Chapter 8
For the rest of the dinner, I continue acting scared and intimidated. It's not really an act because I do feel that way. I'm in the presence of a woman who casually talks about killing innocent people. How else am I supposed to feel?
However, I also try to be seductive. It's small things, like the way I brush my hair back while looking at her. The way I bite into a piece of papaya that Sorn cut up for our dessert and lick the juice off my lips.
I know my eyes are pretty, so I look at her shyly, through half-closed eyelids. I've practiced that look in front of the mirror, and I know my eyelashes look impossibly long when I tilt my head at exactly the right angle.
I don't go overboard because she wouldn't find that believable. I just do little things that she might find arousing and appealing.
I also try to avoid any other confrontational topics. Instead, I ask her about the island and how she came to own it.
"I came across this island five years ago," Lisa explains, her lips curving into a charming smile. "My Cessna was having a mechanical problem, and I needed a place to land. Luckily, there's a flat, grassy area right on the other side, near the beach. I was able to bring down the plane without crashing it completely and make the necessary repairs. It took me a couple of days, so I got a chance to explore the island. By the time I was able to fly away, I knew this place was exactly what I wanted. So I purchased it."
I widen my eyes and look impressed. "Just like that? Isn't that expensive?"
She shrugs. "I can afford it."
"Do you come from a wealthy family?" I'm genuinely curious. My captor is a huge mystery to me. I stand a much better chance of manipulating her if I understand her at least a little bit.
Her expression cools a little. "Something like that. My father had a successful business, which I took over after his death. I changed its direction and expanded it."
"What kind of business?"
Lisa's mouth twists slightly. "Import-export."
"Of what?"
"Electronics and other things," she says, and I realize that she's not going to reveal more than that for now. I strongly suspect that 'other things' is a euphemism for something illegal. I don't know much about business, but I somehow doubt that selling TVs and MP3 players results in this kind of wealth.
I steer the conversation toward a more innocuous topic. "Does the rest of your family also use the island?"
Her gaze goes flat and hard. "No. They're all dead."
"Oh, I'm sorry . . ." I don't really know what to say. What can you say that will make something like that better? Yes, she kidnapped me, but she's still a human being. I can't even imagine suffering that kind of loss.
"It's all right." Her tone is unemotional, but I can sense the pain underneath. "It happened a long time ago."
I nod sympathetically. I genuinely feel bad for her, and I don't try to hide the glimmer of tears in my eyes. I'm too soft—Chahee says that every time I cry at a depressing movie—and I can't help the sadness I feel at Lisa's suffering.
It ends up working in my favor, because her expression warms slightly. "Don't pity me, my pet," she says softly. "I've gotten over it. Why don't you tell me about yourself instead?"
I blink at her slowly, knowing that the gesture draws attention to my eyes. "What would you like to know?" Didn't she find out everything about me in the process of stalking me?
She smiles. It makes her look so beautiful that I feel a tiny squeezing sensation in my chest. Stop it, Jennie. You're the one seducing her, not the other way around.
"What do you like to read?" she asks. "What kind of movies do you like to watch?"
And for the next thirty minutes, she learns all about my enjoyment of romance novels and detective thrillers, my hatred of romantic comedies, and my love of epic movies with lots of special effects. Then she asks me about my favorite food and music, and listens attentively as I talk about my preference for eighties' bands and deep-dish pizza.
In a weird way, it's almost flattering, the way she's so utterly focused on me, hanging on to my every word. The way her eyes are glued to my face. It's as though she wants to really understand me, as though she truly cares. Even with Hanbin, I didn't get the sense that I was anything more than a pretty girl whose company he enjoyed.
With Lisa, I feel like I'm the most important thing in the world to her. I feel like I truly matter.
After dinner, she leads me upstairs to her bedroom. My heart begins to pound in fear and anticipation.
Like the other two nights, I know I won't fight her. In fact, tonight I will go even further as part of my escape-by-seduction plan.
I will pretend to make love to her of my own free will.
As we walk into the room, I decide to brave a topic that has been nagging at the back of my mind. "Lisa . . ." I ask, purposefully keeping my voice soft and uncertain. "What about protection? What if I get pregnant or something?"
She stops and turns toward me. There's a small smile on her lips. "You won't, my pet. You have that implant, don't you?"
My eyes widen in shock. "How do you know about that?" The implant is a tiny plastic rod underneath my skin, completely invisible except for a small mark where it was inserted.
"I accessed your medical history before bringing you here. I wanted to make sure you don't have any life-threatening medical conditions, like diabetes."
