Chapter 12
After Lisa's revelations on the beach, I don't feel like asking any more questions for a while. I already knew I was being held by a monster, and what I learned today just solidifies that fact. I don't know why she was so open with me, and that scares me.
At dinner, I mostly keep quiet, only answering questions posed directly to me. Sorn is eating with us today, and the two of them are carrying on a lively conversation, mostly about the island and how she and I have been spending our time.
"So you're bored?" Lisa asks me after Sorn tells her about my lack of interest in reading all the time.
I lift my shoulders in a shrug, not wanting to make a big deal of it. After what I learned earlier, I'd take boredom over Lisa's company any time.
She smiles. "Okay, I'll have to remedy that. I'll bring you a TV and a bunch of movies the next time I make a trip."
"Thanks," I say automatically, staring down into my plate. I feel so miserable that I want to cry, but I have too much pride to do it in front of them.
"What's the matter?" Sorn asks, finally noticing my uncharacteristic behavior. "Are you feeling okay?"
"Not really," I say, gladly latching on to the excuse she gave me. "I think I got too much sun."
Sorn sighs. "I told you not to sleep on the beach mid-day. It's ninety-five degrees out."
It's true; she had warned me about that. But my misery today has nothing to do with the heat and everything with the woman sitting across the table from me. I know that when the dinner is over, she's going to take me upstairs and fuck me again. Maybe hurt me.
And I will respond to her, like I always do.
That last part is the worst. She beat up Hanbin in front of my eyes. She admitted to being a murdering sociopath. I should be disgusted. I should look at her with nothing but fear and contempt. The fact that I can feel even a smidgen of desire for her is beyond sick.
It's downright twisted.
So I sit there, picking at my food, my stomach filled with lead. I would get up and go to my room, but I'm afraid it will just speed up the inevitable.
Finally, the meal is over. Lisa takes my hand and leads me upstairs. I feel like I'm going to my execution, though that's probably too dramatic. She said she wouldn't kill me.
When we're in the room, she sits down on the bed and pulls me between her legs. I want to resist, to put up at least some kind of fight, but my brain and my body don't seem to be on speaking terms these days. Instead, I stand there mutely, trembling from head to toe, while she looks at me. Her eyes trace over my facial features, lingering on my mouth, then drop down to my neckline, where my nipples are visible through the thin fabric of my sundress. They're peaked, as though from arousal, but I think it's because I'm chilled. Sorn must've turned on air-conditioning for the night.
"Very pretty," she says finally, lifting her hand and stroking the edge of my jaw with her fingers. "Such soft golden skin."
I close my eyes, not wanting to look at the monster in front of me. I wanted to kill more . . . I wanted to kill more . . . Her words repeat over and over in my mind, like a song that's stuck on replay. I don't know how to turn it off, how to go back in time and scrub the memories of this afternoon from my mind. Why did I insist on knowing this about her? Why did I probe and pry until I got these kind of answers? Now I can't think about anything but the fact that the woman touching me is a ruthless killer.
She leans closer to me, and I can feel her hot breath on my neck. "Are you sorry you asked me all those questions today?" she whispers in my ear. "Are you, Jennie?"
I flinch, my eyes flying open. Does she also read minds?
At my reaction, she pulls back and smiles. There's something in that smile that makes my chill ten times worse. I don't know what's going on with her tonight, but whatever it is, it frightens me more than anything she's done before.
"You're scared of me, aren't you, my pet?" she says softly, still holding me prisoner between her legs. "I can feel you shaking like a leaf."
I want to deny it, to be brave, but I can't. I am scared, and I am shaking. "Please," I whisper, not even knowing why I'm begging. She hasn't done anything to me yet.
She gives me a light push then, releasing me from her hold. I take a few steps back, glad to put some distance between us.
She gets up off the bed and walks out of the room.
I stare after her, unable to believe she just left me alone. Could it be that she doesn't want sex right now? She did already have me once on the beach earlier today.
And just as I'm about to let myself feel relief, Lisa returns, a black gym bag in her hands.
All blood drains from my face. Horrifying thoughts run through my mind. What does she have in there—knives, guns, some kind of torture devices?
When she takes out a blindfold and a small dildo, I'm almost grateful. Sex toys. She just has some sex toys in that bag. I would take sex over torture any day of the week.
Of course, with Lisa the two are not necessarily separate, as I learn this night.
"Strip, Jennie," she tells me, walking over to sit down on the bed again. She lays the blindfold and the dildo on the mattress. "Take off your clothes, slowly."
