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“Keep going.”
Reaching back, Sandra unhooked her bra, letting two pink/white breasts spill like heavy pillows from the cups and finally settle into her torso with a ruffled shimmy. The pert ends of her aureoles looked as though they’d been brushed with pink, and in the very centers, two tiny nipples gently poked beyond the smooth surface. Jason took each nipple between a thumb and index finger, pinching them until he saw a wince of pain register on Sandra’s face.
“Your shorts,” he said.
Sandra shuddered, but obeyed, moving her hand to the waistband of her running shorts; and with her fingers going under the elastic, she tugged them over her hips. Her bare ass appeared, the skin translucent with the mellow glow of candlelight bouncing off the tenuous surface. While the others eyed her splendid ass, Jason’s first look of Sandra’s nakedness revealed for him the dampened curls of pubic hair between her thighs and the pink of her clit at the center of two fat labia.
“Very good, slave,” he commented with a twisted grin of delight. “Now sit.” Sandra turned, facing out, and rested the cushion of one ass cheek on the hardwood floor as she settled in-between Jason’s parted thighs. She leaned back as though being naked were easy in these circumstances, though still a shudder of embarrassed energy gave away her obvious fear.
So completely mesmerized by her friend’s sudden leap into submissiveness, Elise began to remove her clothes as though she’d been ordered to do so, too. She turned first, so that Matthew could see her disrobe, and like Sandra, kept her eyes fixed on her husband’s impassive face.
Elise’s nakedness was far different that Sandra’s. Her small tight body had the appearance of a Jackal, firm and sharply defined not sensuously rounded as her friend’s pink voluptuous shape. Her nipples stood nobly erect beyond her modest breasts, and her flat tummy seemed to swell just slightly as though it were filling with erotic energy. Hardly seen, since she was sitting on the floor, was her close-clipped pubic hair shaped into a smart triangle, and the sexual equipment hidden below. Matthew, however, was close enough to detect her female scent fraught with arousal drifting toward his nostrils. He reached out and fingered her neck, imagining the collar that wasn’t there.
Laney, the lone clothed woman in the room, sat up nervously on the couch and stared at her husband. He stared back not yet saying a word.
“I thought we’d take our wager one step further,” Jason suggested as all eyes watched the Priestlys intimate exchange, “have fun with the customs of Marquis Island. That is if all the women here are willing to participate. It would make our wager that much more interesting, don’t you think?”
“What about it, Laney?” Erik finally spoke, though Laney wasn’t answering.
“I found the collar in an old trunk in the cellar,” Jason added. “We really should explore the place, you’d be amazed what’s there.”
“What about it, Laney?” Erik asked again. He moved forward, taking a seat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of her, watching how cold chills of fear made her entire body quake. “Take off your clothes.” His voice was strongly resonant, filled with tenacity that came from deep within his dark substance. He rarely employed such power in sex, but he was now. It aroused him, and Laney as well.
She bit her lip, held it with her teeth for several seconds, then looked at her naked friends, seeing their gross sexuality leap out at her, begging her to join them. She let go of her lip and her desire poured from her mouth and breasts, her breathing deepened and her eyes seemed to soften. Her hesitation was a poignant reminder of the fear that encircled the room and the desire billowing from that fear. Still, her anxiety did not keep her from acting on Erik’s order. With nervous fingers grasping the hem of her tee shirt, she pulled it over her head. Unclasping the white cotton bra, her bronze skin seemed to moisten with perspiration as the anticipation in the room magnified.
Ignoring the eyes that stared her way, she continued—as though she had no choice, her body moved beyond her mind. Her crotch tingled as she struggled to get free of her shorts. The eroticism was alarming. Once nude, Laney slumped to the floor and settled in with her knees bent and tucked to her chest, her arms going around them while her head rested at the top as though she were exhausted. It was not entirely a submissive pose, but it was the best she could accomplish at the moment. It did afford the rest of the room a direct shot at her shaved pussy, the pink/brown lips of her pudendum, a swollen purple clitoris, and a bit of silky black hair in a tuft at the top.
“Very good, my obstinate chattel,” Erik remarked, then he turned his back on her as he stood.
“Do you suppose we can bring the trunk upstairs?” Erik asked Jason.
“Easily,” he replied, rising, leaving Sandra by the stool.
