The Island

The Island

by

Wild Rose

Part I: Awakening

A deep rooted instinct she couldn't explain, prompted her to listen to her surroundings before letting who ever know that she was awake, but at first all she could hear was the beating of her heart and her own blood rushing through her veins.

She consciously relaxed and extended her senses. When she was reasonably sure that she was alone wherever she was, she concentrated once again. A light breeze was moving some sort of curtain to her right, of a very light material, she presumed. The smell of fresh cut grass drifted to her nostrils and she could feel the sunlight caressing her skin, all of her skin.

All pretence gone, she abruptly opened her eyes, sat up, and instead of scanning the room she looked at her body. She was as naked as the day she was born and instinctively looked for something to cover herself with. The room, however, was empty except for a comfortable looking chair standing by the window and the bed she was sitting on. Short of ripping the sheet off the bed or tearing down the curtains, there was nothing she could use.

When tested, the door on the other side turned out to be locked, three times over, and the open window showed a wide view of green pastures and rolling hills on the horizon – and it was about 25 feet above the ground.

She leaned out as far as she dared to search for a way to climb down the façade and escape. Her hands instinctively gripped the window sill to keep her balance. That's when she became aware of the dark red leather bands around her wrists. They each had a metal ring fixed on the outside. She tried to tuck them off but the leather was as if fused to her skin and didn't move even a tenth of an inch. There was no buckle and no lock, no indication on how to take them off, not even a seam. She then turned her attention to the cuffs around her ankles but came up equally empty.

What by the Goddess was she doing here? Where was here? Why was she a prisoner? Was she really a prisoner?

Her right hand automatically went up to brush through her hair but it felt strange under her fingertips. She didn't know why but it definitively did not feel as it should. Before she was able to pinpoint the sensation; her fingers reached the base of her skull, and brushed over a metal band around her neck. She checked it out with both hands. It felt cool to the touch. It was round, about a half to three quarters of an inch thick and apparently solid. Once again she found no hint on how to take it off or how it had been put on in the first place. At least it had a lot more give than the wrist and ankle cuffs – a fact she didn't find comforting at all.

There was nothing she could do – and she hated waiting. So, she turned back to the window, wishing she was out there in the forested hills.

A key turned in the first lock and she secreted herself behind the curtain; the second lock was opened and she held her breath, mentally going over her chances to startle and jump who ever would soon come through the door. A third time a key was turned; and she waited for the door to be opened, preparing for action. The door swung open, and before she was able to start forwards, she found herself unable to move. Her mind was more than ready but her body refused to move even a quarter of an inch. She had lost her first chance of escape.

A tall woman with long ebony hair held in a ponytail walked in, closed the door and once again locked it. She was wearing form fitting leather pants and a loose white silk blouse. When she sat down in the chair and crossed her legs, she saw that her visitor too was wearing cuffs; hers were of a light brown and without the metal rings. When her eyes found the woman's throat, she recognized the ring. It was indeed three quarters of an inch thick and appeared to be of gleaming silver.

The woman's eyes were dark blue and she studied her with the intensity of an amateur before a master painting. She began to feel really uncomfortable, standing there in her birthday suit, unable to cover herself, unable to move or speak. The raven head just sat there in silence and all of a sudden she felt more like a little mouse sitting in front of a big snake about to be swallowed whole and be digested alive.

Then the woman began to speak and she was terrified by what she said and simultaneously mesmerized by the sound of her voice. It was deep, almost purring, and seemed to fill the whole room.

“The collar around your neck at this moment is blocking your nerve endings. That's why you're not able to speak or move. It's the easiest way to keep you from trying to run away. Even if you were able to get past me and out of the door,” she said with a smile that indicated how ridiculous the pure thought of this ever happing would be, “the other inhabitants of this island would know that you're new and bring you back to me, simply by the colour of your wrist and ankle cuffs.

“I know you have a lot of questions and I will tell you all I can at this point but I want you to answer my questions first. I will now unblock your vocal cords but I advise you not to talk without permission.”

She knew she should be offended by the tone of the other woman's voice but she wasn't. She knew she should protest, give voice to her indignation. She knew she should resist the lure of the power emanating from the seated woman but she was unable to. So, she only closed and quickly reopened her eyes in a gesture of consent.

“What is your name?”

“Chris.”

