Island Slave Ch. 04Posted on : 2012-01-28 16:45:48.198368
Carla picked up the other book. It was a journal, kept in a composition notebook. On its cover was, "My Journal of Exploration by Melanie Thiesman." The script was in a delicate and neat handwriting. Carla was sure that someone whispered, "Read. Understand," yet, no one was there with her. At 4:00 in the afternoon, on Dec. 22, 2007, Carla opened the journal of Melanie Thiesman and began to read...
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June 17, 1994
I know it seems strange for a 24 year old woman to be writing to a diary like she was a prepubescent girl, but this is how I've always written my journals. I feel comfortable writing to an imaginary friend. I'm Melanie Thiesman and I am madly in love with Quinn Sanchez. I met him a little over a year ago on a cruise. He wasn't on the cruise, he was, is, a local who swept me off my feet. I stayed behind with him and have never left. He has taken me places that I never believed I could go. I finally found someone who does not think of me as a freak.
I suppose I should explain a little about myself. I like sex. That doesn't make me unusual. What makes me a freak in most people's eyes is how I like sex. I want to be controlled by my man. I want to have no say in anything that happens to me. If he wants to tie me up, I want to let him. If he wants to spank me, I want him to. I know this is shocking, but it's who I am. I don't remember when I first felt these types of desires, but I've had them for as long as I've felt the desire for sex.
Quinn has been wonderful about it all. I think he may have desires for controlling women. If so, we make a perfect couple. Last night, Quinn asked me to consider something new, something deeper in our relationship. He has always controlled my sex life. He's demanded sexual things from me that many, if not most women, would consider degrading and perverted. Being tied up in uncomfortable positions; being spanked until I'm in tears; being peed on and drinking his pee. What he's asked for is different. He wants me to be his slave.
I'm frightened, Betsy. Quinn is talking about total slavery, not just my sex life. If I agree, I will be his property, bound to obey him at every turn. Not just for sex, but in every area of my life: clothing, food, who I see and talk with, where I sleep, everything. I am scared of how much I want this. When I think of being at his mercy every minute of every day, of turning all my possessions over to him as well as my life, I feel a burning need in my belly for that feeling of...I don't know how to describe it. It's like all my submission during sex was just the tip of the iceberg. That this is what I've craved all my life. Will I lose myself in this, or is this the way to finding myself? I just don't know.
June 19, 1994
I've made up my mind. Ironically, what cinched it for me was Quinn telling me that if I say yes, I can't take it back. When I heard that, my heart leapt and my belly became tied in knots. There was something so right about it. Of course I couldn't take it back, I would be agreeing to become his slave. Slaves don't get take backs. I'm telling him tonight that I will be his slave. I'm still scared, but I won't let that stop me from doing something that seems so perfect for me. My life is going to change.
June 24, 1994
The last few days have been intense. As soon as I agreed to be Quinn's slave, he ordered me to strip. I haven't been clothed since then. I wasn't ready for the feeling of humiliation that came with being naked in front of Bonita, Juan and Carlos. They had become good friends over the last year and now I am naked and collared in front of them on a regular basis. I could tell that Juan and Carlos were eying me every time we were in the same room. They never touched me or even acted like they wanted to.
In spite of the humiliation, I know I've done what is right for me. There's a strange sense of safety in knowing that Quinn is responsible for everything in my life. The sex we've had has been terrific, the best I've ever experienced. He has fucked me in every hole I have: mouth, pussy and ass. Sometimes he doesn't let me have an orgasm, sometimes he does. I've been bound in some way every time. I like this change in my life.
June 30, 1994
We completed the last of the transactions today. Everything I owned is now Quinn's. Even if I wanted to back out, there is nothing left for me other than Quinn. If I didn't trust Quinn so much, I could never bring myself to do this. I am without any resources, naked and collared, trapped in a mansion that is surrounded by terrain that would cut my feet to ribbons. I am truly Quinn's.
I suppose I could take some of Bonita's clothes and make my way to the village. I'm sure Maria would help me if I asked. I don't want to, though. This is a dream come true. I exist to serve my Master in all things. I am with him at all times, usually on a leash. The plantation workers ogle me when we are inspecting the crops. I kneel at his feet when he is working in his office. I sleep with my arms chained to the head of the bed. I eat on the floor, sometimes without the use of my hands. I know many would find it so degrading, but I find it so right. I would have it no other way. Each day, I look for some new way to serve him. I am so happy.
July 2, 1994
I'm in pain right now. Quinn took me to a room in the basement that did not exist before. He called it his dungeon. It reminded me of something I had seen in low grade medieval movies. He tied me to a wooden "X" shape, pulling me tight enough that it hurt. I was frightened of what was to happen next. I pleaded with him, asked him to explain how I had displeased him. He said, "You haven't displeased me. I simply want to whip you." I think I was shaking, at least as much I could, given how tightly I was bound.
This was not the first time he had whipped me. He had tied me up on the bed and whipped me before. In the past, though, I knew that I could stop it with a safe word. I couldn't this time. This was part of being a slave that I had not thought of, though I should have. Oh my God! The pain was horrible. He struck me again and again. There was no warm up and no gentleness. It felt like liquid fire was poured on my back and legs. I was screaming for mercy, but he ignored my cries.
Afterwards, while I was still tied to the cross thing, he pulled my head back by the hair and whispered, "Now you understand what being my slave is all about. You are mine to do with as I please. I won't always do this, not even often. But, I will from time to time, to make sure you know whose you are." He took me down and led me to his room. I must have laid there for hours, waiting for the pain to ease up. He did put something on my back and legs. I'm assuming it was something to keep me from infecting.
July 3, 1994
I had to stop last night. Quinn came in and wanted to fuck me. He bound me to the bed, on my back, and used me to bring himself off. My back ached with every touch from the sheets. He gave me no pleasure, simply fucked me until he came in my cunt and then fell asleep beside me. I spent the night spread out, unable to move. When I woke, I was sore all over.