While their slaves waited in silence for their return, the three men swiftly made their way to the subterranean depths of the old house and minutes later returned with a hefty camelback steamer trunk. Matthew moved the coffee table, and in the center of the room before the fireplace, Jason and Erik carefully let it drop to the floor with a gentle plunk. All six stared at the massive antique for some minutes—it gave off the aroma of damp dust while suggesting that, like Pandora’s Box, there were secrets inside that, once exhumed from the dark, could explode unchecked altering the natural order of their lives. Could it hold such awesome power? Did it contain that kind of force? Or did their fascination have its source in the same numbing sexual spell that had already moved this night beyond the pallid and into the extreme?
Matthew was the first to act. Tired of waiting, he impulsively unlatched the rickety lock—one already breached by Jason earlier that day. Opening the trunk, the dank smell hit his nostrils like a blast of wind. Inside, the reality of the trunk’s contents was quite plainly visible. A treasure house of S&M paraphernalia, there were implements of punishment and bondage, an array of leather harnesses and bridles, boots, chains and most importantly for the moment, a half dozen slave collars.
Matthew immediately lit on a metal one: slim, velvet lined and very snug around Elise’s slim neck. As he fixed it tightly and locked the latch behind there was a tiny but ominous click, signaling the gravity of its purpose. Taking the long tail of his wife’s lustrous chestnut hair in hand, he twirled it into a thick bun at the top of her head, and thread her long hair-pick through the locks to hold it in place. Her hair swept off her shoulders, the diminutive beauty formed a stunning statement of submissive elegance with the metal collar circling the flawless perfection of her pale neck.
Erik made a different choice in collars for his slave, finding one made of black leather, much like Sandra’s, but studded with thick round silver bullets. In the front, a large metal ring dangled a good inch below the leather itself. Around Laney’s neck, the collar was bold, brushed lightly by the ends of the short straight pageboy. She was less elegant than Elise, less indulgently robust than Sandra, and like her plain-stated personality, more abrupt than either woman, harboring a trace of defiance in her attitude that one would expect from a woman so determinedly frank.
Once his slave
wife was collared, Erik rose again. “As long as we play our wager, you’ll wear these,” he said.
“And how long will that be?” Laney asked, looking up meekly.
“As long as we like,” Erik replied to her tersely. “Now, I think I’ll read a little more of the book. And this time,” he looked straight at his wife, “no interruptions.”
Curiously, the swiftness of the change took no one by surprise. After three days on the island with their imaginations fueled by the peculiarities of the odd place, it almost seemed to be the natural order of life, the way things should be, an adjustment to the disharmony that had rankled them all since they arrived. As bizarre as it seemed for three women to be naked, collared and subservient at the feet of their men, no one questioned the act—not even Laney could protest with words. She struggled—even Elise struggled. Sandra seemed the most gone. Regardless, however, this was fate, and it would not change. Accepting their collars and their subordinate status seemed far more natural than resisting. In time, they realized that their disquiet would fall away, to be replaced by an effortless surrender none would have attempted anywhere but on Marquis Island.
Moving away from his collared wife, Erik strolled to the fireplace, the book in his hand, and leaning an arm against the mantle, he began to read. There’d been a challenging swagger in his walk and a sharp turn in attitude as though he were allowing what was already inherently dominant in his make-up to emerge more distinctly. His was a cool almost calculating sort of dominance. Jason’s was emotionally hot and intense, while Matthew’s predilection was quick-witted and imaginative. Each man in his own fashion suppressed an explosive energy that waited like a hunting tiger about to strike. The thought of that energy erupting through their uneasy calm held their captive slaves, their prey, enthralled, on edge and wary.
“To subjugate the ego of a human slave it is essential they have no self concern, self-consciousness or modesty. They must have no thought for propriety. Indeed, they should have no concerns at all. Their single task is to obey the rules set for them by their master, and in so doing dispense with any idea of self and the conventions of society they may have adhered to in their past.
“In order to attain this selfless state, it is imperative that they undergo efficiently administered beatings on their buttocks, thighs and even their shoulders—all places where punishment can be dealt and not produce permanent damage. For such acts, humiliating poses of surrender are required with asses raised lewdly, genitals splayed wide, and the flesh worked harshly. This kind of treatment, regularly imposed, imbues the slave with a sense of their degraded and worthless state.
Should they find themselves in a masochistic revelry because of such beatings, that fairs well for the master—he knows then that he has less to punish with a slave who finds sexual, physical release in the act. Be sure, however, that the abuse is not laid on too lightly in order to achieve an erotic outcome. This can come later. Instead, the intent at this early stage is to instill a state of surrender and to suppress the ego until its effects are abolished altogether in the mind of the slave.
