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Review This Story || Author: soleil

Captured!

Part 5

Part Five
by soleil (c) (sonsoleil@hotmail.com)

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!"



Review This Story || Author: soleil
Previous Chapter Back to Content & Review of this story Next Chapter Display the whole story in new window (text only) Previous Story Back to List of Newest Stories Next Story Back to BDSM Library Home