Whispers Of Slave Island Ch 01

When Tom opened the door to his penthouse, Evelyn was waiting, naked, on her knees, legs spread lewdly, and with open palms on her thighs. Instinctively, his eyes went to her full breast, thrust out and on display as they should be. Her platinum hair was in a simple bun, her thick lips parted with just a hint of tongue tip behind them.

He stepped past her without a word. She wanted to watch, but kept her eyes on the floor, trying to discern his actions from the corner of her vision. His massive bulk, mostly barrel chest and thick arms, all of muscle from years of military work, was easy to watch even from the corner of her eyes.

Tom opened the wardrobe and took a leather harness from a hook. He barked in a deep baritone, weathered through years of issuing orders to soldiers, "Inspect."

Evelyn got to her feet quickly. She stood with legs shoulder width apart, exposing her cunt for inspection. Her hands went to the back of her neck, and she thrust her chest out again, showing off ample assets. She was a head shorter than Tom, and while she'd never felt smaller than most men, Tom made her feel tiny and insignificant.

Moving behind her, Tom wrapped the leather harness around her body with practiced expertise. He tightened each buckle painfully on her skin, letting her feel his anger as he tightened the punishment harness around her.

Evelyn accepted it stoically. She'd known he'd be angry when he arrived home, and she more than expected that he'd do exactly this. She knew she'd be tasting the kiss of the whip tonight, and just that if lucky.

When Tom finished crisscrossing the leather straps around her body, framing her bare tits, creating a web of handhold he grabbed her by the back of the neck.

"Move!" he snapped.

He half-dragged, half-shoved her through the entryway, to the living room, and then out onto the balcony. With a shove, he sent her sprawling over a wrought iron table placed right up to the glass railing. Before she could regain any bearing, Tom was yanking her wrists behind her back, attaching them to the harness on opposite sides of her hips. This pulled back hard on her shoulder blades, causing a small whimper to escape. Evelyn caught it and forced it down, knowing any of her discomfort wouldn't sway him. The delicate metal grating of the table pinched her nipples painfully, its cool touch making them tortuously erect.

"What am I looking at?" he demanded.

"A worthless cunt, Sir," she said knowing it wasn't what he was asking about.

His silence terrified her more than any retort would have. She heard him unbuckling his belt. Usually, when he was intent on delivering punishment, he would have her kneel, unbuckle him, and then offer him the implement of torture. That he was removing the belt himself told her he was beyond furious. She'd have to tread cautiously.

The swish of the belt sliced through air, then her ass. Tom had put his full weight into it, leaving a scarlet slash across Evelyn's bare cheeks. She suppressed a gasp through clenched teeth. She couldn't repeat holding them back when the other three blows came.

Thick calloused fingers wrapped into her bun, yanking her head back so she had to look at the city skyline around them. Blocks away, half hidden by luxury hotels, a twenty-story building burned.

"Tell me again, what am I looking at?" Tom hissed in her ear.

Evelyn paused only for a moment before answering, "The Grand Royal Serena is on fire, Sir."

"Your doing?"

When Evelyn paused, Tom's hand slapped her cunt from behind, hard. The pain exploding from her clit took her breath away making her pull her bound arms hard against their bindings.

"Yes, Sir," Evelyn whimpered.

Thick fingers massaged her from behind, the calloused tips tingling against her sensitive nub.

"Why?" Tom asked, then with a pinch to her clit took her breath away.

Evelyn refused to say anything. Even when Tom delivered another dozen scalding blows to her ass with his leather belt, each one stung, slicing into the soft flesh of her ass cheeks down to her core. Through gritted teeth, she winched her eyes shut, trying to relax her muscles as the blows rained down. All efforts to instinctively move her hands to cover herself ended in bound failure. She could only writhe violently on the table.

"Is this what you wanted, cunt?" he panted at her.

Unable to say anything, Evelyn quivered, trying to come to terms with the pain. Twenty years of this treatment, twenty years of being his slave, and the pain was still the same. She never got used to it like she once thought she would.

Realizing that she wasn't going to answer, Tom stepped up to her from behind, shoving fingers into her crudely. Her yelp was satisfying but failed to deliver the info he wanted. Curling the fingers, he massaged her roughly inside. Evelyn cried out, not entirely in pain.