“Chris, it is then.” She continued, never letting her blond charge out of her eyes, who with her 5'10'' was almost as tall as she was. Like with every newcomer, the blonde hair was cut short. It would be allowed to grow longer with time. The naked woman had a muscular but not overly muscled body, with enough female curves and firm breasts to make her a dream come true. “What is your last name?”

Confusion swept over the blue orbs facing her. “I don't know.” She finally answered.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-eight.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I don't know, I don't remember.”

“Where do you live?”

“I don't know.”

“Who was Marquis de Sade?”

“Donatien Alphonse Francois Marquis de Sade, French writer of the 18 th and early 19 th Century. He wrote his books while in prison and in a mental institution and is regarded as the inventor of sadism. Though that's not entirely true: he advertised that everyone should live and enjoy life just the way one wants, without inhibitions and without paying heed to the needs of others, especially if one's desires were of a kind called perversions or crimes by those too weak to follow their own heart's desire.” The blonde had a hard time to hide that she was surprised by her own knowledge.

“Do you have a brother or sister?”

“I don't know. Why are…”

The still seated woman put one of her index fingers to her lips. “Remember, you only talk when given permission to do so. – What's 27,12 multiplied with 42,04?”

“1140,1248.” There was not even a heartbeat between question and answer.

“Good. – The collar you wear can also send electrical charges through your body, varying between a small shock equivalent to the prick of a needle and a strong one agonising every cell in your body for hours on end. In a few minutes I will un-block the rest of your nerve endings and answer your questions but there are few things you have to know first.

“We are on an island somewhere in the Mediterranean . Only a handful of the inhabitants know where exactly, I don't. You, like everyone else on this island, were sent here because you were found guilty of crimes against humanity and were deemed too dangerous to serve your time in a regular prison.

“To keep your destructive potential in check, your memories have been erased, or to be more accurate the neural pathways we need to access our memories have been surgically disabled.

“We don't have any wardens or fences or bars in front of the windows, but we have a lot of rules everyone has to follow. The island is a self-sufficient, basically rural but technologically very advanced community with a hierarchically structured society. It's not the time to go into details but there are seven levels: The Rehabilitated are on top. They are the only ones who have contact with the outside world. The Repentant are next. They are the servants of the Rehabilitated. On level three are the Supervisors, on four the Workers, on five the Farmers, on six the Servants, and on seven the Initiates. Except for the Initiates and the Rehabilitated all levels have subdivisions, also hierarchical. Our total population is close to ten thousand, with about two thirds living as Workers and Farmers.

“As you probably already have guessed, you are an Initiate and will have to treat everyone you come in contact with, with the utmost respect. During the first phase of the initiation you will learn how to behave in the presence of others. I will teach you the basic rules of conduct but there are quite a few that you will have to find out about on your own. Discipline is very important to us; and the answer to almost every misdeed or mistake is corporal punishment.

“One other thing before I give back your freedom of movement. I can see that you are uncomfortable with being naked but I'm afraid you will have to get used to it. Wearing clothes is a privilege you will have to earn during initiation. – I will now free you and want you to kneel down in front of me; then I will answer your questions.”

The blonde's eyes darted from the woman's face to her wrist where by all appearances the controls for her collar were located in an elegant watch-like device. She knew she had to get her hands on this thing and she had to do it quickly. There was no doubt in her mind that she would be able to take the taller woman by surprise.

So, when she felt feeling being returned to her arms and legs, she made a show of stretching her limbs; determined to take advantage of the appreciation evident in the other woman's eyes the whole time she had been looking at her. Chris took a tentative step forward and without preamble suddenly lunged towards her goal – and found herself with her back on the carpeted ground being straddled by her jailer.

“Didn't I warn you not to try something like this, Chris?” The deep voice sounded almost sad, and she couldn't do anything but slowly nod. “Why do you girls always have to learn the hard way?”

She stood up, pulling the blonde with her and threw her on the bed as if she were nothing but a rag doll. “Grab the bars of the headrest, you will need the support.” She then gently guided one hand after the other over Chris' head to hold onto the smooth wooden bars. “My name is Kathryn and I am your instructor. From now on, you will address me as ‘Mistress'. You are my responsibility. I will teach you, I will commend you and award you, I will protect you and I will punish you. – And that's what I have to do now. I usually don't rely on the collar to do this; I prefer a more personnel approach but you didn't leave me another choice. There are ten settings I can use to punish. What you will feel now is level six, with ten being the worst. Take a deep breath, and exhale slowly.”

