Chapter 3
Eve Sedgewick's pathetic hopes that Jules, her chauffeur, would inform the authorities that she was missing were all in vain.
She had forgotten how very persuasive a man Hank Dubloon could be.
He had personally gone up to the chauffeur and amiably chatted with the man, telling him that his mistress had decided to stay the night on the yacht and wouldn't be needing his services any more.
Then, he had slipped an envelope with five crisp one hundred dollar bills in it in the delighted driver's hand.
Jules went away happy and without the least suspicion that anything was occurring other than an illicit sexual encounter between two of the glittering jet setters of the world.
Hank Dubloon's yacht, the "Jungle Empress", set sail early the next morning and headed toward the Caribbean.
Gorse Island, which Hank Dubloon owned, was a small green cylinder shaped piece of land about ten miles off the coast of the large island of Treisiella.
It would take the "Jungle Empress" several days to reach its destination.
"How long to you intend to keep me like this?" Eve said coldly on the second day.
She and her host were sitting on deck.
Hank had not touched or tortured her since that first evening, but she had been restrained almost all the time.
Now, her left wrist was handcuffed to a deck chair, but other than that, she was not tied up.
One of Hank's men had produced several outfits for Eve to wear.
He had put her in her own cabin, where she was free to move around - except that she was kept locked inside all night.
Now, Hank was sipping a tall pina colada, leaning back contentedly in his deck chair and staring over the horizon.
Eve's pina colada stood frosty and untouched in front of her.
Hank turned his arrogant dark eyes and stared at her.
"You know, my dear," he drawled, "I thought you were smart enough to realize that playing the arch bitch isn't going to work around here.
"You shall stay here until I am ready to let you go. And I don't know that I will ever be ready to release you. I need a queen for my isolated island. A woman who is a challenge. A woman with the kind of sparkle and flash that you have. And I sense that you require a man with a firm, brutal hand, a man with a touch of the beast in him, to satisfy your own dark whims."
Eve said nothing, but looked sulkily away from him. Deep down inside of her, however, a strange stirring was occuring.
"You are wondering why I haven't touched you since we put to sea," Hank said. "It's a sailor's superstition. Sex at sea can put a curse on a ship. I am saving our further exquisite pleasures for the dungeons of my castle on Gorse Island."
Eve shivered, because she heard the harsh rasp of sadistic excitement in his voice and felt the rake of his hot gaze over her body.
Her flesh ached from the brutal tortures to which it had been subjected on the night of the party.
She had been disturbed by strange dreams in the night, dreams in which huge, naked men with leather hoods had dragged her naked, battered body into a room full of bizarre torture instruments, and had tied her up to first one and then another and another...
She awakened from these nightmares in a cold sweat, but her pussy was always oozing with excitement, and her heart pounded with shameful lust...
Now, as she sat on the deck of the luxurious yacht and stared out at the lovely, peaceful ocean, a shimmering emerald green, the situation seemed almost unreal.
She was the only passenger on the ship other than Hank. The crew were large, muscular men, completely loyal to their boss. They were respectful to her, but they only attended her when Hank Dubloon asked them to.
Hank looked at Eve and said with a slow grin, "I see you are restless my dear."
Eve glanced at him coolly and said, "Long sea voyages were never a thrill to me."
Hank nodded and said, "Well, then, my dear, I'm going to tell you a story. A story which may help educate you. You will begin to understand the ramifications of becoming a guest of Gorse Island."
He settled back in his deck chair and asked, "Do you remember Viveca Sothby?"
Eve raised her eyebrows in mild surprise.
"Viveca Sothby? Oh, yes, of the Boston Sothbys. Wasn't she the unfortunate girl who was killed with her uncle in a plane crash a couple of years ago?"
"Her body, and the wreckage of the small plane, were never found," Hank said. "Her uncle's body was washed onto the shore of Treisiella a week later. The plane had engine trouble over the Caribbean and crash landed in the ocean about twenty miles from Gorse Island.
"Viveca was thrown clear, and clung to a bit of driftwood. Viveca Sothby, you see, is not dead, and it is her story which I am about to tell you. Listen carefully, my dear, and together, we will go back two years to the time when the lovely sixteen year old heiress was tossed into the angry ocean. Together, we will go into her consciousness and experience what she experienced..."
His voice was mesmerizing, haunting. Eve actually felt herself slipping into the story, as if she were seeing a film or reading a book. She felt almost voyeuristic as she found out what really happened to Viveca Sothby.