"Is this what you are holding out for?"

She could only gasp as he continued working two fingers roughly inside her.

"You're wet. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Between moans, Evelyn cried out, "No, Sir. I was..." Her words became incoherent as he forced a third and fourth finger into her. Her shuddering cries pleaded unintelligibly.

"Don't you fucking dare cum." Tom demanded in her ear. His whole body was lying atop hers, smashing her down into the table as sirens wailed blocks away. He began forcing his thumb inside her as well, and Evelyn cried out. He continued moving his fingers in a come-here motion, making her back arch to try and dislodge him.

"Please, Sir..." she begged.

"Don't you fucking dare let those holes disobey me."

Evelyn's breathing was a ragged, sighing mess--a song of high notes and guttural moans. "Fucking please, Sir!"

"Don't you disobey, cunt."

The noises Evelyn made could be heard by the floors immediately below. Some owners brought their slaves out, fucking them on the balconies below as Evelyn endured her tortures. The sounds of other girls pleading drifted up from beneath the penthouse. At least one was being fucked to Evelyn's cries.

"Hear that, hole? You got other men so worked up they're railing their slaves. Think about all those poor girls, half your age, getting drilled because you wouldn't talk. Their suffering is because of your hungry snatch."

With her eyes still winced shut, Evelyn arched her back, a deep moan coming from her gut as her whole body stiffened.

"Don't you dare... You worthless fucksleave." He demanded as she squirted gushers around his hand.

And she cried out, thrashing her body uncontrollably, the wet, frantic noises of his hand working inside her were undeniable. Tom relaxed all his weight on her, crushing the woman into the metal table as flickering flames lit her face. It had been a couple of weeks since he fucked her properly, without dick she was getting uppity. He made a note to impale her more frequently, or bring home younger guys that could rail her all night without pause. An exhausted slave is a good slave.

Evelyn quaked in her post-climax bliss. Twenty years of slavery, and she was still utterly ashamed of how her body reacted in his grip. She was nothing more than putty, her needy hole slick clay to be molded. It was absolutely shameful to think about what she'd once been, now just holes for his amusement.

Tom waited patiently for her breathing to return to normal. She tried to hide the ragged breaths, but he'd owned her far too long to be fooled easily.

"Talk," He told her.

"Vargas tried to kill you," Evelyn whispered. "The fire was to distract him, but not for long."

"He'll blame me for it? I could probably do him first-"

"No," she interrupted, then added, "Sir."

"And?" he said impatiently.

"It's an old network with a grudge. The council will see you two fighting and kill both of you."

"If we get to open war, he'll do everything he can to take you out."

"Of course," Evelyn said. Talking about the big picture helped with her shame, anything that could take her mind off how she'd just been used like some cheap whore. "We need to offer the council something big. Big enough to take their minds off your petty squabble."

"You have something in mind?"

She licked her lips, knowing what she was about to say would doom some young woman to a life of servitude. But she'd done that several times before. "We need a girl. Legal in the US and compliant. We need her fast, and she needs to be trained in the next few months."

Tom's heavy breathing in her ear without any reply told her everything she needed to know. He was hooked, and he understood that whatever this distraction was, it was for the council. He'd be able to take out Varga on the sly. Of course, he was hooked.

"Once we have a slave that's not on the registry, we'll be able to free ourselves from the politics of this place..." Evelyn whispered. Tom turned his head to listen closely. Of course he was hooked. Of course he was.

*****

On her eighteenth birthday, Evan interrupted their usual ride home and stopped at a restaurant.

Nervous, Violet asked, "What's this?"

He chuckled, "It's your birthday, let's enjoy a celebratory drink."

"But... I can't," she said as the valet pulled open the door.

Evan patted her on the bare knee, just below her skirt, "Leave that to me."

The touch was the first of its kind. It flushed heat through Violet's tummy, catching her breath short. Boys her age had never dared such an intimate, casual touch. It excited her that a man was the first. Yet, there was a deep twinge of guilt. Evan was her coach's husband. He'd been giving her rides home from cheerleading practice since the end of last year, and now for a few months when school started again.