For the first time since I enslaved myself, I'm not with him. He left me to recover. A warm bath took the aches out of my body. I saw my back for the first time since it was whipped. It's a mass of red stripes, many of them actual welts. A few looked like they had been bleeding at some point in time. I still can't stand anything touching them. I hope he gives me a chance to heal.
In spite of this, I still want to be his slave. In a weird sort of way, it feels like he cares about me. He cared enough to let me feel the full weight of my slavery. I truly am his and he will make sure everyone knows it. I think Bonita was holding back tears when she saw my back at breakfast. I had to eat it on the floor out of a dog dish. At least it wasn't dog food.
July 12, 1994
Quinn wants me to keep a log of my exercises. By that, he means both my physical workout and my purely slave duties. I'm a bit worried about this. I have no trouble recording how many minutes I use the treadmill or stair stepper at what grade. But he wants me to record my torture and use at his hands. I can just see someone finding a notebook that says, "Quinn whipped me 25 times today, fucked my cunt once and my ass twice." I think I'll use a code, something like W# for the lashes from the whip and BJ# for the number of blow jobs I gave him.
Yes, he really does have that kind of stamina. He doesn't use me sexually every day, but when he does, he can take me repeatedly. I really love that about him. I've even had him stay hard after cumming. Just last night, he had me tied to the bed. I was kneeling on the mattress with my arms pulled towards the headboard, my ankles pulled towards the foot of the bed with my knees pulled in the same way as my hands. This forced me to kneel, head down, with my legs spread wide.
He then took a paddle to my ass. This one was wooden with holes drilled in it. I remember seeing something like it in Animal House being used to initiate some of the hoity toity frat pledges. God that hurts! The holes make it worse, giving that many more edges to inflame. I have to count each stroke and ask him for another. This time, he hit me 25 times, slow, hard smacks that took the breath out of me. I was in tears by the time he was done. I was also dripping on the bed. When he goes all macho on me, I just melt into a puddle of aroused flesh. At the end, I was tearfully begging him to fuck me, to fuck me hard and fast.
He did too. He practically jumped onto the bed and plunged his cock into my cunt. When his groin hit my ass cheeks, I cried out from the pain and from the pleasure. Tied as I was, I could thrust back against him and I took full advantage of that ability. God damn! I'm creaming with desire just writing about this. He came inside of me in a matter of minutes, leaving me hanging, or so it seemed. He didn't go soft, however. He was still hard when he pulled out. I felt his hand plunge into my pussy, wetting itself on mine and his fluids. Then he used them to lube my ass. It's been over a year and I'm still not used to his taking me there. I gasped when he shoved himself into me. Since I enslaved myself, he doesn't take his time back there anymore. He just plunges in and I have to deal with it.
I'm sure I was gasping with each stroke, but I was also pushing back against him, forcing him deeper into me. Everything in me wants to make him happy and satisfied. It's like it has become my reason for existence. I was moaning with need, as ass fucks never bring me off. I need that contact with my pussy and clit. It wasn't happening. He came in my ass with a cry, and I started to cry when I felt him start to go soft and pull out of me. He climbed off the bed.
The pain of the whip shocked me out of my tears, or at least sent me into a new type of tears. My back had exploded as the multiple strands impacted my back. I barely had the presence of mind to start counting again. Twenty five more strokes hit me. Some of the lashes wrapped around to hit my belly and breasts. It was all I could do to get the numbers out. I was incoherent by the time he had finished.
Then he was back on the bed and in my pussy again. I felt the pleasure building up amidst the pain. I pushed against him, even though every push aggravated the pain in my back. This time I came first, my body shaking in its bonds, me screaming at the top of my lungs. He kept pounding into me, his thrusts taking on a savage mien. I could hear him growl as he gripped my hips hard enough that I could feel his fingernails digging into my flesh. I had barely started to come down from my first orgasm when the second one hit me. My pussy clenched at his cock and my mouth hung open, drool spilling out. As this one crested, a third one hit and I could feel his cum splashing into my cunt.
We were both spent after this. He collapsed on the bed right after untying me. I was asleep soon afterwards. That's what sex with Quinn can be like, now that I'm his slave. Before, there was some bondage and pain play, but nothing really intense. Some over the knee spanking and breast pinching. We do still have plain sex, just not very often. It's almost like a vacation when we do, something nice and relaxing as a break from the usual
July 17, 1994
Quinn has introduced something new into our sex lives. He calls it breast and pussy torture. He received these new toys from some mail order place. They are called tit clamps. I'm not sure why, since they can be used anywhere, including my pussy. When they clamp onto my nipples or lips, the pain is intense. They can be adjusted for different levels of pressure. He was experimenting and had one so tight that the nipple was squashed flat. To make matters worse, they have chains on the ends that he can hang weights on! He fucked me doggie style while they hung from my tits and the swinging weights kept sending new surges of pain through my breasts.
Would you believe that I came from that? It's like my body is responding to pain differently now. I can't imagine what they will feel like, swinging from my pussy lips or, God forbid, my clit. The worst part, though, is removal. I'm not sure what causes it, but the pain from those things being released is ten times worse than from them going on or swinging. I can't wait to find out what being whipped while these things are on me feels like.
July 27, 1994
Quinn had to leave on a business trip today. He expects to be gone for a week. He has instructed me to not masturbate while he is gone. I'm not sure I can do that. I've been getting sex from him almost every day for over a month now. I'm horny all the time. There have been times when I've gone to him begging for him to use me sexually. We'll see what happens.
July 30, 1994
I couldn't do it. I masturbated to a wonderful orgasm this morning. Afterwards, I felt so guilty. I don't know what's going to happen. This is the first time that I've directly disobeyed him since I became his slave. I'm scared that he will send me away.
