Sommer Storms

From the power of her thrashing, I guessed Sommer must have been on the tenth level of pain.

The men spoke in their own, Maori tongue. Shorter popped the leaves into his mouth and began to chew, while he also helped hold the girl still. Her eyes rolled back and she gasped for air. Now that she was under control, Taller dug his knife into the sole of her foot, where she'd stepped on the poisonous spines. More screaming. The clear water around her feet turned a cloudy red. It was all I could do to hang on to her.

Setting the knife aside, Taller held out his empty palm and his friend spit the chewed leaves into it. He began pushing the green poultice deep into the wound, evoking more screams. For a minute, he pressed his hand against Sommer's foot, holding in the mush as she fought us with all of her remaining strength.

Then, all at once, her body went limp. Her eyes closed, she took a deep breath, and her muscles surrendered. I couldn't believe it. Colour even returned to her face.

"Your shirt, give me it," Taller said to me. I removed the tank top I'd slipped on before kayaking over – my attempt at being culturally sensitive – and handed it over. As easily as if he were tearing a piece of Kleenex, the ersatz doctor, ripped the garment lengthwise, then wrapped it around his patient's injured appendage. She flinched just a bit but the effect of his ministrations was startling.

Smoothing strands of wet hair away from Sommer's face, I could see her eyes processing what had just a happened. She moved to sit up.

"No, you lie down," Shorter said.

"Stay," Taller added.

"I'm…fine," she grunted, working herself upright.

"I need to get her to the hospital," I said.

She turned to face me and shook her head, then she grabbed my shoulder and used it to push herself into a standing position. I also stood, to help support her. Taller and Shorter eyed her with a mix of confusion and respect. Her right knee was bent, to keep the injured foot out of the water, and she balanced on her left leg, refusing the hand I offered to steady her.

I wondered if I could have done so well in the same position. Everyone deals with pain differently, I guess.

It took Sommer a minute to catch her breath but when she did, she held out her hand to first Taller, then Shorter, and gave each of them a firm handshake. I waited for her apology, or her thank you. Between heavy breaths she said to her saviours, "Please…please don't fish…in the

R'aui…

anymore."

Their faces moved from shock, to anger, to laughter. Taller reached out a Frisbee-sized hand and placed it on top of the hair matted to her head.

"

OK, crazy

papa'a,

no more fishing here

.

Just for you."

"Thank you," she said.

As she swooned, I caught her, mid-fall, and scooped her into my arms. Out cold. The men nodded to their tin boat and I smiled.

"Crazy

papa'a

woman," I whispered, as I kissed the top of her head.

#

I'd wanted to return to the main island to get medical care for Sommer but the men assured me there was nothing else the doctor could do for her. Judging from what I'd witnessed on the beach, I guessed they were about as knowledgeable as any doctor, when it came to stonefish wounds, maybe more so. Shorter, who's real name, I learned, was Nga, left me with a bunch of the leaves he'd used to neutralize the poison and gave me instructions for a tea I should use them in. Twice a day, for a week, the patient should drink the tea.

Taller, real name Moake, told me to wash the wound with very hot water, wrap it in a clean bandage and keep it dry. When he said goodbye, he petted her head again, with an expression I can only describe as awe.

I wondered if he, too, had seen the sea god in her eyes?

Even after swimming, sweating and writhing in the sand, the girl was still filthy with charcoal, so I'd helped her into the hammock while I fetched a basin of water and some soap. When I'd returned, she'd fallen sound asleep. Washing could wait. Like Moake, I petted her head, then curled up in a chair, next to her, staying close in case she needed me.

Hours later, with the sun performing its usual sultry and fiery swan dive into the Pacific, I woke to her groans.

"You OK?" I slurred, blinking my eyes to bring the world into focus.

"Stings a little," she answered, her voice heavy with sleep.

"Let's get you cleaned up and fed."

"Can we watch the sunset first?"

I chuckled, "Sure." Adjectives scrolled through my cerebral cortex as yet another paradisiacal sunset eluded description. "How would you describe this sunset?" I asked.

"It's like someone dropping half a ripe mango into a bucket of indigo paint."

"Well said." I turned to see her face glowing in the mango light. What a mess I'd made. "I'm sorry about all this. This was all an enormous mistake. Consider your slavery over."