The raven-head touched the wrist device and a wave of white pain swept through Chris' body, swallowing her whole. It only lasted about ten or fifteen seconds but to her it felt like hours and hours of agony. When she came to, tears were streaming down her face, and she found herself in the comforting arms of the other woman. The thought crossed her mind that she should try to keep a modicum of dignity intact but being held and gently rocked felt so good, so right. It almost made her forget her nerve ends still tingling with the electrical shock. She slowly began to understand the words whispered in her ear.

“It's all right, Chris. I know it still hurts. Try to relax. I'll hold you. Don't try to breathe too deeply. Keep it shallow and low; it will make the tingling go away faster. There's no need to be ashamed; tears are nothing to feel shame for. Give yourself a chance and everything will be all right in time.” Then she began to hum and the younger woman slowly drifted to sleep.

When she awoke, Kathryn was staring out of the window but the blonde woman also knew that she was far from oblivious of the things happening around her. She probably already had picked up on her changed breathing rhythm and was waiting for her to decide on how to play the cards she had been given. For a split second she thought of once again trying to overpower her opponent but almost as quickly dismissed the notion. A part of her still marvelled at the predator like swiftness and accuracy the older woman had employed to subdue her earlier. She had moved with a speed and grace Chris was sure was uncommon in a human being. She also thought on what Kathryn had told her about this place, some sort of prison for murderers and worse – and she should be one of them.

Chris slowly rose from the bed and without even thinking about it, knelt in front of the dark haired beauty. Her breasts gently stretched the silk of her blouse and her skin, she remembered, felt as soft and smooth as the material covering it. She surprised herself with the thought of wanting to feel it again, skin against skin. The deep voice broke her out of her reverie.

“I don't know why you were sent here. No one does until the day when their time is up. Then you will be told and given back your memories. You are allowed to ask your questions now, Chris.”

“How long will I have to stay on the island?”

“I don't know, Chris. I heard about people being sent back after only five or ten years but twenty or twenty-five are more common. The head of the Rehabilitated will send for you. – And please remember to address me properly.”

The blonde nodded. “The bands around your wrists, what social level do they indicate? Mistress.”

“Better. I'm one of the Supervisors, Chris. The Servants wear a very light red, almost pink; the Farmers a very dark brown, the Workers a dark blue. The Repentants wear black and the Rehabilitated are free of the cuffs and the collars. The Supervisors are responsible for the Initiates but they also are in charge of other groups of farmers and workers. We are a cross between the police forces and the administration, at least to a certain degree. It's the Rehabilitated and the Repentants who make all the final decisions. It will be easier to understand once you see it with your own eyes, when we come to my domain in a few days.”

“Your domain, Mistress?”

“We now are at the main settlement of the island. I'm in charge of a farming facility, a science lab, and a clinic about fifty miles north of here. We will go there after you have received your welcome-whipping.” The tall woman let her words sink in. “When all your questions have been answered, I'll lead you to one of the isolation rooms until tomorrow morning. You then will be bound to a whipping post where you will wait for one hour, you then will receive twenty strokes with a single tail whip on your back. Another hour later you will be led back to your cell. The next day you will receive twenty lashes on your buttocks and thighs and the third day twenty strokes on your front. I then will care for your lash marks, we will leave the city and go home.”

“Who will… I'm sorry, Mistress, I shouldn't have asked.”

“I will. As long as you are an Initiate, every punishment you receive and every maintenance spanking you'll get will be by my hand. You are my responsibility, Chris.”

“Maintenance spankings, Mistress?”

“A certain number of strokes with a paddle, a cane, or the bare hand, to be given every morning and every evening. You'll get used to it and it will help you to focus on what is important in our community.”

The blonde studied the other woman's face. The tone of her voice evidently tried to make light of her words but her eyes gave another message. She didn't have any reason to trust this woman; since she first came through the door Kathryn had immobilised her, thrown her to the ground, shocked her and told her that she was a prisoner and that there was no way out. She shouldn't trust her, and yet, she did – not her words but the expression in her eyes.

TO BE CONTINUED