her plump bottom, and barely reached mid thigh. Sarah knew that if she bent
over, it would ride up and expose her ass to the world. Reaching into the closet
again, she pulled out a red sparkly halter neck top, which also appeared to be
too small for her. Sarah hated it on sight. She turned and looked at S.

"This will look weird, cos my bra straps will show. Shall I just wear my other
top?" she asked, hopefully.

"I don't think so," he replied. "In fact, I don't think you need a bra at all."

"But, Sir," she wailed, "my boobs are too big to go without..."

"I really don't want to hear it, slut. Hurry up and get dressed!"

Sarah slipped the top over her head, crimson with embarrassment. Smoothing her
hair, she saw her reflection in the mirror and cringed. Her large breasts swayed
underneath the flimsy material, her nipples clearly outlined. The skirt clung to
her curves, accentuating her ass. There were no panties in the pile, and she
decided not to ask for any. She looked like a cheap hooker, she would never
dream of wearing such clothes normally!

"What a whore," sneered S. "You look like a tramp, don't you?" he snapped.

"Yes Sir," mumbled Sarah, because she did. She was ashamed to be wearing seen in
such clothes.

"I don't have any shoes for you to wear, so you'll have to wear your sandals."

Sarah slipped the shoes on her feet, then stood in front of S, unsure what to do
next.

"Right," he said. "We're ready. But I'll warn you now - you'll behave when we're
out, or suffer the consequences. As of now, you won't speak unless you're spoken
to. You will not try to escape. You will do as you're told. Are we clear?"

Sarah nodded in agreement, wide eyed.

Pulling a black scarf from his pocket, S got up from the bed and came around
behind Sarah. Slipping it over her face, he blindfolded her before she realised
what he was doing. By now, though, Sarah was used to such things, and didn't
protest. Anyway, she supposed it was better than a faceful of chloroform. Then,
leading her through the house and out the door, S helped her into the car, and
they were on their way.

They didn't speak for the duration of the journey. Sarah hoped S would turn the
radio on so she could at least get some idea of what town she was in. But he
didn't oblige, and she dared not ask. She could hear the sounds of the outside
world rushing by, and her stomach turned with excitement at the thought she
might soon be able to be free at last. She'd decided she'd try to escape, if
given the chance.

At last, they arrived at their destination. Turning off the engine, S reached
over and removed Sarah's blindfold. Sarah blinked stupidly against the bright
sunlight. A puzzled look flitted across her face as she saw where they were. A
tattoo parlor? Confused, she looked at S.

"You're getting a tattoo?" she asked, forgetting she'd been told not to speak.
Amused at her confusion, S decided to let it slide.

"Nope," he snickered. "YOU are!"


Part 6

Sarah stared at S in horror, her lips forming a perfect, round O of shock and
disbelief. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, surely he was joking? He
was going to get her tattooed?

"But...but... Sir," she stammered, "What do you mean? Surely you can't be
serious?"

"Oh, I'm serious. In fact, I haven't been this serious for a while. Apart from
when I told you not to speak unless spoken to, of course. I was serious then, as
well."

Sarah recognised the harsh edge in Sir's voice and knew he meant what he said.
She fell back in the seat, her stomach turning and her heart pounding. She hated
needles; she had never been able to stand them. How would she cope with a
tattoo? Shivering, she looked at the parlor with apprehension mixed with fear.
Opening her mouth to speak, she caught the warning look in S' ice blue eyes and
thought better of it.

"Out," he snapped, disengaging the central locking.

Sarah opened the door and climbed out of the car. Her legs were trembling and
she felt lightheaded. Looking around, she thought briefly of making a dash for
freedom but S was at her side before she knew it, catching her elbow with a
tight grip.

"Don't even think about it," he warned, quietly.

A bell on the shop door rang as S lead her into the parlor. Despite herself,
Sarah looked around in fascination. Always of the opinion that tattoos had no
place on a female body, she'd never been near a tattoo shop, let alone been
inside one.

The parlor was just one big room, and the walls were covered from floor to
ceiling with designs and drawings. More designs and drawings were contained in
large, freestanding flip folders. A little corner of the back of the room was
curtained off, and Sarah could see table legs, similar to those of tables found
in doctors' surgeries. But the thing that caught Sarah's attention was the four
workstations set up in the center if the room. Three of them were in use -
people were being tattooed right there in front of anyone who cared to look!