"But…" she sat up, wincing a little as she did, "but we had an agreement."

"Don't worry, I'm still going to give you your chapter." My shoulders slumped, I had to tell her. "Sommer, I lied to you."

"What?"

"I lied. I had every intention of eating that endangered crab. I wouldn't now, now that I know all the facts, but at that time I didn't care. And I didn't write that article out of the goodness of my heart, it was all part of my plan to get you here. I'm a jerk. I'm sorry."

I waited for it. The anger, the yelling, the indignation but all she said was…

"Oh."

Then she lowered her gaze and stared at the wood planks on the deck.

Darkness was on its way and I was glad. I didn't want to see her disappointment in me. After an endless silence she looked at me. She bit her lip; I thought I saw tears welling in her eyes. Fuck, could I be anymore of an asshole?

In a voice almost too small to hear, she finally said, "But I was enjoying it."

What? Her eyes worked to avoid mine but eventually, through the twilight, I saw she was telling the truth. Yes, she

had

enjoyed it. Of course she had. The day was not a failure to her, how could she have known that thisbrand of slave doesn't run away just because they feel like it. What had I expected? Did I think I could take a stranger, who'd never done anything like this before, especially a stranger as passionate and independent as she was, and turn her into my version of a textbook submissive in one day? Ridiculous. I was as misguided as all the well-meaning people who'd tried to push me into the "lifestyle".

I stared at her face again. No mistaking, she'd finally touched that part of her that needed to submit and she was terrified of losing the connection.

There was something else there, too, but I didn't want to push her too hard.

"Sommer, tell me what you want."

"I want you to tie me up again and…do stuff."

"No," I chuckled, "I mean, what do you want to happen between us, in a more general way."

She closed her eyes, brought both her hands to her face and chewed on the nails of her pinky fingers. So, she was still fighting it.

"I want to be your slave." She said. The light had almost vanished and all I could see of her was a black silhouette. "I don't know why but I want to do what you say. I want you to make me do things, even if I don't want to do them. I want…I want to hurt. I…"

The heat of the day was gone and I'd forgotten she was almost naked until I saw her shivering. "You're cold."

"No," she held her shaking hand out to me, "I'm scared."

Taking her hand, I stood, lifted her out of the hammock and wrapped her arm around my shoulder as I walked her toward the sliding door.

"Come on, let's clean you up and get you dressed, then we'll talk about how we're going to make this work…for real this time."

#

"You know this won't be easy for you?"

"I know."

Standing behind her, moving the bar of soap down her shoulders, I watched the last of my artwork dissolve into grey lather. Sommer sat on a chair, in the indoor shower, her injured foot had been soaked and cleaned, the wound looked surprisingly good. When she was dried off, I'd bandage it and make her some of Nga's tea.

"You can't run away whenever you feel like it." I said. She opened her mouth but I anticipated her argument, "No matter how justified the cause. Got it?"

She nodded.

My hands slowed as I moved them around to her front, catching the edge of her breasts. We hadn't discussed this part yet, as far as I was concerned they were still off limits, as first agreed. But the soap made her skin slick and all I wanted was to slide both hands around and cup those elfish mounds.

"If you're my master," she began, "you own all of me, right?"

I took a long breath in, then let it out slowly, "Yes."

She was giving me permission. Taking another deep breath, I let my hands wander where they wanted.

Sommer inhaled as my fingers slid over her erect nipples. The sound stirred the Madman. Spreading my fingers, I pressed my hands against her tits and slid them up and down, feeling the hard buds flick between each digit as I did. Her low moan increased my speed until soap lather was flying off on each pass. When I saw her hips move, I stopped and continued soaping her as I had been a moment ago.

"Please…" she whispered.

Twisting one of my hands in her hair, I gave a sharp tug, "No begging."

With deliberate disinterest, I scrubbed the rest of her clean, talking to her in a low voice as I did so.

"You do not ask for pleasure, you have no right. Your needs are incidental to mine. If I decide you should have no release, then you will no release."

Every particle of my body was screaming at me to have my way with her but my mind needed her suffering. Her torture was becoming mine and that made the Madman resentful.

"Close your eyes so I can rinse you."

