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Although her body ached from the lengthy trek, once they finally landed on the cool verandah that surrounded the ancient estate house, her excitement was suddenly revived. Memories of the sexual deviance she submitted to there came swarming back to her as she inspected the old place. With every turn along the porches, and as they moved into the house and surveyed the rooms, the images of Sandra, Elise, Matthew, Jason, Erik and herself playing games of sadomasochism returned to her. Raw hedonistic feelings clung to her body like the vines that covered half the house. Although the estate was practically a ruin three years before, it still seemed substantial then, hardly as fragile as it seemed now… now it was becoming part of the jungle, the roof and verandah sagging into the soft ground beneath it. Most of the windows were broken out and most of the furnishings that were durable enough to be usable before had been picked over by island scavengers, who must have slipped in and out by boat on those nights when there was no one to keep watch over the island’s only safe port.
White tattered curtains danced in the open windows—the breeze was still sumptuously fragrant, just as Laney remembered it. In places, the plaster had peeled away to the raw boards beneath. She moved through the dining, living room and into the library, where the infamous Marquis Book of Pleasure once resided. The library shelves were half-empty now with some of the contents ransacked, books strewn everywhere on the library floor. She shuddered, as the thought of that astounding book returned to her mind. She hoped she’d have an opportunity to hunt it down, but with the fisherman hovering close, she continued her inspection moving back into the main living room.
Despite the chaotic state of the once grand home, Laney’s memories continued to surface undaunted. The alcoves with their bondage rings were still intact. And the fireplace where they’d warmed themselves, before which they’d sprawled out, while listening to Erik read the Marquis’ shocking book, looked as stately as ever. She saw Sandra and Elise in various states of undress, making lurid moves on the horny Matthew and Jason. The cocks, the bared crotches. The unfettered sexual debauchery. Her moist cunt itched now with the graphic images flooding back with renewed life.
As she walked among the ruins, off to one side, Alex Greenwood observed her carefully, apparently studying her movements with interest. Laney’s crotch reported her observations, growing heavier and more sexually aroused with each memory that piled on the oppressive heap.
“I thought this was about taking pictures,” the fisherman suddenly interrupted the silent vigil.
Laney jerked and turned about, as a foreboding chill raced up her back.
“Oh, it is!” she came right back. “I’m just looking for the right backdrops. Things have changed so much since I was here.”
“If you ask me, you look like you’re walking down memory lane,” he challenged her. She chilled again. Did he know what was in her mind? Was he guessing what happened three years before? Was it possible that he knew about the sadomasochistic rites that once took place here?
He’d called the island by another name when they met, and she had assumed that he was just a local fisherman, in no way associated with the activities that made the island so unique, but maybe she’d been wrong.
She turned to him. “Yes, I suppose I was recalling when I was here before. But there’s also a lot to be considered in the kind of photo shoot I’m thinking of. I hope there won’t be a problem if we have a crew here, maybe ten or so?” Alex shrugged as if it didn’t matter. “Just a couple models, but we have to have a make-up artist, a stylist, and, you know, the assorted people necessary to pull off this sort of project.” Of course, the fisherman wouldn’t know if what she said was true or not. Nor did Laney know much about fashion photo shoots, but she thought her performance at least sounded authentic.
She took the opportunity to pull out her camera and moved back through the rooms she already inspected, taking pictures that seemed to have some artistic element, which might show off a line of designer beachwear. Her ruse amused her, but she had to keep up the game in order to fool her guide. What a story this would make to tell Elise and Sandra when she got back! She finally moved out to the verandah and the fisherman followed along.
Wondering what Alex Greenwood really knew about the island made his vigilance unnerving. Could he be imagining her naked, costumed like the slut she’d become, bound as she’d been bound, abused as she’d been abused? She breezily snapped her photographs, even as her mind worried over the possibilities and became increasingly concerned. Alarm bells began to go off in her feverish brain.
Was it possible that her guide was on the island during the days of that wild savagery, when she, Elise and Sandra became the centerpiece of the debauched bacchanalian rites? She suddenly froze under the weight of that thought, her back to the fisherman, her skin c
rawling with the prickly feeling of a spider’s legs moving slowly toward her bare neck. There was no spider, of course, just the fisherman’s eyes.
Getting back her composure wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. She took a cleansing breath and turned around smiling. “I think I’d like to walk around the place,” she said cheerily, “I remember the overgrown gardens. I’m sure they are savage by now.” Then, as if the gods of the island were getting back at her for the continuing lie, she nonchalantly stepped off the verandah without looking where she was going and her foot came down in a pothole she didn’t see. Laney felt her ankle cruelly twist. Her body started to crash toward the ground, but just then, the fisherman lurched forward, seized her arm and pulled her upright. He held her tightly, moving her toward firm ground. She was caught in his grasp, a burst of energy making her entire body tingle.
“Ah, geez, that hurts!” she fumed miserably.
Although she tried to ease away from the man, he kept her close. “You okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” Although any little pressure on her ankle caused another stabbing pain.
“You know, it’s a little dangerous around here,” Alex said. “I’m not sure it’s the best place for some fancy fashion shoot.”
“I really don’t know right now,” she said, despairingly. She was feeling stupid and very tired of this silly game. And now her ankle ached so much that she could barely walk. Although she was able to pull from the fisherman’s grasp, she winced again as she stepped down on her injured foot. “Maybe I could sit down inside for a minute. My ankle is throbbing. It will be fine…but…”
Alex had his arm around her before she could say more and helped her back inside the house, moving into the library where there was still a place to sit. He deposited her in one of the old brocade chairs—she remembered the chair well from being in the room before. This one was still covered with a sheet, which Alex whisked away before he sat her down.
“You know my backpack is on the ground outside, I have a bottle of water inside. Do you suppose…?”
Her guide took no more prompting to retrieve the backpack and have it resting in her lap a minute later.
“You want one?” Laney asked, pulling the Evian from inside.
“I have my own,” the fisherman said, patting his canteen.
The water tasted cool and refreshing. The afternoon heat seemed to be building, and at that moment, there was little breeze to cool the air. In fact, the air around her seemed as stifling as the erotic energy, which grew more potent the longer she stayed. Maybe it was memories pressing down from every angle, every view of the old house. And her own aching and unmet need; it seemed like years not months since she had any sexual satisfaction. Now, inside this place of dreams and fantasy and her brutal awakening to the seamier side of sex, the screams and the laughter of those torrid days were all around her once again, as if they’d remained locked inside this space and would continue to reverberate off the walls until the walls finally vanished.
If she could only have a moment alone.
But the fisherman was kneeling at her feet, inspecting her throbbing foot with warm and powerful hands.
He twisted the ankle.
“Ouch!”
