Page 13 of His

He stood staunchly in front of her. "That was the last person on the island but us. Yes, right here, right now. And you know that I don't like to repeat myself."

Raina was already reaching for the spaghetti strap of her flowery dress, but her response was a soft, "Yes, Sir," as she none the less looked nervously around her, as if she expected someone to jump out from behind the nearest palm tree.

When she was done and completely bare, he affixed her cuffs in place - ankle and wrist - and took the small bundle of her clothes and tucked it under his far arm, as he wrapped the other around her waist and began to slowly guide her to the low slung house. "Do you think I'm lying to you about us being the only two here?" he asked, noting her nervously scanning head with a growl.

"No, Sir," she peeped, those eyes flitting to his quickly, then to the sandy ground in front of them.

"Good. Then calm down."

After taking a good long look into his eyes, she answered more assuredly, "Yes, Sir."

The entire month they were on that island, she was never allowed to put on clothing. When she got cold, he allowed her to wrap herself in a sheet, but nothing more than that. She wasn't allowed to close any doors - not that there were many in the ultra open design of the flowing house, but still - not even the bathroom door. Their shared closet had enough clothes for him for a month on his side, but her walk in dressing area was completely bare, except for a pair of sturdy leather sandals he insisted she wear if she decided to walk about the island, which she never did unless forcibly compelled by him.

Knowing that she liked to cook for relaxation and as a point of pride was quite accomplished, he'd had his personal chef create quite a few meals that were stocked in the deep freeze, but he'd also stocked ingredients for meals of hers that were his favorite - which actually ended up being the simplest things she cooked.

The only other things he had brought or bought could all have been categorized under entertainment... in one way or the other. He'd broken down and had the island wired for satellite, and bought two large plasma TVs, for her, because she liked to have the television on a lot, even if she wasn't watching it. They'd actually collected a list of the movies they'd always wanted to see and had never gotten to, and he'd had them procured and brought here, along with stacks of books, and an ornately carved wooden trunk that he'd given to her as a wedding present, that contained all of the toys he intended on using on her. With the exception of a few duplicates, it contained pretty much every sexual toy and implement they owned.

He'd bought the island after he'd made his own first million, feeling somehow that, because he'd added to the family coffers, he could feel free to indulge himself in this one thing. Otherwise, he rarely spent any money on himself, beyond a typical playboy love of fast cars. He was a working man, and that was what he did for fun.

Until her. Until his Raina.

She was his entertainment. He could play with her endlessly and never become bored, and that was largely what he did for the entire month, bringing her to excruciatingly hard orgasms on their bed, on the kitchen counter, and while she was tied, spread wide, between two extremely handy palm trees, facing the open ocean nude, like some kinky Venus.

He knew that she would have a very hard time with that, despite the fact that that he'd reassured her from that first moment that he'd denied her clothing that they were alone. Raina worried that some passing ship or fisherman or merman or whatever might possibly catch a glimpse, but he was firm in his guarantees. This island was well situated in the middle of a cluster with three other, smaller, uninhabited islands that he'd acquired as soon as he could, and for just that reason - complete privacy. He spent all of his life around people, and when he came down here, he just wanted to be alone. In all of the time he'd spent down here, he'd never seen another soul, or even so much as another boat.

So when she'd tugged back on his hand when he'd told her that first time that he wanted them to go stroll along the beach, he'd given her a look that had spurred her on, but he knew he hadn't really succeeded in reassuring her.

Frankly, he didn't much care if someone on a boat or a ship got an eyeful. It was as if he thought someone was going to set up to sell tickets to see the bound, naked lady on the eccentric billionaire's island. But he wasn't going to waste his breath repeating himself. He was just going to do with her exactly as he pleased.

The first thing he did once he got her secured was duck under one outstretched arm and come up behind her, spreading his hands wide and claiming her breasts. There was no other way to describe it - those big, platter sized hands came up and seized those wonderful mounds, plumping them up, massaging them in a much less than gentle manner, loving the way she inadvertently rubbed her bottom against the front of his khaki shorts as his fingers found those straining nipples and tugged and rolled them mercilessly.