I freeze. She wants me to disrobe while she watches? For a moment, I think about refusing, but then I start to undress with clumsy fingers. She has already seen me naked today. What would I achieve by being modest now? Besides, I'm still sensing that strange vibe from her. Her eyes are glittering with excitement that goes beyond simple lust.
It's an excitement that makes my blood run cold.
She watches as the dress falls off my body and I kick off my flip-flops. My movements are wooden, stiff with fear. I doubt a normal man would find this striptease arousing, but I can see that it turns Lisa on. Under the dress, I'm wearing only a pair of cream-colored lacy panties. The cold air washes over my skin, making my nipples harden even more.
"Now the underwear," she says.
I swallow and push the panties down my legs. Then I step out of them.
"Good girl," she says approvingly. "Now come here."
This time I'm unable to obey her. My self-preservation instinct is screaming that I need to run, but there's nowhere to run to. Lisa would catch me if I tried to make it out the door right now—and it's not like I can get off this island anyway.
So I just stand there, naked and shivering, frozen in place.
Lisa gets up herself. Contrary to my expectations, she doesn't look angry. Instead she seems almost . . . pleased. "I see that I was right to begin training you tonight," she says as he comes up to me. "I've been too soft with you because of your inexperience. I didn't want to break you, to damage you beyond repair—"
My shaking intensifies as she circles around me like a shark.
"—but I need to start molding you into what I want you to be, Jennie. You're already so close to perfection, but there are these occasional lapses . . ." She traces her fingers down my body, ignoring the way I'm cringing from her touch.
"Please," I whisper, "please, Lisa, I'm sorry." I don't know what I'm sorry for, but I will say anything right now to avoid this training, whatever it may be.
She smiles at me. "It's not a punishment, my pet. I just have certain needs, that's all—and I want you to be able to satisfy them."
"What needs?" My words are barely audible. I don't want to know, I truly don't, yet I can't seem to stop myself from asking.
"You'll see," she says, wrapping her fingers around my upper arm and leading me toward the bed. When we get there, she reaches for the blindfold and ties it around my eyes. My hands automatically try to go to my face, but she pulls them down, so that they're hanging by my sides.
I hear rustling sounds, as though she's searching for something in that bag. Terror rips through me again, and I make a convulsive movement to free my eyes, but she catches my wrists. Then I feel her binding them behind my back.
At this point I start to cry. I don't make a sound, but I can feel the blindfold getting wet from the moisture escaping my eyes. I know I was helpless before, even without being blindfolded and tied up, but the sense of vulnerability is a thousand times worse now. I know there are women who are into this, who play these types of games with their partners, but Lisa is not my partner. I've read enough books that I know the rules—and I know that she's not following them. There's nothing safe, sane, or consensual about what's going on here.
And yet, when Lisa reaches between my legs and strokes me there, I'm horrified to realize that I'm wet.
That pleases her. She doesn't say anything, but I can feel the satisfaction emanating from her as she begins to play with my clit, occasionally dipping the tip of one finger inside me to monitor my physical response to her stimulation. Her movements are sure, not the least bit hesitant. She knows exactly what to do to enhance my arousal, how to touch me to make me come.
I hate that, her expertise in bringing me pleasure. How many women has she done this to? Surely it takes practice to get so good at making a woman orgasm despite her fear and reluctance.
None of this matters to my body, of course. With each stroke of her skilled fingers, the tension inside me builds and intensifies, the insidious pressure starting to gather low in my belly. I moan, my hips involuntarily pushing toward her as she continues to play with my sex. She's not touching me anywhere else, just there, but it seems to be enough to drive me insane.
"Oh yes," she murmurs, bending down to kiss my neck. "Come for me, my pet."
As though obeying her command, my inner muscles contract . . . and then the climax rushes through me with the force of a freight train. I forget to be afraid; I forget everything in that moment except the pleasure exploding through my nerve endings.
Before I can recover, she pushes me onto the bed, face down. I hear her moving, doing something, and then she lifts me and arranges me on top of a mound of pillows, elevating my hips. Now I'm lying on my stomach with my ass sticking out and my hands tied behind my back, even more exposed and vulnerable than before. I turn my head sideways, so I don't suffocate in the mattress.
My tears, which had almost stopped before, begin again. I have a terrible suspicion I know what she's going to do to me now.
When I feel something cool and wet between my butt cheeks, my suspicion is confirmed. She's spreading lube on me, preparing me for what's to come.
"Please, don't." The words are wrenched out of me. I know that begging is useless. I know that she has no mercy, that it turns her on to see me like this—but I can't help it. I can't accept that additional violation. I just can't. "Please."