While the water rained down on her, I considered my options. After the day's drama, I didn't want to push her too much. The urge to try everything, all at once, when you finally acknowledge those long subdued desires, is powerful but also dangerous. You don't climb Everest in a single day.

Exploration, that's what was required.

#

"Your orders are simple: hold still and be quiet. Your body is my property now and I need to examine it. Understand?"

She nodded.

Sommer was laid out on the long, hardwood table in the dining room. I'd not restrained her precisely because this is what she wanted and expected. She was fully naked, her choice. Masking my pleasure about that choice was nearly impossible but I managed. Now it was time to push and pull and see what kind of boundaries I was facing.

She wanted me to touch her, this was screaming out of every pore. So I didn't. I grabbed a wooden chair and sat myself at the end of the table where her feet were, her legs opened slightly. I sat and stared and waited. It took less than five minutes before her discomfort surfaced.

Impatient

. I jotted down a mental note.

For another five minutes, I continued to stare. Her muscles were tensing, another five minutes and she'd break.

"Touch yourself," I said, without moving.

She hesitated, then raised one hand to her stomach. I bit my tongue to stifle a laugh, then said, calmly, "No, touch your pussy, play with yourself."

To my surprise, she slid her hand between her legs as naturally as if she were alone.

Not shy

. Another mental note.

She made a V of her first two fingers and slipped them along either side of her clit. Leaning in for a better look, I could see her pink folds were already slick and glistening. No wonder she'd been so quick to comply. In truth, I was as ready as she was.

First she massaged her swollen clit between her two fingers, pressing and kneading it as her hips began to move. I stood, palms on the tabletop, and leaned in closer, my cock pressing against the edge of the table. Next she slid her fingers inside her pussy, spreading the lips wide, for my benefit, I was sure.

I pushed myself away from the table and strolled around the other end, where her head was, careful to avoid the eye contact I knew she was trying to make.

Fingers danced back and forth across Sommer's nub as low moans escaped from her throat. When I was directly behind her head, I wound my hands in her hair, tightly, as if I were grasping the reins of a thoroughbred, just before the gate opened. I waited until her hips moved upward then I tightened my grip and pulled.

Surprised and unsure, she let out a cry and her hand stopped.

"Don't stop," I ordered.

She obeyed.

Obedient

. One more mental note.

Relaxing my grip, I let her hand get back into a rhythm. As soon as her hips rose again, I repeated the tug. This time, even with the cry, she didn't stop. Would she figure it out, though?

Another relax, another raise of the hips, and another even more forceful pull from me.

This time, she got it. She was groaning through gritted teeth as she fought to keep her ass on the table. To her credit, she held out fairly long. When her hips rose the next time, I saw her bite down on her lip and squeeze her eyes shut. Who was I to disappoint?

I yanked so hard she let out a yelp but now instead of keeping her still, the pain made her hips buck harder. Grabbing and twisting, I pulled hard on the reins, sending my slave into near convulsions.

"Oh fuck," she moaned.

Instantly I let go of her hair. "Hands at your side." This time I made a point of staring her down. Mouth gaping, eyes pleading, she did as ordered but she was not happy about it. Not happy at all. Good. "Did I ask you to speak?"

She shook her head.

The pain had spurred her on.

Masochist

. This I noted, as I watched her twitch. She'd been so close to coming.

What a beautiful plaything I had lain out before me. What should I try next? While I considered the possibilities, my hands explored Sommer's skin. I was only half aware of which parts I was touching but every now and then a small gasp would let me know I'd brushed something sensitive, then I'd stop and play for a moment. As I twisted her hardened nipples between my thumbs and forefingers, savouring her pitiful attempts to stay still and quiet, I spotted a colourful

pareu

draped over one of the chairs.

Grabbing the long, thin piece of cloth, I tore it in two. Sommer raised her head when I asked and closed her mouth dutifully as I wound the first strip around and tied it securely. Her expression, as I did so, was serene. When I started to wrap the second piece around the top of her head, leaving only her nostrils free, something changed. Breathing sped up, relaxed limbs tensed. I watched carefully. I had a gut feeling about this and, as she moved her head from side to side, straining to see, I knew I wasn't wrong.

Sommer was starting to panic.

I didn't want to traumatize her but I wanted to know how far she could stand before using a safety signal. To my surprise, she didn't. How frightened she was, though.