It wasn't just any restaurant, but one of the finest in town. Her mother had been there once on a date and talked about its elegance. Why would Evan be bringing her here, she wondered, especially after teasing her about having a drink.

A hand reached into the car. The valet offered it to Violet. She took it and was gently guided out. A moment later, Evan joined her, slipping the valet a folded bill. Placing an arm around Violet's shoulder, Evan guided her to the restaurant, where a doorman swept the doors open for them. Violet wondered how it must look, her still in her cheer outfit under the arm of a man twice her age. She avoided eye contact, choosing instead to look down at the ground rather than anyone's faces.

Her chest constricted, heart fluttering madly inside. She'd seen this in so many old movies, yet none of her peers had ever dared do anything so extravagant for her. Her dates so far had been trips to Olive Garden and Applebee's. His hand gripped her shoulder, guiding her with confidence she'd never seen in boys her age. His hot palm on her shoulder made her nervous and giddy at once.

"Ah, Mister Valentine," the concierge said, "a table for two?"

"Yes, a private table, Gus."

"Oh, course. Right this way."

Violet was impressed. Not only was Evan bringing her to one of the most exclusive restaurants in town, but he also seemed to know all the staff. The host escorted them down a wood-paneled hallway lined with pictures of actors and governors to a large room. There were booths along the walls and a small stage. It was some sort of banquet or small reception hall.

The lights were dim in the room except for a candle in one of the booths. Evan had obviously set this up, the private table, candle, and all. The host helped her into the booth and then left as Evan squeezed in tightly beside her. She couldn't help but feel a thrill as his hand brushed against her outer thigh, against bare skin.

Trying to control her breathing, Violet responded with short non-committal answers as Evan asked about her day. School was a bunch of silly kids and cliques playing drama games, and she couldn't wait to go to college after this year. She listened as he told her about his day running errands around the county for the school system and helping his wife with her coaching. The one bright point was when he told Violet he enjoyed their time together and that it was refreshing to talk about so many things with her without any judgment.

At the mention of judgment, she thought about the book she'd found in his car a few weeks back. The cover caught her attention. It showed a woman in a short nightgown, on her knees in chains, while a brute of a man stood over her, sword in hand, offering her to the viewer. When she asked about it, Evan seemed embarrassed and tried to take it from her, but she flipped it over to read the back.

The book was about a woman stolen from Earth and taken as a slave to another planet where men fought each other for honor and slaves. It seemed that all the women of this other world were slaves to men, used primarily to sate lusts. Just reading the description caused her to squirm. As long as Violet could remember, she'd fantasized about being helpless to men, tied up, rescued, and commanded. The blurb on the back of the book was a lifetime of validation.

She told Evan she wanted to read it, and she did, keeping it and never returning it. In the pages, she found a name for the fantasies that she'd always had when she touched herself to orgasm. She'd practiced being as quiet as possible and kept the book hidden. If her parents ever found it... She'd never be able to look her stepfather in the eyes.

After that, their conversations shifted. He began asking her questions about the boys at school, and she reported how disappointing they were. Feeling sly, she explained that she wished to meet a man who knew how to take charge and say exactly what he wanted, like in the book.

Evan surprised her, talking to her like an adult, and he explained that it was the same for men. He said that women were often confused about what they wanted, claiming to want equality and choice, but that was an absolute lie. He also stated that the best relationships in his life were those in which the woman appreciated the man taking charge.

Over the weeks, their conversation stretched into many adult topics Violet had never fully considered. She appreciated his honesty and willingness to discuss things that she knew her own family would be horrified even to hear mentioned.

And now this, the two of them sitting, legs touching, in a booth at the most expensive restaurant in town.

"Can I start you off with drinks?" a redheaded waitress asked. She didn't look much older than Violet, but had to be twenty-one to serve drinks. The waitress gave Violet a judgmental look after eyeing the much older Evan.

"I'll take a rum and coke. What would you like to drink?" Evan asked Violet.

"Umm... A Pina Colada," Violet said uncertainly.

"Can I see some ID?" the waitress said.

Violet felt her stomach lurch. She wasn't twenty-one, and her ID would confirm that. The thought of a scene in the restaurant, of police showing up, of having to explain to her mother or stepfather made her sick with anxiety. She looked with wide eyes at Evan, pleading silently for him just to take her home.