"Hush, baby," she murmurs, stroking the curve of my buttocks with her large palm. "I'll teach you to enjoy this too."
I hear more sounds, and then I feel something pushing into me, into that other opening. I tense, clenching my muscles with all my might, but the pressure is too much to resist and the thing begins to penetrate me.
"Stop," I moan as a burning pain begins, and Lisa actually listens this time, pausing for a second.
"Relax, my pet," she says softly, caressing my leg with one of her hands. "It'll go much better if you relax."
"Take it out," I beg. "Please take it out."
"Jennie," she says, her tone suddenly harsh. "I told you to relax. It's nothing but a small toy. It won't hurt you if you relax."
"Isn't hurting me the whole point?" I ask bitterly. "Isn't that what gets your rocks off?"
"Do you want me to hurt you?" Her voice is soft, almost hypnotic. "It would get my rocks off, you're right . . . Is that what you want, my pet? For me to hurt you?"
No, I don't. I don't want that at all. I give an almost imperceptible shake of my head and do my best to relax. I don't think I'm successful at it. It's just too wrong, the feeling of something pushing in there from the outside.
Nonetheless, Lisa seems pleased with my efforts. "Good," she croons. "Good girl, there we go . . ." She applies steady pressure, and the thing goes deeper into me, past the resistance of my sphincter, inch by slow inch. When it's all the way in, she pauses, letting me get used to the sensation.
The burning pain is still there, as is the almost nauseating feeling of fullness. I focus on taking small, even breaths and not moving. After about a minute, the pain begins to subside, leaving only the disorienting sensation of a foreign object lodged inside my body.
Lisa leaves the toy in place and starts stroking me all over, her touch oddly gentle. She starts with my feet, rubbing them, finding all the kinks and massaging them away. Then she moves up my calves and thighs, which are almost vibrating with tension. Her hands are skilled and sure on my body; what she's doing is better than any massage I've ever had. Despite everything, I feel myself melting into her touch, my muscles turning to mush under her fingers. By the time she gets to my neck and shoulders, I'm as relaxed as I've been since waking up on this island. If I hadn't been blindfolded, bound, and sodomized, I would've thought I was in a spa.
When she removes the toy some twenty minutes later, it slides right out, without even a hint of discomfort. She pushes it back in again, and this time, the pain is minimal. If anything, it feels . . . interesting . . . particularly when her fingers find my clit and begin stimulating it again.
I don't resist the pleasure those fingers bring me. Why bother? I would take pleasure over pain any day of the week. Lisa is going to do whatever she wants, and I might as well enjoy some parts of it.
So I divorce my mind from the wrongness of it all and let myself simply feel. I can't see anything with the blindfold, and I can't put up much of a fight with my hands tied behind my back. I'm completely helpless—and there's something peculiarly liberating in that. There's no point in worrying, no point in thinking. I'm simply drifting in the darkness, high on post-massage endorphins.
She fucks me with the toy, pushing it in and out of me at the same time as her fingers press on my clit. Her movements are rhythmic, coordinated, and I moan as my sex starts to throb, the pressure inside me growing with each thrust. Abruptly, the tension gets to be too much, and there's a sudden, intense burst of pleasure, starting at my core and radiating outward. My muscles clamp down on the toy, and the unusual sensation only intensifies my orgasm. Unable to control myself, I cry out, grinding against Lisa's fingers. I want the ecstasy to last forever.
All too soon, though, it's over, and I'm left limp and shaking in the aftermath. Lisa is not done with me, of course, not by a long shot. Just as I'm starting to recover, she withdraws the toy and presses a different, larger object to my back opening. It's her cock, I realize, tensing again as she begins to push in.
"Jennie . . ." There is a warning note in her voice, and I know what she wants from me, but I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I can relax enough to let her in. It's too much; she's too thick, too long. I don't understand how something that big can enter me there without ripping me apart.
But she's relentless, and I feel my muscles slowly giving in, unable to resist the pressure she's applying. The head of her cock pushes past the tight ring of my sphincter, and I cry out at the burning, stretching sensation. "Shh," she says soothingly, stroking my back as she slowly goes deeper. "Shh . . . it's all good . . ."
By the time she's in all the way, I'm a trembling, sweating mess. There's pain, yes, but there's also the novelty of having something so large invading my body in this weird, unnatural way. I know people do this—and supposedly even derive pleasure from this act—but I can't imagine ever doing this willingly.
She pauses, letting me adjust to the sensations, and I sob softly into the mattress, wanting nothing more than for this to be over. She's patient, though, her hands caressing me, relaxing me, until my tears subside and I no longer feel like passing out.