The girl gasped and sputtered, clinging tightly to the sodden shard of driftwood which was all that kept her tired young body from being pulled down into Davy Jones' locker.
Her lips were parched. Her honey blonde hair was wet and sodden like seaweed. Her pretty pink dress was a deadweight, hanging about her lithe sixteen year old body like a wet shroud.
She moaned, her head dully aching. She knew she wouldn't be able to hold on much longer.
Her arms were growing numb. The cold was cutting deeper and deeper into her. She could hardly cry out anymore, and had preserved her strength wisely.
She rested her face on her arm and looked blearily in front of her.
Water, as far as the eye could sea. Water, an ugly green, billowing wasteland. She had never felt so small, so inconsequential, in all her life.
She frowned. There was something else out there. A tall dark column thrusting through the green in the distance, shaded by mist, but distinct nonetheless.
A ship? Her heart leapt painfully. But she dared not hope. She kept her eyes trained on the dark object in the distance.
She couldn't tell if it was moving or not.
She forced herself to start kicking with her legs, propelling herself toward the obstacle on the horizon.
The currents were moving that way, luckily for Viveca Sothby, and she was carried quickly closer and closer.
The dark thing loomed bigger and bigger. It wasn't a ship, she realized. It was a structure, rising out of the water!
As she got nearer still, she saw the island, small and flat and green, upon which the structure was perched.
She blinked her eyes. Was she seeing things? The structure looked like a castle, an ancient, Medieval castle right out of the days of King Arthur!
Was this some kind of bizarre mirage? Desperately, she hoped it wasn't. She trembled, wondering if the sun and the exhaustion and the fear had combined to make her hallucinate.
But the huge, bizarre towers of the dark castle in the Caribbean loomed larger and larger in front of her, like a pair of giant buzzards perched on a boulder in the sea.
She was being washed ashore. She gave a low, dry sob of relief, and whooped as she felt her toes drag through sand.
She released the driftwood and floundered frantically forward. She was neckdeep, and she felt the tide trying to drag her back and claim her.
But doggedly, she struggled on, loving the feeling of sand oozing through her toes.
She staggered onto the white stretch of beach with a sob of joy, collapsing in a heap in exhaustion.
The hot sun felt good on her body. A sense of utter relief washed over her. Never had she felt so glad to be alive.
She lost consciousness soon afterwards, drifting into a deep, deep sleep. She did not hear the drone of a search plane about twenty minutes later, scanning the waters off Gorse Island for any signs of wreckage.
She did not hear the trudge of feet through the sand, or feel the dark shadow fall across her body.
She did not see the hulking brute of a man standing over her, glowering down at her with blazing gray eyes and an ugly, twisted smile on his simian features.
His name was Brutus, and it was an apt name for a brute. He was a hulking creature, more of a beast than a man. He stood six feet two inches in height, and his body was thickly muscled, bulging and hairy.
His head was squarish and bullet-shaped. His hair was reddish brown and cropped within an inch of his head.
His eyes were cold and narrowed and ice gray.
His nose had been broken several times in brawls. You would not have liked to see what happened to the men who were responsible for breaking his nose.
He wore no shirt, only a pair of tattered trousers cut off at the knees, bound about the middle by a length of coarse hemp. A glimmering dagger was hooked in this makeshift belt.
His features were coarse and reddened. He had stubble on his face like sandpaper, and there was an ugly twisting scar on his left cheek.
His gray eyes gleamed as he stared down at the lovely young miss in the sand.
Her hair fanned out away from her pretty, oval-shaped face.
Even in the exhausted, dishevelled condition she was in, there was no question that young Viveca Sothby was an immensely beautiful girl.
Her sodden, saturated dress clung to her lithe, willowy figure. Brutus watched the way her firm, thrusting breasts lifted and fell. The wet material outlined the turreting rivets of her rubbery nipples.
He felt a savage tug at his loins and licked his lips in excitement.
He would have liked to take her then and there. To rape her on the sand while she slept.
But Master would be displeased. He would bring her back to Master Dubloon, and he knew he would be richly rewarded.
He grinned cruelly. The expression on her sleeping face was one of exhausted relief.
But Brutus knew that soon she would be desperately wishing that she had been washed ashore on any other island in the Caribbean besides this one.
Gorse Island was different. It was an island of secret, dark passion, an island of horror and savagery. An island where guests arrived and never left...
Bending down, the immense brute easily lifted the young sixteen year old girl in his brawny arms and strode across the sand carrying his burden, like King Kong carrying Faye Wray.