August 2, 1994
In for an ounce, in for a pound, I guess. I masturbated three times yesterday. I just lost control. I've been so horny that it's not funny. Ever since I enslaved myself to Quinn, my need for sex has been nearly uncontrollable. I seem to be aroused almost constantly. There is an aching emptiness in my pussy. I miss Quinn so much. It's so hard when he's not around. He gets back tomorrow, so I guess I'll see what he's going to do about my inability to control myself then.
August 4, 1994
It was bad, really bad. Quinn was not mad when I told him that I had masturbated four times while he was gone. He was disappointed. The look he gave shot me through the heart. I never want to see that look again. He took me to the bedroom and tied me to the bed. He had me stand at the foot of the bed, tied my feet to the legs and pulled my hands towards the head of the bed before tying them off. I couldn't move a muscle. Then he took the whip to me with a terrifying viciousness. The strokes were slow and methodical, working up and down my entire back and along my thighs. Each lashing hit with the same force as the one before it.
I almost wish he had been furious with me, that he had lost control and whipped me until I passed out. Instead, I felt the hurt in him with every stroke. I felt his disappointment in me. I was sobbing the entire time, only partly from the pain. I would take those pleasures back in a heartbeat if I could. Afterwards, my entire back side, from just below my neck to the tops of my ankles were a solid mass of red. Every motion I made was agony as my sore and bruised flesh was forced to move.
The worst part was that he did not use me for his pleasure. He had an erection when he returned home. Instead of fucking me or demanding a blow job, he masturbated and made me watch, still bound to the bed. My punishment is not over yet. My hands are to be chained to my collar by a pair of one foot long chains. My hands will barely be able to reach my breasts, let alone my pussy. I won't be able to feed myself, I won't be able to masturbate (the whole point), I won't even be able to wipe myself after using the bathroom. I will have to ask someone else to do all that for me.
Quinn says that this will train me to resist the desire to seek pleasure for myself. He hasn't told me how long this restraint will last, only that I will be this way long enough to learn that I don't need release, ever. This is not what I envisioned when I made myself his slave. I had visions of being used for sex over and over again, giving and receiving pleasure equally. I guess I'm learning better. I won't be able to journal again until he releases me from my bondage. This will be so hard.
August 27, 1994
I'm not sure where to start. I'm not the same woman I was three weeks ago. For three long weeks, I've been unable to do anything for myself. The feelings of helplessness have been nearly overwhelming. Quinn hasn't touched me sexually during this entire time. He has made me watch him masturbate. Each time, it leaves me in tears. Being ignored by him, sexually, has been even worse than having to have him or Bonita wipe my ass every time I have to use the toilet.
But that all ended today. My hands are still tied to my neck, but he fucked me this morning. He was so fast that I didn't cum, but he fucked me! I was in tears, tears of happiness. My punishment is over, and it has had the effect I think he was looking for. I want to serve him so much more than I did. I can feel my body's need for sexual release, but it seems so unimportant to me now. I want to see him happy. I think I understand what he was asking me for when he asked me to be his slave.
It wasn't about more intense domination and submission play. It was about a fundamental change in our relationship. I didn't get it then. I think I do now. All I should care about is what he wants. My wishes are not important. What's more, I don't want them to be. Over these past three weeks, I've come to the conclusion that I really want what he wants from me. I want him to be the center of my life, the reason for my existence. I know that some would be shocked and horrified by this. But, every time I've let go of what I desire, everything has been so much easier.
I know that I will screw up again. I'm only human. I hope he punishes me severely every time I do. I want to reach the place where my every action is based on what will make Quinn happy. There will be times, I suspect, when I will rebel. I hope he is harsh with me when I do. I don't want to fail him again.
August 31, 1994
Today has been very frustrating. Quinn woke me up by putting those nipple clamps on my tits. I discovered that he had tied me spread eagle while I was sleeping. Once I was awake, he took a riding crop and started whipping me with it. This is the first time he has inflicted pain on me before breakfast. He worked me over very methodically, covering every inch of my body, except my face, with little red marks. Only when he finished did he let me up to use the toilet. Once that was done, he tied me face down and repeated the process on my backside. Needless to say, I was in tears most of the time.
I was also very aroused. He did not fuck me then, but took me to the dining room for breakfast. Bonita looked uneasy at the plethora of whip marks on my body and the streaks of tears on my face. I tried to smile at her to let her know that I was not only all right, but all right with what was happening. I'm not sure she believed what I was trying to convey. The fact that Quinn ordered me to stay silent all day did not help.
The rest of the day was one of constant unpleasantness. If I wasn't bound in some painful contortion, I was being struck with one of his many tools for inflicting pain. I had no idea that one could experience such constant pain without passing out. Even when Quinn had sex with me, it was painful, since those welts don't stop hurting just because he stopped whipping me. He never let me cum, either. I found myself on my knees at the end of the day pleading with my eyes for release. I find that begging is what I hate the most about being a slave. When we were just playing BDSM, I knew that I would get off on it by the time we were done. Now, he let's me go unsatisfied for days at a time. I've cried myself to sleep in his arms from the frustration. I'll probably do that again tonight.
September 2, 1994
I spent the entire day in the new dungeon yesterday. Where yesterday was a constant barrage of little pains, today was incredibly harsh. I spent a good part of the day on that cross shaped thing that he called a Saint Andrew's Cross. He whipped me over and over with great force. I was sobbing uncontrollably for hours, it seemed. Then he would fuck me while I was still on the cross and leave me there with his cum running down my legs. The only time I was not in that dungeon was when I had to use the bathroom.
Between each session under the whip, he was more gentle than I've ever seen him before. He would put a soothing ointment on my new welts and massage my arms and legs as they tried to cramp from being stretched so much for so long. I was not allowed to eat all day. It's just as well, I suspect. I doubt I could have kept anything down with all the intense pain I was put through.