"Gus knows us," Evan said. "Why don't you ask him about it?"

When she looked at Violet, the waitress wrinkled her nose. "I'll do that."

Minutes later, the waitress delivered their drinks without saying a word.

"Why a Pina Colada?" Evan asked.

"It's tropical, like that island you mentioned."

"Isla Serene? Did you visit their website?"

"I did..." she said.

Primed on the alternate earth fantasies where women were taken as slaves by sword-wielding barbarians, learning there was a single Caribbean island where slavery was still legal triggered all the right buttons. The thought that something like that existed so close to the US, took her breath away. A flight to Florida, and then a short charter jet later, was a place where she imagined women still served in chains.

"I went there when I was thirty," Evan said. "I met my wife there."

The official site didn't provide much information on the status of their current laws, but other shady sites did. Midway between Belize and Jamaica, the island nation of Ilsa Serene was an oddity among its many neighbors. Where other islands openly reported their struggles to feed their people, Isla Serene was shrouded in mystery. Pictures on the site showed tropical beaches, manicured landscapes, and modern high-rise hotels that only the fabulously wealthy could afford.

"Coach Beliza is from Isla Serena?" Violet whispered conspiratorially.

Some speculated that the slavery laws were the Island's big secret. It was impossible to find any information on what happened on the island, but it was a hub for multiple hedonist cruises operating in the region. Entire cruise ships of swingers and sex tourists visited the island and fucked to heart's content. Even the thought of being on a cruise like that made Violet giddy.

"Let's not talk about her. I came here to celebrate with you."

Evan gazed into her eyes. It was hard to put into words what she was thinking about, as he stared at her, without feeling like a complete slut. If her parents or relatives ever had an inkling she had such thoughts, she'd be disowned in an instant. And so, saying what she thought was more than challenging, it was impossible.

She didn't have to. Evan leaned in and kissed her.

The initial surprise shocked her to the core. Violet went rigid. Her initial reaction was to protest, but it died on her lips. This is what she'd wanted ever since she read about the space warrior from another planet taking Earth girls as slaves. She wanted a man to take charge.

"Spread your legs," he whispered as he broke the kiss.

Unable to breathe, she did exactly that, forcing her knees apart as his hand slid under her cheerleading skirt. His lips crushed again to hers, and she closed her eyes, lost in the machine gun fire of her heart thumping loudly in her chest. His fingers slid up, touching her pussy through sodden panties, and she was ashamed of how wet she was.

"Good girl," he said.

She'd waited her whole life to hear those words. School honor roll, varsity cheer, and hours of charity work --none had elicited a single positive word from her parents. Evan changed her world. She wanted to hear it repeatedly, and at that moment, she knew she would do anything he told her to hear him say it again.

******

Evelyn set the drink tray on the console table in the entry foyer when she heard the doorbell chime. The party swirled on behind her, Tom discussing business with associates far off in the living room. She answered wearing nothing more than her slave collar and high heels locked to her ankles.

Opening the door, she curtsied deeply, which made her knees protest in pain. There was a time when she could curtsy all day long without issue. Too much time on her knees servicing others had taken its toll, she thought.

Her smile was still dazzling with perfect teeth that had never yellowed. Her eyes, on the other hand, although just as enchanting, had the beginning of crows' feet that she fretted about frequently. She had to force her smile to remain when she saw the man in the hallway.

"Master Vargas, always an honor to have your esteemed presence grace Sir's domicile."

Vargas let his gaze wander down Evelyn's bare body, lingering as always on her ample chest. He walked past her, holding out his dinner jacket in disdain. "Find a wooden hanger for that, cunt."

"Of course, sir," she said, taking his jacket as if handed a ticking bomb. She knew that any mishandling would result in a complaint and public lashing.

"And fetch me a drink, whiskey," he added as he stepped past her while smacking her ass painfully hard.

Even knowing the blow was coming, Evelyn couldn't contain her gasp. She staggered forward, trying to regain her balance on the heels. A naked young woman stood in the hallway, looking up when Evelyn stumbled. The slave girl was blonde with thick, smeared mascara around wide, terrified eyes. She stepped forward, reaching out to help Evelyn, then thought better of it and snapped her hands quickly behind her back.