Viveca stirred in her sleep. She felt strong arms around her, she felt herself being carried.
She sighed and snuggled against the powerful chest against which her head was resting. She felt secure as a child in its Daddy's embrace.
This brute was no gentle father, however. He was practically drooling as he gazed down into her sleeping face. His gray eyes burned with a frightening light, like the eyes of a wolf surveying a potential kill.
The crotch of his ragged pants bulged prominently, giving evidence of a huge, outrageously oversized penis.
Brutus had been a resident of Gorse Island for three years. Ever since he had been hired by Hank Dubloon as first a bodyguard and then, as a partner in his diabolical acts of sadism.
Brutus Grunch had been the subject of a sensational, shocking crime which made headlines across the nation.
The hulking, half-witted brute had raped and bludgeoned to death three comely lasses, sisters, who were driving home late from a college party.
The media had screamed for the electric chair for the heinous criminal, and the nation was shocked and outraged when Brutus Grunch was acquitted because of lack of evidence.
Hank Dubloon had moved quickly. As soon as the result of the trial was made public, Brutus was approached by one of Hank's lawyers and offered an extravagent sum of money to come work for the millionaire.
Brutus was dumb, but not too dumb to bystep an offer as good as this one. He had lost his job at the steel mill, and he had received death threats and was told he wouldn't be welcomed back in the tenement in which he had been living.
So, he hooked up secretly with Hank Dubloon.
Hank made use of Brutus for his own diabolical schemes. He taught the big brute to refine and channel his fierce sadistic aggressions.
Brutus was phenomenally well hung, and Hank enjoyed procuring delectable young virgins for the big brute to viciously defile while Hank watched with greedy, maniacal eyes.
Brutus became an extension of Hank Dubloon's overweening need to punish and inflict pain on lovely ladies, to make them bow to his perverse needs...
Brutus carried Viveca up the stairs to the great wooden door leading into the perfect replica of a castle.
He pushed the huge door open and carried Viveca inside.
The interior of the castle was dark and eerie, with clammy winding corridors, illuminated by torches.
Brutus carried the castaway down a winding corridor to a small barred door, which he opened with his foot.
Then, he carried her inside.
It was a tiny cell-like chamber. A small, hard cot was situated in one corner of the room.
In the other was a toilet, and beside that, a sink. There was a small barred window with a view of the sea.
Brutus lay Viveca's unconscious body on the cot and with his hamlike hands, jerked off her sodden dress.
He grunted and grinned imbecilically as he ogled the sight of the lovely sixteen year old heiress's nakedness.
Her body was smooth and sleek. Her breasts were delectable mounds of firm, resilient flesh, capped by sand dollar sized, strawberry-hued nipples.
Her waist was slender as an hour glass, her hips were slightly curved and sexy.
His hot gray eyes bore into the soft, lambent thatch of silky blonde hairs that lined the mound of her buttery mons Veneris.
Again, he felt a hot shudder of lust cut through him.
Only the stinging fear of his master's stopped him from ravaging the helpless waif while he had a chance.
Slavering and licking his thick lips, Brutus lumbered out of the cell, closing the door and turning the key in the lock.
Then, he broke into a lope as he went in search of his master...
Viveca stirred in her sleep, frowning and shivering. She felt cold. She drew her knees up and curled her arms closer about her. She felt her clammy, naked flesh.
She felt the hard cot beneath her. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she began to come out of the deep sleep which had encompassed her since she had been washed ashore.
Blearily, she opened her eyes and blinked them as she looked around.
She stared at a dark stone wall. She saw a small window with bars in it. She saw the cold ceramic bowl of a sink, and a toilet beside it. Where was she? A languid feeling of disorientation hung over her. She almost didn't care. She almost thought she was still asleep and dreaming.
There was a small wooden stool beside the sink. Hanging over the stool was a gossamer looking outfit, a negligee of sorts which was a pale pink and entirely transparent.
She glanced down and saw that she was naked. Her hair felt damp and heavy with salt, and she was shivering from cold.
Suddenly, it all came rushing back to her. The sound of the plane's propeller crunching to a halt... The horrible whine as the plane dipped and shot downward like a diving bird. The sickening feeling as they dropped like lead from the skies...
The frantic voices of the pilot and her uncle as they struggled to get control of the plane...
The feeling of paralysis which made her sit frozen in her seat, unable to scream or react as the dark ocean loomed closer and closer.
The impact... the violent jarring and rending sounds, the shouts of the men, the roaring splash of water...
