“It was surgery, wasn’t it.”
“Hm?”
“Your scar. It’s a surgical one.”
He shakes his head and gives me a ghost of a smile, that voice of his returning to a thicker version of his accent. “Why do you care so much?”
“I don’t care. I just want to know.”
My response makes a broad, genuine smile rise to his lips. Something about it tickled him.
“Ah, such a ruthless little girl,” he chuckles to himself. “You are your father’s daughter.”
He’s right about that. I am my father’s child, and where he might have lost his life to the monsters, I will prevail.
“You’ll give in, in the end,” he says conversationally.
“Repeating that doesn’t make it true. Do you have endless time to stay here with me? Or are you going to lock me up forever and pay some guards to watch me? Do you really think that my estate won’t send someone for me? Do you truly think I don’t have friends?” Questions pour out of me. I keep losing my temper with him, but I cannot help it. The circumstances are maddening and he must know that only a wet rag of a person would ever give in to this ridiculous plan of his. “Let me off this island. Send me home.”
“That would be sending you to your death, and I’m not going to do that. You’ll go back when I trust that you’ve learned your lesson and aren’t going to attempt to defy the Order like your father did.”
“So that’s what they’re called? The Order?”
He nods.
“Who are they?”
“A great many men, all around the world.”
“Men? No women?”
“Men.”
I suppose it’s not surprising that they’re sexist. They are murderers after all. Would I be any more impressed if it turned out they included women in their number?
He brushes crumbs from his hands and stands up. “Time for another round of training for you, girl.”
I balk, but that does nothing. He pulls me up from the table and takes me into one of his many rooms. This one is not a bedroom like the one I was caged in all night. This one has a medical feel to it, mostly because of the medical bed in the center of the room. It is faced toward the floor-to-ceiling window, so the seagulls can watch the depravity going on inside.
“Sit down and put your legs in the stirrups.”
I do as I am told, because I know to fight simply means being whipped and then finding myself in that same place.
“Good girl,” he smiles, wrapping my appendages in place with padded leather restraints that secure my arms to the rests and my shins to the stirrups. Once done to his satisfaction, he pushes the stirrups wide, spreading my legs lewdly for his gaze.
I watch as he pulls a drawer open. What fucked-up kinds of instruments does he plan on using on me? What is he going to get? A speculum? A scalpel?
He plucks an ostrich feather from the drawer and smiles at me with that dark menacing grin.
Not what I expected, and hardly frightening. I don’t bother to tell him he’s doing intimidation wrong. The thought soon flees my head anyway as the tip of the feather slips along my pussy, tickling the tender folds. It is a gentle touch, and in many ways, an enjoyable one. My head falls back and I find myself breathing deeply, submitting to the events over which I know full well I have no control. He can fuck me. He can use me. He can make me come. He just can’t break me.
As I try to think my way out of orgasm, the feather plays up and down my slit, dragging ever so slightly as it encounters the moisture my body is producing at his behest. This is slow madness. This is a gently building storm that assaults my senses. The muscles in my legs tighten as I try to draw them up and in. My stomach flexes, trying to draw my hips up toward the sensation that keeps slipping away just as it approaches my clitoris.
Back and forth the feather flows, making me mad with need little by little until I feel my pussy leaking with desire. I am so fucking wet, and so fucking aroused.
I wait for something more to happen, but nothing does. He moves that feather like a master, the tip of it brushing against my pussy until I can’t stand it any longer and I start to moan, giving voice to the throbbing pulsing need between my legs.
“Look at me.”
I look at him, immediately obeying the order in the hope that it will earn me either respite or release. I need a firmer touch. I need penetration. I need his cock inside me, thrusting roughly, making my cunt stretch. He has unlocked the filthiest recesses of my mind and left me helpless against his desires, and I will never forgive him for that.