Claustrophobic

. Fear. My hard cock pulsed and ached.

The Madman demanded more.

"Roll over and up on all fours," I said, as I helped guide her. The new position did nothing to comfort her. She was being so accommodating; she deserved a reward.

From the corner of the kitchen, I grabbed a

kikau

, one of the local brooms made from dried palm fronds. It resembled a rolled up newspaper, frayed at one end. I dragged the ends of the

kikau

down the back of each thigh before delivering a solid hit on her ass. It must have felt like a hundred mosquitoes biting her at once.

Oh that beautiful, white triangle, what a perfect target. Without meaning to, I found myself smacking my slave faster and faster. As the first flushes of colour appeared, Sommer's hips began to move. Just slightly, at first. She was still fighting the fear of her enclosure but the sting of the strikes was pushing other buttons.

Those muted moans, combined with the movements of her head as she desperately attempted to shake off her coverings, made me drunk. I'd created a living statue of fear and pain and pleasure.

More and more strikes, more and more thin, red welts. Sommer's hips danced, grinding on some invisible phallus. Once again, she stepped to the edge. Once more, I stopped her from going over.

Gripping the

kikau

so hard I nearly snapped it in half, I caught my breath as Sommer fought to catch hers.

"Good girl," I said, voice undeniably tense, as I readjusted the fabric on her mouth into a gag, allowing her some deep breaths. She gulped air as best she could around the gag, streams of saliva flowed.

Oh fuck. How much longer could I last?

One more test.

I ran my hands along the bronze flesh of Sommer's back, slowing at the ample arc of her buttocks. I'd always been an ass man and hers was my favorite type – muscular and full. Tracing the borders of the once white, (now red), triangle with my thumbs, I began massaging the welts. She probably wasn't even aware that she was spreading her legs. Then, I perched one thumb on her tailbone and trailed it down, slow as the outgoing tide, to the pink lagoon between her legs.

My thumb swam for a moment, and I licked my lips at the warmth. Good and slippery, I pulled out and moved up to the pucker just above, pressing down only enough to let her know my intentions. She froze. Stiff as the proverbial block of wood.

Virgin ass

. Oh, this was too good to be true.

Moving my thumb upward, out of the danger zone, the effect was immediate. Sommer let out a very non-subtle exhale. This was going to be fun. Not tonight – I was still concerned about the stress from her wound – but soon, very soon I needed to open her.

But a little preview was in order.

Placing a hand on either cheek and spreading them apart, I lowered my face and gave Sommer several long, hard licks, starting from her clit and ending at her asshole. These I delivered slowly enough to watch her transition from arched-back moaning to stiff-muscle discomfort. Then I shifted, focusing all my attention on her needy pussy, darting my tongue between the many layers of her sex that were coming out like a conch from its shell. She pushed herself against me, as she

ungh'd

and

aawwh'd

into her gag.

A few more moments of ecstasy elapsed and then I switched from conch to starfish, lavishing the same attention on her wary ass. Such delightful conflict. She didn't want to enjoy my tongue licking around that hole, hated the electric shocks that flowed through her when I dipped inside but her body was past caring about modesty. And when my fingers dove down to tickle the dripping conch, all restraint evaporated.

I pumped two fingers in and out of her pussy, while my tongue ravished her ass. My slave, blind and gagged, howled and shook as she rode the first wave of climax. Her hands slapped the wood table, her hips jolted, head arched and then dipped. Another wave carried her to shore, where she finished, collapsing and gasping, euphoric.

Never will I tire of seeing a woman in those first moments after she comes, as naked as a human can be.

Walking around to the other end of the table, my own need demanding satisfaction, I untied my slave's gag almost as quickly as I pulled down my shorts. She licked her lips and took a few deep breaths but the Madman was right on her, pulling her forward, positioning her head and body before pressing the tip of my cock to her lips. Her lack of sight was no handicap; she latched onto my meat like a Remora to the belly of a shark.

Her hands, instinctively reached for my balls but I re-directed them to my hips. I wanted only a mouth show. The Madman preferred it this way. Using her hands to steady herself, Sommer let me use her, let me fuck her mouth. Every time I plunged deeper, cutting off her air supply, the panic showed itself but her mouth didn't resist me, even her throat opened to my cock.