I stare at her. I should feel furious at this invasion of my privacy, but I feel relieved instead. It seems that my kidnapper is quite considerate—and more importantly, not trying to impregnate me.
"And you don't have to worry about any diseases," she adds, understanding my unspoken concern. "I've been recently tested, and I have always used condoms in the past."
I don't know if I believe that. "Why aren't you using them with me, then? Is it because I was a virgin?"
She nods, and there is a possessive gleam in her eyes. She lifts her hand and strokes the side of my face, making my heart beat even faster. "Yes, exactly. You're completely mine. I'm the only one who's ever been inside your pretty little pussy."
My breath catches in my throat, and I feel a gush of liquid warmth between my thighs.
I can't believe the strength of my physical response to her. Is this normal, that I get so aroused by someone I fear and despise? Is this why Lisa was drawn to me at the club? Because she sensed this about me? Because she somehow knew about my weakness?
Of course, given my plan, it's not necessarily a bad thing that she turns me on so much. It would be far worse if she disgusted me, if I couldn't bear to have her touch me.
No, this is for the best. I can be the perfect little captive, obedient and responsive, slowly falling in love with my captor.
So instead of standing stiff and scared, I give in to my desire and lean a little into her hand, as though involuntarily responding to her touch.
Something like triumph briefly flashes in her eyes, and then she lowers her head, touching her lips to mine. Her arms wrap around me, molding me against her powerful body. She's fully aroused; I can feel the hard ridge of her erection against the softness of my belly. She's stroking my mouth with her lips, her tongue. She tastes sweet, from the papaya we just had.
Fire surges through my veins, and I close my eyes, losing myself in the overwhelming pleasure of her kiss. My hands creep up to her chest, touch it shyly. I can feel the heat of her body, smell the scent of her skin—strangely appealing. Her chest muscles flex under my fingers, and I can feel her heart beating faster.
She backs me toward the bed, and we fall on it. Somehow my hands are buried in her thick, silky hair, and I'm kissing her back, passionately, desperately. I'm not thinking about my grand seduction plan—I'm not thinking at all.
She bites my lower lip, sucks it into her mouth. Her hand closes around my right breast, kneads it, squeezes the nipple through the dual barrier of the bra and the dress. Her roughness is perversely arousing, even though I should be frightened by it.
I moan, and she flips me over, onto my stomach. One of her hands presses me down, pushing me into the mattress, while the other one lifts my skirt, exposing my underwear.
And then she pauses for a second, looking at my butt, lightly stroking it with her palm. "Such curvy little cheeks," she murmurs. "So pretty in white."
Her fingers reach between my legs, feel the wetness there. I can't help squirming at the light touch. I'm so turned on I just need a little bit more before I come.
She pulls down my underwear, leaving it hanging around my knees. Her hand caresses my buttocks again, soothing me, arousing me. I'm trembling with anticipation.
Suddenly, I hear a loud smack and feel a sharp, stinging slap on my butt. I cry out, startled, more from the unexpected nature of the attack than from any real pain.
She pauses, rubs the area soothingly, and then does it again, slapping my right cheek with her open palm. Twenty slaps in quick succession, each one harder than the rest. It hurts; this is not a light, playful spanking.
She means to cause me pain.
Forgetting all about my resolution to play along, I begin to struggle, frightened. She holds me down easily, then transfers her attention to my other butt cheek, slapping it twenty times with equal force.
By the time she pauses, I'm sobbing into the mattress, begging her to stop. My backside feels like it's burning, throbbing in agony.
Even worse than the pain is the irrational sense of betrayal. To my horror, I realize that I had begun to trust my captor, to feel like I knew her a bit.
She'd caused me pain before, but I didn't think it was on purpose. I thought it was just because I was so new to sex. I hoped my body would adjust and there would be only pleasure in the future.
I was obviously a fool.
My entire body is shaking, and I can't stop crying. She's still holding me down, and I'm terrified of what she'll do next.
What she does next is as shocking as what she did before.
She turns me over and lifts me into her arms. Then she sits down, holding me on her lap, and rocks me back and forth. Gently, sweetly, like I'm a child that she's trying to console.
And despite everything, I bury my face against her shoulder and sob, desperately needing that illusion of tenderness, craving comfort from the one who made me hurt.
After I'm a bit more calm, she stands up and places me on my feet. My legs feel weak and shaky, and I sway a little as she carefully undresses me.
I wait for her to say something. Maybe to apologize or to explain why she hurt me. Was she punishing me? If so, I want to know what I did, so I can avoid doing it in the future.