The last whipping was with a new device, a thin bamboo cane. I can't believe how much it hurt! I was screaming at the top of my lungs with tears flowing down my face. I was truly trying to get away from that wicked thing and the agony it caused. I passed out from it. When I came to, I was in the bed, on my belly. Quinn was rubbing more ointment into my back and legs. Once he knew I was awake, he told me how proud he was and how much he loved me.
Never before has someone's words meant so much to me. I made him proud! He was happy with me. Any pain would be worth that feeling. His hands slipped between my legs and rubbed my pussy. I moaned and spread my legs for him. He caressed and fondled my cunt, bringing my body to a quivering mass of desire. When he penetrated me with a finger, I came, shuddering on the bed and soaking his hand with my juices. He told me to remain still and took me again, not just once, but many more times. By the time he stopped, I had cum so many times that I had exhausted myself.
September 23, 1994
The last few weeks have been pretty normal. It still seems strange to think of spankings, collars and bondage as normal, but that's where I am right now. There has been nothing incredibly painful since the day in the dungeon at the beginning of the month. I find that I'm looking forward to the next session of intense pain. I guess I'm becoming kind of a pain slut.
I had a talk with Bonita a few days ago. It has been really hard for her to see me in the wrecked state Quinn leaves me in when we have those monster scenes. She struggles with accepting that what Quinn does to me is not abuse. I discovered that she has secreted my old clothes and ID away so that I can still leave when I want to. I tried to explain that I won't ever want to. This life I have now, as Quinn's slave and fuck toy, is what I want more than anything. I actually feel incredible fulfillment after a session of hard use and abuse. As I lay in bed with my backside or breasts throbbing in agony, I can only smile at how much Quinn is showing me that he loves me. It's hard to fathom that I was so scared of this when he first asked me. My only fear now is that he will tire of this and stop using me, stop owning me.
Bonita told me that she is frightened for me. She has noticed that Quinn has become harsher with me than when we started. There are more welts being given to me more frequently than three months ago. Her mouth hung open when I smiled at that. I asked her if she noticed anything else about Quinn over the last few months. She admitted that he seemed so much happier than he had been before, even during our first year. She also admitted, when I pressed her, that I seemed happier as well. I confirmed that for her. I am happier now than I ever have been in the past.
I don't know if she understands, but I think she believes me. Bonita is incredibly loyal to Quinn. She's been with his family for three generations now. I do appreciate her concern. The only thing that keeps what I experience from being abuse, is the fact that I truly want this and that it fulfills some need inside of me.
September 27, 1994
Quinn is away on another business trip. He expects to be gone for over a week. I'm not supposed to masturbate while he is gone. The memory of my last failure is still fresh in my mind. I have no intention of failing him this time.
September 29, 1994
This is not good. The last cruise ship of the season stopped by several days ago. Today, we received word that one of the passengers who visited Crisobos is showing signs of measles. His visit was during the contagious period. It turns out that most of those on the island have never had measles. Everyone has been quarantined and there is a palpable fear running through the mansion. Adult measles is nothing to laugh about. The only modern medicine we have access to is the doctors who visit from the ships.
I am one of only three adults that have had measles in the past and are thus immune. It doesn't help that a local bug is already going around, weakening everyone's immune systems. If this hits as hard as I expect it to, people may die. The problem is that anyone who has caught it has already had a chance to spread it while not showing symptoms. All we can do now is wait and pray.
October 1, 1994
It has started. The first cases of measles have shown themselves. I've retrieved the clothes that Bonita saved for me and drove Quinn's truck into the village. I don't have a lot of medical training, but I do remember how to deal with measles, one of the advantages of having contracted it as a teen. There is no one else who can go from hut to hut safely. Thank God that they already know about washing and other sanitation issues. I don't want anyone to die.
October 7, 1994
I'm so tired. There are 37 people with measles, 12 of them adults. The adults are suffering far worse than the children. One died last night. He was so hot that he tried to cool off in the ocean and was swept out to sea because he was too exhausted to fight the currents. I know I can't be awake all the time, but I feel like I should have been awake for him. Entire families are sick, the parents refusing to be separated from their sick kids and becoming sick themselves. The only bright side is that there have been no new cases in the last three days. If only these will survive.
October 17, 1994
I guess the epidemic is over. I didn't see the end. Quinn tells me that I ran myself ragged and managed to catch that local bug myself, though it was not measles. I am told that I spent three days asleep and feverish. I'm weak right now. I do remember that a ship showed up at the end, something from the US Navy. They had doctors and supplies to try to save as many as they could. I'm told that only three more adults died and none of the children.
It was apparently, touch and go for me as well. That local bug is normally harmless, but hit me like a freight train because I had weakened myself. I will be weak for another few weeks and Quinn refuses to use me for anything except ordinary sex while I'm on the mend. I had to beg for the sex, as it was. I am not going another three or four weeks without sex!
November 21, 1994
Between healing and the run into the holiday season, I've been busy. I am still Quinn's slave and he has returned to using me as such, though there has been nothing harsh since the epidemic. They don't celebrate Thanksgiving on the island, but they have their own festival about the same time to celebrate the end of hurricane season. There will be a party and lots of food. This year will be more subdued, as they remember those who died from the measles.
I've gotten used to being naked in front of others. I know it's been that way for months, but today, we had a visitor and I was blithely unaware of my nudity until I noticed her reaction. The look on her face was simply precious. When Quinn explained that I was his willing slave, she became mesmerized by me. The party was very enjoyable, though there was one small disappointment.
The woman, her name was Grace, managed to corner the two of us a little before midnight. She asked Quinn if she could take me to bed. She was fascinated by the idea of someone with whom she could do anything she wanted. I could not believe my reaction. I'm not a lesbian. I've never felt any sexual desire for another woman. Yet, when she asked, my pussy went wet instantly and my nipples hardened. Quinn's refusal was so disheartening.