When she threw her head back, trying to move to cope with the ache his pinching, pulling fingers were forcing on her, it landed on his broad shoulder, and his lips descended on the side of her neck, nibbling his way down that slim, white column, feeling her shiver in his arms and those impudent nipples become unbelievably even harder between his thumbs and forefingers.

And their reward was even more pain as his attentions became crueler, and he seemed to be dedicating himself to trying to pull those taut nubs completely off her breasts.

Only when he'd brought her to tears with his vicious tenderness did he move on to running his hands over her flat tummy, then down between her legs. He never got tired of the fact that he could - and did - keep her slick as an eel there, and everywhere else. One of her rules - which he kept to a minimum in general - was that she was required, during her daily shower, to keep those areas of body hair that he didn't attend to personally completely bare. Shaving her privates was usually a part of a very long, drawn out ritual that involved a very deep, excruciatingly detailed examination of said parts, but he had absolutely no interest in her underarms or her legs, except as a conduit to much more intriguing territory.

"Spread your legs wide," he murmured almost lovingly into her ear, as he gave her no choice but to comply by pressing her feet apart with one expensively shod foot.

When she was well exposed, when he could easily reach down and feel how soaking wet she was - despite her sincere reluctance - he made sure his fingers took full advantage of her, pressing up inside her from behind, then spreading out and rubbing her clit vigorously, moving back and forth relentlessly until he had her at a fever pitch, trying to grind against his hand.

Then he stopped and came around to the front of her, lowering his shorts only enough to release his impatient erection, which he rubbed against her teasingly until at last he put a hand on either flank and lifted her onto him, that thick, fleshy column spearing up inside her as she gasped and wiggled and arched and moaned. He refused to let her clamp her legs around him, draping them over his elbows, so essentially their only point of connection besides his steadying hands on her hips, was the way he completely filled his home within her, whispering, "I want you to come like this when you're ready."

Then he started to draw her a picture with his words and his actions. "If there was someone out there, someone on a ship with a spyglass, some lazy fisherman with Field and Stream binoculars," he growled as he ground himself in and out of her violently, raping her, taking her, the way he knew she wanted it, but the way that most satisfied himself when he had her like this, "just think about what he would be seeing. About the eyeful he'd be getting, seeing you bound and helpless and being fucked by the man who owns you." His voice was getting hoarser and more gravelly with every guttural stroke, but he could feel the tension building in her, how she clamped down on him as if she didn't want him to leave her even as he bullied his way back in, "The man who controls everything about your life, who decides when you come, when you get punished, when you scream - "

He could feel her letting go and pumped even faster and harder, catching up to her, so that they nearly exploded at the same time, his violent groan coming seconds after a scream that sounded like it had boiled up from her toes.

She was too far gone, too zoned out by the pleasure to even hear the soft snick as he opened a switchblade and cut down her arms, knowing that, by that time, they would be painful and she would be in need of a massage to prevent that from worsening.

From that point on, he took her outdoors as much as he could, as much to reinforce his dominance over her as to sate his own prurient desires.

The only time during the entire month that there was another soul on the island with them was one night when he invited the same man she had been exposed to the first time - the one named Daniel who looked like St. Nick - to come have dinner with them. He was flown in by her Master's pilot, and landed while Raina was still cooking dinner.

She was noticeably nervous around the man, although he seemed to be doing everything he could to put her at ease. It was an awkward situation, though. The only other man besides Master that she was ever naked in front of was her doctor, and she was a naturally modest woman.

Eventually, though, she began to relax as the men argued back and forth amiably. That seemed to be their preferred method of communication - when they weren't inspecting her intimately, she remembered with a bright blush.

Of course, nothing got by him. He stabbed her with his eyes, letting her know that he'd seen that blush. As he took another heaping spoonful of the chicken casserole she'd made that was one of his favorites, he said casually, "I never told you, Raina, why I had Daniel over that evening, did I?"

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