Sarah watched as one of the tattooists worked carefully on the bared upper arm
of a bearded, beefy man. The design was intricate - some sort of dragon, Sarah
thought. At the second station, a woman with long hair was sitting bent forward
on a gurney, her head buried in her hands as the tattooist worked on a rose on
her hip. Another man was seated at the third station, poring over an album
filled with yet more drawings. He and the tattooist were discussing what he
should have inked on his chest.

Three more people were sitting in a little waiting area that was directly
opposite the workstations. Sarah reddened as one of the waiting men looked her
up and down appreciatively. He grinned at her through broken teeth and tattooed
lips. Shuddering in revulsion and feeling very self-conscious, Sarah jerked her
tiny skirt down in a futile effort to cover herself up a little more. She was
aware of her breasts rubbing full and heavy beneath the sparkly red material and
wished she was wearing something that wasn't so slutty. The man nudged his
friend, and both of them leered.

"Hey, how's it going!"

Sarah saw a tall, thin, tattooed man walking towards she and S.

"This the chick you told me about?"

Sarah cringed behind S as both men turned to look at her. Evidently, this man
and S knew each other.

"Yep, sure is," said S. "You can fit us in, right?"

"Oh, I think so," he replied. "It's just a small one, so it shouldn't be a
problem. Twenty minutes max, and she's done."

"Good stuff," said S, hauling Sarah out from behind him.

Sarah shook with fear as he gripped her jaw with his hand and forced her to look
up at him.

"Go with Wes. Do as you're told. I'll be watching you. Do not disappoint me. Are
we clear?"

"Yes, Sir," she whispered, her face pale.

Wes walked over to the fourth work station. Pushing a gurney out of the way, he
pulled over a backless chair and positioned it in front of his chair. He looked
at Sarah and patted the backless seat.

"Just here, thanks. Hey, you got that design you wanted on you?"

S pushed Sarah over to the chair, and pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of
his jeans.

"This is it, I want it right in the small of her back."

Wes took the paper and studied it.

"Okay, I can do that no problems. I'll just go make up the template, then I'll
stick it on her back and you can take a look before I start."

As Wes walked off, Sarah sat on the seat, then looked up at S.
"Please don't make me do this," she begged, her voice quavering. "Please, Sir,
I'm terrified of needles, it's going to hurt!" Tears formed in her eyes as she
spoke.

"It'll only take a minute, you'll get over it."

"But what are you getting done to me?" wailed Sarah, a note of hysteria in her
voice.

"Stop whining, I don't want to hear your fucking voice! You know what you agreed
to do when I took you with me, remember? What did I tell you are?"

"A slut, Sir."

"Correct. Whose slut?"

"Yours, Sir."

"Right again. Mine. And I'll do what I want with you, yes?"

"Yes, Sir," Sarah whimpered.

"We understand each other, then. But one more word from you, and it's a one way
trip back to the island!"

Sarah hunched miserably on the chair, shaking and shivering. She was truly
scared, she thought she was going to be ill. She noticed the waiting men waiting
were watching and listening to the exchange with interest and she looked away,
unwilling to meet their eyes.

Wes returned, and came around behind her.

"Right, you need to stand up for me, nice and straight, while I position this on
your back, okay? I'll need to adjust your clothes, too."

Sarah looked over to Sir, who nodded encouragingly. Sarah did as she was told,
her legs trembling as she tried valiantly to control herself.

Wes raised her top half way up her back and then pulled her skirt down low on
her hips, exposing her lower back.

"Nice and straight, now," he said, sticking something in the small of her back,
just above her ass crack. Moving it around a little, he fiddled for a moment,
then stepped back to view his efforts.

"This okay?" he asked S. "Turn around and show him."

Sarah turned around slowly and presented her back to the room.

"Yep, that's great," he smirked.

"Go bigger, sweetheart!" called one of the watching men and Sarah cringed. She
didn't want a tattoo at all, especially not a big one!

"Alrighty," said Wes. "Have a seat. I need you to bend from the waist, and lean
forward. Here, put these in your lap and rest your arms on them, you'll be more
comfortable."

He handed Sarah a couple of folded towels.

Sarah folded her arms across her chest and buried her head in the towels on her
lap. Then she heard the buzzing of Wes' instrument and adrenaline coursed into
her bloodstream as blind panic swamped her. She sat up, certain she couldn't go
through with it.

"May I see it?" she asked, twisting around to see what Wes was holding.

S stepped toward her, and Sarah caught his movement out of the corner of her
eye.