I thought about it as the party continued and I think I understand what I was feeling. I can't imagine anything that would make me feel more like a slave than being passed on to another person to be used for their pleasure. When Quinn refused, I felt less a slave. I know it makes me sound degenerate, but I want to be shared, to be commanded to please others. I wish he had said yes, made me do something that I don't have a desire for.
December 15, 1994
While they don't celebrate Thanksgiving on the island, Christmas is a very big deal here. I'm not the most religious person in the world. Hell, I'm not religious at all. I don't believe in God, not really. Nothing more than the prayer tossed heavenward when things aren't going well. Quinn and the staff though, are believers. You can tell if you spend any time with them at all. Christmas is the holiday of holidays here.
The mansion has been a flurry of activity. Quinn hasn't used me much in the last couple of weeks. He has been flying in and out, bringing a lot of supplies back to the mansion. I've been helping him wrap a horde of presents. I think he has purchased something for everyone in the village, even the children. There's nothing really expensive. Quinn says that many of the villagers would take expensive gifts as an insult. They are very proud people. I remember that from when I first arrived here.
I wish I could give him something for Christmas. Part of being a slave, however, is that I don't own anything and can't buy anything. I'm going to have to give it some thought. What can a slave give her Master when he already owns everything about her? That is the $64 question.
December 24, 1994
Quinn was crying tonight. I've never seen him cry and it scared me. He was also in the library. I've never seen him in the library. He showed it to me the day I arrived. He said it was his mother's. She was a voracious reader. I love books myself, but read slowly. I tried to encourage him to share his feelings and thoughts. He wouldn't share. He had a book in his hand, but I could not see the title. I love him so much, it hurts to see him hurting this way. I missed this last year. He flew me to St. Croix so that I could visit family for the holidays.
I snuck in after he was asleep and looked for the book. At first, I couldn't find it. It seemed to not be there at all. Then I found the hidden space. The book was a diary. That's why I recognized it, or at least thought I did. It was written by Quinn's mother. I couldn't help myself, I read it. It was less a diary than a composition book. She wrote poetry, beautiful poetry. Quinn's mom was one of those authors who can pull at heart strings with a single word or phrase.
I think she might have killed herself. Towards the end of the book she was writing some pretty sad stuff. Something had left her life, something or someone that was the center of her existence. The weird part is that I think Quinn left her. That doesn't make sense though. Quinn is alive. He may not like it, but I'm going to ask Bonita and Juan about Mystique. They have to know something, they have been with the family for decades.
December 30, 1994
Christmas was wonderful. Quinn gave me lovely new collar and cuffs. They're made of alloyed silver and have his name inscribed on them. That night he took me to the dungeon and whipped me for hours, using a crop, paddle and a whip. I was sobbing uncontrollably for most of the night. He fucked me several times as well, making my hurting legs and back feel even worse as he slammed into them. He also made me cum at least three times. There may have been more, but things became a little fuzzy after a while. I haven't written about it until now because I was too sore to sit at the desk.
I am still amazed at times by how much I crave his hard use of me. It's a sign of how much he loves me. I want more, so much more from him. I want to give him so much more. I'm not sure what more I have to give him. I never managed to find something I could give him for Christmas. My life feels so complete, yet there is something missing. I don't know what it is.
January 2, 1995
I've done it now. Quinn is furious. I asked Bonita about Mystique. She told me that she died of cancer. I guess she knew she had it for a while before she died. Quinn was gone from the island when she worsened and died. Bonita said that they had had an argument and he flew off in a huff, staying away for two months. When he came back, she was gone. For over a year, Quinn was inconsolable.
I guess Quinn heard the tail end of Bonita telling me. I've never seen him so mad before. The worst part was how he treated Bonita. The foul things he said to her and the way she stood there, unresponsive, was terrifying. I haven't seen him since then. He told me that I was to sleep in the second bedroom from now on. He has ignored me ever since. I may have ruined everything.
January 15, 1995
After two weeks, Quinn finally took me back to his bed. He tied me down, gagged me and fucked me repeatedly. Afterwards, he took a whip to me, lashing my breasts, belly and legs until they were a solid mass of red. I could tell he was trying to purge the anger towards me from his system. I'm making myself write this even though it hurts so much.
After he whipped me, he collapsed on the bed in tears. I think he hurt more than I did. He cried himself to sleep while I was still bound. I couldn't sleep, I hurt too much and my limbs were trying to cramp. He woke up a few hours later and released me. We talked for quite some time. He shared about his mom, reading many of the poems. He has been carrying a lot of guilt around. I guess his last words to her were, "I hate you." I can't imagine how hard that must have been to bear all these years.
He promised to tell me more, to help me get to know this important woman in his life. I wonder what she would think of his keeping me as a slave, albeit a willing one?
March 27, 1995
I know it has been a long time since I wrote last, but there hasn't been a lot to write about. After the incident with his mom, Quinn and I have been back to normal. He whips me regularly, fucks me a lot and keeps me naked all the time. I hate to say it, but I'm feeling bored. Is it possible to be bored with slavery? I would not have thought so.
Part of it is something I wrote about earlier. There is so much more I want to give Quinn. I just don't know what it could be. I can't shake the feeling that there is some part of me that is not fully his, yet there is nothing that he does not control in my life. He tells me what to do, when to do it and I don't have any right to question him. He has made me shave my pussy. I don't wear clothes unless he tells me to (when he does, they are the most naughty things!). I wish I could figure out what it is.
There is one new thing to tell you. We bought a computer today! I know, being without a computer in 1995 is like being without a TV in 1960. It has only been in the last year that reliable electricity from the generator station that Mystic Cruises built for the villagers has been available. Now we have internet access and modern record keeping software. With my knowledge of computers and their applications, I am in charge of keeping the books and teaching Quinn how to as well. I wonder if I can convince him to buy any games?