But she doesn't speak—she simply takes off my clothes. When I'm naked, she begins to undress herself.
I watch her with a strange mixture of distress and curiosity. Her body is still a mystery to me because I've kept my eyes closed for the last two nights. I haven't even seen her sex yet, even though I've felt it inside me.
So now I look at her.
Her figure is magnificent. Wide shoulders, a narrow waist, lean hips. I notice a long scar on her thigh and another one on her shoulder.
She's also fully aroused. I can see her cock jutting out at me. It's long and thick, similar to the ones I've seen in porn. No wonder I'm sore. I can't believe she's even able to fit inside me.
After we're both naked, she guides me to the bed. "I want you on all fours," she says quietly, giving me a light push.
My heart jumps in panic, and I resist for a second, turning to look at her instead. "Are you—" I swallow hard. "Are you going to hurt me again?"
"I haven't decided," she murmurs, lifting her hand to cup my breast. Her thumb rubs my nipple, makes it harden. "I think it's probably enough for now."
Enough for now? I want to scream.
"Are you a sadist?" The question escapes me before I can think, and I freeze in place waiting for her answer.
She smiles at me. It's her beautiful Lucifer smile. "Yes, my pet," she says softly. "Sometimes I am. Now be a good girl and do as I asked. You might not like what happens otherwise . . ."
Before she even finishes speaking, I scramble to obey, getting on my hands and knees on the bed. Despite the warmth in the room, I'm shivering, trembling from head to toe.
Violent, gruesome images fill my mind, making me feel ill. I don't know much about S . Fifty Shades and a few other books of its ilk are the extent of my experience with the subject, but none of those romances depicted anything like my situation now. Even in my darkest, most secret fantasies, I've never imagined being held captive by a self-admitted sadist.
What is she going to do? Whip me? Torture me? Chain me in a dungeon? Is there even a dungeon on this island? I picture a stone chamber filled with torture instruments, like in a movie about the Spanish Inquisition, and I want to puke. I'm sure normal BDSM is nothing like that, but there's nothing normal about my situation with Lisa. She can literally do anything she wants to me.
She gets on the bed behind me and strokes my back. Her touch is slow, gentle. It would be soothing, except I'm cringing, expecting a blow at any moment.
She probably realizes it because she leans over me and whispers in my ear, "Relax, Jennie. I won't do anything else tonight."
I almost collapse on the bed in relief. Tears run down my face again. This time, they're tears of relief and gratitude. I'm pathetically grateful that she won't hurt me again. At least, not tonight.
And then I'm horrified. Horrified and disgusted—because when she starts kissing my neck, my body begins to respond to her as though nothing had happened. As though it's never known a moment of pain at her hands.
My stupid body doesn't care that she's a depraved bastard. That she's going to hurt me again and again. No, my body wants pleasure, and it doesn't care about anything else.
Her warm mouth moves from my neck to my shoulders, then over my back. My breathing is shallow, erratic. Despite her reassurance, I'm still afraid of her, and the fear somehow makes me wetter.
Her lips move to my buttocks, kiss the area that she hurt just a few minutes earlier. Her hand pushes on my lower back, and I arch slightly under her touch, understanding her unspoken command. Her fingers slip between my legs, and one long finger finds its way into my slippery channel, entering deeply.
She curves that finger inside me, and I gasp as she presses on some sensitive spot deep inside. It makes me tense and tremble—but this time, not from fear.
As she pushes that curved finger in and out, I feel a pressure gathering inside me. My heartbeat skyrockets, and I suddenly feel hot, as though I'm burning from within. And then a powerful orgasm tears through my body, originating at my core and spreading outward. It's so strong that my vision blurs for a moment and I almost collapse on the bed.
Before my pulsations even stop, she gets on her knees behind me and begins to push in.
I'm wet and her entry is relatively easy, though she still feels huge inside me. My inner tissues feel tender and sore from last night's hard use, and I can't help a slight gasp of pain at the invasion. When she's in fully, her groin presses against my burning bottom, adding to the discomfort.
Grasping my hips, she begins to move in and out, slowly and rhythmically. Despite the initial pain, my body appears to like the feeling of fullness, of being stretched, and responds by producing even more lubrication. As her pace picks up, my breathing accelerates and helpless moans escape my throat each time she pushes deeply into me.
Suddenly, with no warning, my muscles tighten as my senses reach fever-pitch. The release ripples through me, the pleasure stunning in its intensity. Behind me, I can hear her groan as my climax provokes her own—and feel the warm spurt of her seed inside me.
And then we both collapse on the bed, her body heavy and slick with perspiration on top of mine.