"Please, Sir," she begged. "I just need to see it, and I'll be okay. Please?"

S thought for a moment, then nodded.

Sarah turned back to Wes, and looked closely at the stainless steel implement
whirring in his hand.

"See?" he said, showing her. "Nothing to it."

"Will it hurt?" she asked, lip trembling. "How long will it take?"

"It might hurt a bit, but lots of people get it done, so it can't be that bad.
Have you ever had children?"

Sarah shook her head.

"I was going to say the pain isn't as bad as childbirth! Okay, have you ever had
a bad sunburn?"

Sarah nodded.

"Well, it's a bit like that. It stings a bit, and might burn a little. But it's
not so bad, the outline is the worst part and we'll get that over and done with
as quick as we can. All right?"

Sarah nodded doubtfully, her lip still trembling.

"Down you go, then, and you have to try not to move. If you do, I'll mess it up
and you'll be stuck with it. And you Lord and Master won't be pleased.
Understand?"

Sarah nodded again, and bent over the towels once more. She felt beads of sweat
popping on her forehead as the sound of the tool, buzzing like an angry hornet,
filled her ears. Closing her eyes tightly, she felt every muscle in her body
tense as she waited for what seemed like an age for Wes to begin.

"Okay, hold still, and try to relax," the tattooist said, going to work.

Sarah gritted her teeth as she felt the needle dance over her skin. Tears
squeezed from the corners of her eyes as he began to etch the outline on her
back. Willing herself to stay seated and as still as possible, Sarah moaned as
the stinging, burning sensations coursed through her. Sweat poured down her face
as Wes worked on her and she silently urged him on, willing him to finish as
soon as possible.

"Ow, ow, ow, OW" she cried, as the needle inked over her spine. She clenched her
jaw and succumbed to the pain, stars dancing behind her closed lids as she did
so. Remembering she wasn't supposed to move, she bit into the towels in her lap.
Sarah heard S' voice, as if from a great distance.

"S'okay, baby," he murmured, "You're doing well, he's nearly done with the
outline."

Sarah opened her eyes and saw S' shoes and jeans clad legs. She felt strangely
comforted, and relaxed a little.

"There," said Wes, straightening up.

"That's the outline done, now I just have to fill it in. Hold it for a sec."

Sarah remained where she was, but snaked a hesitant hand out and reached blindly
for S. He caught her small, clammy hand in his large, warm one and she gripped
it tightly. The buzzing began again, and the tattooist bent over her again,
filling in the design.

It seemed to Sarah to take forever, but she wasn't so scared now that she could
hold S' hand, and the pain wasn't as bad as before. Still, she'd just about
reached the end of her tether when finally, the buzzing stopped, and Wes put his
tattoo gun down with a clatter.

"All done, you can sit up. But slowly, you might be a little dizzy."

Sarah let go S' hand and straightened up cautiously. She wanted to rub her back,
but resisted the urge. Looking up, she saw S' watching her intently, his eyes
fixed on her face. She smiled a ghost of a smile as their eyes met.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

"No Sir, thank you, Sir."

"What for?"

"Um, for holding my hand, Sir," she said, softly.

"You did well, I'm proud of you."

Sarah felt her heart leap at his words, though she didn't know why she felt like
that. Giddy euphoria overcame her as she realised she'd actually done it! She'd
gone through with the tattoo, and what's more, S was proud of her! Suddenly, it
all seemed worth it.

"Stand up, let's see what it looks like."

Sarah stood slowly, and rolled her shoulders to ease some of the stiffness.
Turning, she showed her back to S, who whistled softly as he looked at her.

"You did a good job, looks great!" he said to Wes.

"Sir? May I see it? Please?"

S took her by the hand and led her over to a full-length mirror.

"Take a look," he said, watching her reaction.

Sarah looked at her reflection in the mirror, twisting around to get a clear
view.

"Oh!" she gasped, seeing her tattoo for the first time.

Two small Chinese characters were engraved in black in the center of the small
of her back, just above her plump bottom.

"What are they? Do they mean anything?"

"Figurative translation means 'woman under a Master's hand'. 'Slave' is the
literal translation."

"Oh," she said again, understanding dawning on her. He had marked her for life
with the word 'slave'. For the rest of her days, wherever she was, whatever she
did, who ever she did it with, she would bear his mark.

"It's what you are, isn't it? A slave? My slave?"

"Yes, Sir," replied Sarah, looking at her tattoo again.

"Yes, Sir, I am a slave. Your slave."

Next

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