April 20, 1995
This has been a busy month. All the records for the plantation are now on the computer. Or at least the current ones are. Neither of us feels there is much to be gained from putting the past data on disk. Quinn is a quick study and can run the software almost as well as I can. I understand now, just how he can support his lifestyle on the small crops the plantation produces. People pay top dollar for the cigars that are produced here. When I first arrived, Quinn told me that they are as good as Cubans, but I had no idea what that meant in terms of money. Quinn's not a millionaire, but he is comfortably well off.
I also found a web site that is about voluntary slavery. I plan to do some reading now that I'm not so overwhelmed with the computer things. I had no idea that others were also into this life that we live. Maybe they can tell me what I'm missing, why it seems like Quinn doesn't have all of me. I hope so.
May 3, 1995
Quinn has left on another trip. He takes these every so often to pick up supplies for the mansion. He expects to be away for a week. He has ordered me not to masturbate again. After the pain of disappointing him the first time he ordered this, I think I'm going to be able to resist the temptation this time. I miss him when he's gone. It's not just the sex, though he uses me for sex almost every day and whips me in some way at least twice a week. When he is gone, it's like the center of my world has left. He's everything to me and it's painful to be apart from him.
That slavery web site I found is fascinating. There are articles by Masters and slaves about how they live in this kind of relationship. It's a little confusing, though. Some of the articles contradict each other. Slaves should always be collared. Slaves should be kept naked. Slaves should wear provocative clothes. Masters should always be called Master. Slaves should call Masters what ever they want. Slaves should only do what they are told. Slaves should anticipate their Master's needs. It's like no one can agree what it means to be a slave.
Some of the people that contribute to the site can be pretty vehement about what's right and wrong. I've seen some awfully venomous diatribes flying back and forth. No one seems to want to just talk about slavery and how to be a slave. While it is interesting there, I need to find a friendlier place. There are several links on the site. I'll start following them and see what turns up.
May 9, 1995
Quinn will be back tomorrow. I've stayed obedient this time. I can't wait for him to return. I need him to use me, to make me feel like a slave again. When he's gone, I feel like I'm free. I know I'm still his slave, after all, I'm still naked, wearing a collar and can't masturbate. It's just that his presence, his demands of me help me feel so subservient. He is my master and I am his slave. This is more than just a statement of what is going on, it is becoming the entirety of my existence.
This slave web site search has been an exercise in frustration. Every site seems to advocate one true way to live as slave and Master. Yet, they seem to disagree all the time. I just want to know why I feel like there's a part of me that is not Quinn's. I want to be entirely his, mind body and soul. What is missing? What have I not given him? I need to know.
May 10, 1995
Quinn returned today. It was fabulous. He took me to the dungeon and tied me to the cross. For hours he used whips and paddles on me, making me scream in wonderful agony. I was sobbing uncontrollably long before he finished. My back is beet red and feels like it's on fire. My cunt is also sore and leaking cum. He fucked me on that cross four times, I think. I had at least one orgasm each time. I'm exhausted, but happy. Waiting is definitely better than disobeying.
Today is the first time I've felt fully his in months. It seems that the more he treats me like a toy to bring him pleasure, the more fulfilled I feel. I can just imagine how my family would react if they were reading this journal. "Melanie, get out. He's abusing you and will end up killing you if you stay." They just would not understand. This is what I was meant to be. I will never leave him, ever.
June 1, 1995
I think I found what I'm looking for on the web. There's a blog that is jointly written by a slave and her Master. They talk quite openly about their activities, thoughts and emotions as master and slave. There was a lot of stuff they have written over the last two years of their journal. There are even pictures, though none show faces that aren't blurred out. She really lets him do anything he wants. Many of the things he does are not things she enjoys.
For example, she writes that she hates anal sex. She says that it is painful and gross, yet when he orders her to submit to it, she does, crying the whole time. He even forces her to suck his cock clean after he has fucked her ass. That sounds so disgusting, yet, when I read about it and imagine that Quinn is forcing me in the same way, I just juice up and find myself incredibly aroused.
The Master has marked his slave as his own. She has a couple of tattoos that show his ownership as well as piercings on her nipples and pussy lips. Their latest entry talks about his plan to have a piercing put in her clit hood. Just the thought of it makes my knees weak. Having my clit stimulated 24 hours a day would be so intense. She has truly given her body to him with no reservations. I want to give Quinn my body the same way. I will be spending quite a while trying to read about their relationship from the beginning.
June 15, 1995
This slavery journal I'm reading is very...I don't know what to call it. I've gone back to their first posts. They started it about three months after they started living as master and slave. I guess they agreed to a three month trial period first and now have gone to something more permanent. After they had gone permanent for a month, he did something to make sure she knew just how much a slave she was. He brought three men home with him and let them use her as a sex toy.
Her recounting of that was fascinating reading. She describes how desperately she didn't want to obey him and how she pleaded on her knees, in tears, to be spared that fate. He refused to relent. The only requirements he put on the men were that they had to use condoms if they fucked her and he had to be present. The three men spent the next four hours using her sexually in every conceivable way. She was fucked in all three of her holes. They all spanked her with their hands and a paddle. She was tied up in a wide variety of positions. Her master even saved all five of the condoms they used and fed the contents to her at the end.
She wrote that she was in tears afterwards for hours from the shame and humiliation. She also said that she had never felt more his than she had before. The event made her slavery so real to her, that being lent out to total strangers like she was some object was such a turn on for her. I was thoroughly wet by the time I had finished reading the account. I wish Quinn would do something like that with me, make me feel that used. Maybe he could give me to some of the plantation workers as a reward for good work? That sounds so degrading and hot.
June 27, 1995
I'm about a year into that web journal I found. He gave her to others again, only this time, they were people she knew that did not know she was living as a slave until that day. He sprang it on everyone during a get together on a Saturday. In the middle of the barbeque, he ordered her to strip, in front of everyone. When she balked at the order, he swatted her ass and commanded her to, "Strip your sorry ass, slave!" Needless to say, everyone was shocked by the way he treated her, no less by her obedience.