She felt herself tumbling again through the air, as if in slow motion, and then, the ice cold fingers of water closed around her, tearing the breath from her lungs.
When she came up for air, she had bumped into the driftwood and clung to it.
In a daze, she had watched the tail of the plane lift in the air and slowly sink with a low bubbling, belching sound.
Viveca gave a low moan, sitting up on the edge of the bed, hugging herself close and taking several deep breaths.
At least she was alive! That horrible ordeal was over! Her uncle... No, she musn't think of that right now.
She was safe, and that was all that mattered.
She looked around her, and suddenly, a strange feeling that things weren't exactly as they should be ran through her.
The castle! She remembered it now! That bizarre, Medieval castle rising out of nowhere in the middle of the Caribbean!
She must be in it! Who had brought her here? Where were her clothes?
She looked around, but they were no where to be seen.
She was about to get up and try the door when there was the sound of a key turning in the lock, and it opened on its own accord.
An outlandishly garbed, Amazon-like woman appeared in the doorway, and Viveca gaped at her in great surprise.
The woman was at least six feet tall, and she was wearing spiked heels which made her a good six inches taller.
She had a lot of crimson hair, piled high on her head, making her seem even taller.
Her face was pinched and hawklike. She had almond-shaped, cold gray eyes, a thin acquiline nose, and full red lips which twisted into a sneer.
She was very buxom.
She was wearing a tight, extremely skimpy leather outfit. A leather jacket-like garment was stretched over her enormous, jutting, missile-like bosoms, but her midriff was bare. She wore skin tight black leather pants, and a thick belt covered with metal studs surrounded her waist.
Knee high leather boots with spiked heels donned her legs and feet.
Fingerless leather gloves covered her hands and upper arms, and her long, white fingers which stuck through the holes had nails like talons, painted a bright crimson.
Stuck in her belt was a coiled leather whip.
"W-Where am I?" Viveca gasped.
"This is Gorse Island," the woman said coldly,"and you are a guest of Hank Dubloon. Please put this on and come with me."
She nodded to the sheer negligee on" the stool.
Getting unsteadily to her feet, Viveca picked up the negligee and frowned.
"B-But this is completely transparent!" she gasped.
"Put it on! Come along, we haven't much time!" the woman ordered.
Something in her voice made Viveca feel she had to obey. She drew the sheer garment over her head. It fell lightly over her body, as if made from butterfly wings and spider webs, doing nothing to cloak her nudity.
She flushed and said, "Look, I'm Viveca Sothby. I was in a plane crash and I managed to get ashore. Has someone contacted the authorities? I'm sure my family is very worried."
The woman gave a short nod and said coldly, "That has all been taken care of. You must come along for an examination. You are not injured, I gather?"
Viveca shook her head. "No, I feel o.k. Just a bit shaken up and cold."
Viveca looked up at the immense, zoftig woman and asked, "Who are you?"
"Call me Magdalena," the red dominatrix answered coldly. "Come on. Mr. Dubloon does not like to be kept waiting."
Viveca followed the tall, bizarrely clad redhead into the hall, feeling more and more confused and disoriented.
This was downright bizarre! She stared incredulously around her at the dank, dark corridor, and at the primitive torches on the walls.
The loud clack-clacking of Magdalena's sharp heels on the flagstones echoed through the hall.
Viveca shivered, instinctively covering her loins and breasts with her hands, and called, "D-Do you think I could have something a bit more substantial to put on?"
Magdalena said coldly, "Yes, just come alone. You will be taken care of."
They arrived at a door at the end of the hall, and Magdalena pushed it open, standing aside and motioning for Viveca to go in first.
Viveca entered, and found herself in a huge, well-furnished den with a blazing fire in the grate and large animal skin rugs on the floor.
Several easy chairs were situated around the room, and a couch, and large bookcases lined the walls.
"Lie down on a rug by the fire, my dear," Magdalena said in a cold voice. "We will be right with you."
Then, she shut the door, leaving the sixteen year old blonde alone in the big warm room.
Viveca looked around for a telephone. This was getting pretty strange. What was going on here?
But there were no phones in the room, so she sighed and settled down on the rug in front of the crackling fire.
The warmth of the flames certainly felt good. They made her feel sleepy again. She curled up on the soft skin, resting her face on her hands, and closed her eyes.
The crackling fire soothed her and lulled her back to sleep.
She didn't hear the door open a few minutes later, admitting Hank Dubloon and Brutus Grunch.