She senses it when my discomfort begins to ease, and starts to move inside me, slowly, carefully. I can hear her harsh breathing, and I know that she's exerting a lot of control over herself, that she probably wants to fuck me harder but is trying not to 'damage me beyond repair.' Nevertheless, her movements cause my insides to twist and churn, causing me to cry out with every stroke.
And just when I think I can't bear it anymore, she slides one hand under my hips and finds my swollen clit again. Her fingers are gentle, her touch butterfly-soft, and I begin to feel a familiar warmth in my belly, my body responding to her despite the violation. What she's doing isn't taking away the pain, but it's distracting me from it, allowing me to focus on the pleasure. I never knew pleasure and pain could co-exist like that, but there's something strangely addictive in that combination, something dark and forbidden that resonates with a part of myself I never knew existed.
Her pace picks up, and somehow that makes it better. Maybe some nerve endings are desensitized by now—or maybe I'm simply getting used to having her inside me—but the pain lessens, almost disappears. All that's left is a host of other sensations—strange, unfamiliar sensations that are intriguing in their own way. That, and the pleasure from her clever fingers playing with my sex, arousing me until I'm crying out for a different reason, until I'm begging Lisa to do it, to send me over the edge again.
And she does. My entire body tightens and explodes, shuddering with the force of my release. She groans as my muscles clamp down on her shaft, and I feel the liquid warmth from her seed bathing my insides, the saltiness of it stinging my raw flesh.
"Good girl," she whispers in my ear, her cock softening within me. She kisses my earlobe, and the tender gesture is such a contrast to what she'd just done that I feel disoriented. Is this normal kidnapper behavior? When she withdraws from me, I feel empty and cold, almost as if I'm missing the heat from her body pressing me down.
She doesn't leave me alone for long, though. She unties my hands first and rubs them lightly, then she takes off my blindfold. I blink, letting my eyes adjust to the soft light in the room, and move my arms, bracing myself on my elbows.
"Come," she says softly, wrapping her fingers around my upper arm. "Let's get you into the shower."
I let her tug me to my feet and lead me into the bathroom. My legs feel shaky, and I'm glad she's holding me. I don't know if I could've walked there by myself.
She turns on the shower, waits for the water to heat up for a few seconds, and leads us into the large stall. Then she thoroughly washes every part of my body, rinsing away all traces of lube and semen. She even shampoos and conditions my hair, her fingers massaging my skull and relaxing me again. By the time she's done, I feel clean and cared for.
"Now it's your turn," she says, turning up my palm and pouring some body wash into it.
"You want me to wash you?" I say incredulously, and she nods, a small smile curving her lips. With the water running down her toned body, she's even more gorgeous than usual, like some kind of a sea god.
A sea monster, I correct myself. A beautiful sea monster.
She continues looking at me expectantly, waiting to see if I will do as she asked, and I mentally shrug. Why not wash her, really? It won't hurt me in the least. And besides, as much as I hate her, I can't deny that I am curious about her body—that touching her is something I find exciting.
So I rub my hands together and run them over her shoulder, spreading the soap all over her skin. She raises her arms, and I wash her sides and underarms, then her back.
Her skin is mostly smooth, I can feel the muscles bunching under my fingers, and I find myself enjoying this experience. In this moment, I can almost pretend that I want to be here, that this stunning creature is my lover instead of my captor.
I wash her as thoroughly as she washed me, my soapy hands gliding over her legs, her feet. By the time I get to her sex, her cock begins to harden again, and I freeze, realizing that my ministrations unintentionally aroused her.
She correctly interprets my reaction as fear. "Relax, my pet," she murmurs, her voice filled with amusement. "I'm only human, you know. As delicious as you are, I need more than a few minutes to recover fully."
I swallow and turn away, rinsing my hands under the water spray. What the hell am I doing? She hadn't forced me to touch her. I had done it of my own accord. She'd asked, but I am pretty sure I could've refused and she would've let it slide. The dark undercurrent I'd sensed in her earlier this evening is not there now. In fact, Lisa seems to be in a good mood, her manner almost playful.
I want to get out of the shower now, so I make a move to slide past her. She stops me, her arm blocking my way.
"Wait," she says softly, tilting my chin up with her fingers. Then she bends her head and kisses me, her lips sweet and gentle on mine. A now-familiar response warms my body, making me want to rub myself against her like a cat in heat. She doesn't let it go far, though. After about a minute, she lifts her head and smiles down at me, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Now you can go."
Utterly confused, I step out of the shower, dry myself off, and escape into my room as quickly as I can.