He then explained, with her kneeling naked at his feet, that they had been living as Master and slave for over a year and he wanted their best friends to know the truth. I guess that there was total silence at first. No doubt! Then one of the women there (there were two couples present) asked if it was really true that she would do anything he commanded. He proved it by ordering her to masturbate in front of everyone, holding none of her reactions in check. With tears in her eyes, she slowly aroused herself, then, with increasing passion, hurled herself towards an orgasm.
He ordered her to stop, just short of orgasm. There she was, dripping, flushed and on the edge in front of their two best friend couples. She describes just how mortified she was at the sight she was presenting. Then he told the couples that she would even submit to a spanking for his pleasure. He ordered her over his lap, locking his legs around hers so that she could not wriggle loose. I guess one of the ladies asked why she was allowing him to do this. Through her tears, she said, "Because I love him and want him to be happy. I am his to do with as he pleases and if I'm not making him happy, then I'm not happy."
That describes my feelings so well! That's exactly what I want with Quinn. Anyway, he then spanked her until her ass was a bright shade of red. Then he offered to let any of the four guests spank her as well! One of the men took him up on it right away. She had to crawl on her hands and knees and drape herself over that lap. His swats were not as hard as her master's, but she felt them, through her shame, just as much. Then, to her surprise, one of the women said she wanted to.
She had never been with a woman, sexually, before. Crawling to that lap was the hardest thing she ever had to do. When the woman started, her hand actually hit harder than her master's hands had. The woman also went longer. She was sobbing uncontrollably by the time the woman stopped. Then the woman went even farther. She started feeling her pussy and commenting on how wet she was. The woman took her to the edge of orgasm and kept up a running commentary the whole time.
The second man also spanked her, though not for long. She had the impression he was uncomfortable with inflicting pain on her. The second woman took her and her master by surprise and asked if she could have her pussy eaten out by the slave. It turned out that this couple was into threesomes and had, in the past, taken other men and women into their bed. The master gave his okay and the woman pulled her dress up and her panties down. The slave crawled over and licked at the woman's cunt. The husband had his face right in there, directing her as to what things his wife liked the best.
She described how humiliating it was to have a man tell her how to go down on his own wife. The man's hands roamed over her body, keeping her aroused as well. Part way through the pussy licking, the man went behind her and started fucking her pussy (the couples were such good friends that no one was worried about diseases). The slave described how that is when she passed beyond simple humiliation at what was happening to her, to deep mortification at how she was responding to it. She was thrusting back against the husband while she licked at the cunt with an enthusiasm that shocked her. During the whole process, her Master kept her from experiencing an orgasm, going so far as to have the husband stop the fucking until she calmed down a bit. The husband and wife reached their orgasms almost simultaneously, each leaving their juices on her body for all to see. Her Master forbade her to clean it up.
The rest of the day, she served the five as a slave, obeying every order (most were non-sexual) with evidence of her sexual use displayed on her body. By the time the day was over, both men and the one woman had used her for sexual gratification more than once. The last woman, apparently with no same sex leanings at all, simply fingered her to the brink of climax several times. The day ended with her kissing the feet of the guests and pleading for permission to have an orgasm. By a three to one vote, she was allowed to orgasm, so long as it was in front of everyone (the one who kept fingering her voted no, apparently enjoying the torture she was inflicting). By then, she was so desperate that she didn't even think of being seen, but plunged her hands between her legs and jacked herself off, screaming unabashedly in pleasure.
The slave writing the journal went on to describe how much more she felt her slavery after that. Simply knowing that she could and would be passed around to others, that there was nothing left of her modesty and privacy, reinforced how much she was his, completely and utterly. That's what I want! I want to feel that owned, to feel utterly helpless and exposed, totally his to do with as he pleases. I shudder when I think of having my slavery revealed to total strangers and made to satisfy them. At the same time, I am finding that I crave this public use. I find myself dreaming about being taken into the village, collared and on a leash, for everyone to see my fate. I imagine Quinn giving me to his workers to be used as they wish and I cream my cunt while I'm shivering in fear and humiliation. I'm tempted to ask Quinn for this. I need it.
July 12, 1995
I told Quinn about the journal I've been reading. He thought that reading it was a good idea, that it might help me be a better slave. When I asked him what he meant, he told me that he wants more form me as a slave. My heart leapt at that. I want to give him more in my slavery as well! Then I asked him what more of me he wanted. He told me that he wanted me to be proactive, to anticipate his needs and desires. A good slave obeys her Master. A great slave gives her Master what he wants before he can ask for it.
I've thought of doing that in the past, but have been afraid of Quinn becoming angry for my taking liberties with the freedoms he allows me. I explained that and he simply told me that I shouldn't be. If I do something he doesn't like, then I will be punished, but I should not shy away from things because I might be punished. After all, there is a difference between how I will be punished for doing something displeasing and for disobeying.
Looking back, that seems true. In fact, there are times when I think the things that "displease" him are more for him to have an excuse for whipping me, though Lord knows that he doesn't need an excuse for that. The few times that I have disobeyed him resulted in to worst things I can imagine as punishments. I promised that I would try to anticipate his desires and act on what I thought he wanted.
I also asked about being passed around and used by others. He was so angry at the thought. He yelled that I was his and that I was never going to be used by anyone but him. This is not something I expected from him. I know that Quinn used to pick up women from every cruise ship for sex. Somehow I thought that made him willing to show me off, much like a child shows off a new toy. I guess I was wrong. It's kind of sad, actually. Ever since reading about it in the journal, I have been fantasizing about just that. I feel like a part of my slavery has been cut off from me, that I'm not fully his if he can't brag about owning me.
August 2, 1995
I'm scared. There was a new posting in that journal I'm reading. The Master took her to the shop where they have had tattoos and piercings done before. This time, however, he didn't have her tattooed or pierced. He had her branded! The slave is an incredibly good writer and her descriptions made me feel like I was there. She said the pain was worse than any whipping or beating she had ever endured in the past.
They strapped her to a table like they usually do when she is being marked for him. The gag, however was new. It was much like a bit for a horse, only thicker. It forced her tongue down while holding her teeth apart. Only then did they bring the branding iron out. It wasn't like a cattle brand, an iron symbol that was heated to glowing. It was more like a soldering iron, electric powered with a tip that glowed. When she saw it, she started to struggle and plead through her gag.
Her Master had given her no warning that this was coming. They let her struggle until all her resistance was gone. Then her Master told her that it was going to happen. The only choice she had was whether to prolong it or not. They added straps to her leg (it was going on the inside of her thigh) to hold her leg totally still. Plastic had been placed under her ass and pulled over her torso. The woman who was doing the work sat down between the slave's widely spread legs and literally wrote the brand with the branding iron.
The slave said she screamed louder and longer than she ever had before. She lost control and soiled herself on the plastic sheet. She kept wishing to pass out, but didn't for whatever reason. The smell of her own flesh burning made her sick to her stomach, though she managed not to throw up. After that, everything was a haze for the slave. She doesn't remember any of the care afterwards, just a blur of pain and tears. When she went home, she was cleaned up, so someone must have cleaned up the mess she made.
As much as she hated being branded, she said that nothing has made her feel more like his property that that experience. She could never have brought herself to ask for it, but she would never give it back, if she could. I get the feeling that she is fulfilled in some way, that this has made her a complete woman.
What frightens me is my own reaction. I want to be branded. There, I've said it. Being marked like that, such a permanent thing, I find that I crave it with a hunger that is overwhelming. Yet, it frightens me. It is so permanent. You can remove a tattoo and a piercing. You can't take a brand off. And I find that I don't want to be able to take Quinn's ownership off of me. I want his mark in such a way that it will be forever.
This is what I'm frightened of.
August 12, 1995
I am still haunted by the desire to be branded. I haven't told Quinn about it. Given how opposed he is to exposing my slavery to others, taking me to be branded won't sit well with him. In spite of the brutality that he uses when he whips me, Quinn is a very sensitive person. I don't think he would do anything that would truly hurt me. Yes, he gives me pain, but that is not hurting, not really. I find I want the pain. It makes me feel my slavery and intensifies my orgasms.
Quinn's birthday is coming up soon. Well, a couple of months from now. I want to give him something for his birthday and I think I've figured out what. One of the links on that journal is to a fetish artist. He paints. He specializes in portraits of people in fetish and bondage gear. I've e-mailed him and asked if he would be willing to travel here and paint a portrait of me. At the end of every September, Quinn goes on a business trip to arrange buyers for the cigars. Mr. Leoni has agreed to fly out when Quinn is gone and paint the picture.
Paying him will be a little tricky. I don't have access to money any more. I generally don't want it either. It would detract from my slavery. I do need to pay him, though. I've offered him a compromise. I will let him paint three more pictures of me in addition to the one I will keep. He is free to sell those pictures himself to recoup his loss from me not being able to pay him.
August 15, 1995
Steven wrote back. He accepted my proposal and will fly out the same day that Quinn leaves. I am so excited about being able to give Quinn such a wonderful gift. I checked with Quinn's schedule and he leaves on the 25th of September and will be gone for 12 days.
September 4, 1995
Yesterday was my birthday. Last year, Quinn gave me earrings. It was kind of silly. I don't think he thought much about how little reason there is to wear them. This year, he asked what I wanted for my birthday. I told him I wanted to spend the entire time I was awake in the dungeon being used by him or suffering pain for him. He made both of us go without sex for an entire week before the day.
I woke up to a belt landing on my ass and the burning pain of being spanked. He pulled me out of bed by my hair and dragged me to the dungeon. I was bound over a padded saw horse and whipped with a cat for I don't know how long. Afterwards, he fucked me hard and left me hanging without a climax after he came in my cunt. Then he put weighted clamps on my nipples and left me there while he went to breakfast.
When he returned, he pulled the clamps off. He didn't take them off, he pulled them off while they still grabbed my tits. The pain as they pinched less and less of the nipple was excruciating. Once they were off, he took me off the horse and hung me from the ceiling with me legs locked apart by spreader bar that was anchored to the floor. After putting a blindfold on me, he took a leather strap, I think, to my entire body, from just below my neck to my ankles. By the time he was done, I was sobbing like a baby.
It continued like that for the entire day. I was forced to relieve myself into a bucket while he watched. I was not allowed to eat anything the entire day. He bound me to every device in the dungeon and used every one of the implements we own. At one point, he used a vibrator on me until I had cum seven times. My clit was so sore that the last couple of orgasms were agonizing.
Each of my holes was fucked at least twice, though he came only four times. One of the mouth fucks was after he took my ass first, forcing me to taste myself. Both times in my mouth, he kept forcing his cock into my throat so I couldn't breath. One of those times, he came while he was lodged between my tonsils.
Today, except for my neck, head, and the soles of my feet, I am a solid mass of purple and red. Everything aches and it only gets worse when I move anything. This was the best birthday present ever.
September 25, 1995
Steven Leoni arrived today. His plane flew in two hours after Quinn's had left. We will start the first painting tomorrow. Today, we talked about what I want in the painting I am going to keep. I want to be bound and recently whipped, looking over my shoulder at Quinn. I'm hoping to be able to convey my desire for and pleasure at suffering under his hands.
He will need to take the whip to me. Steven was not ready for that part. The only person here that can apply the whipping is him. I certainly can't ask Juan or Carlos to whip me! They are upset enough that I invited someone here without Quinn knowing. Fortunately, Mr. Leoni has some experience with BDSM and knows what to do. In some respects, this will be much like Quinn having lent me out.
September 26, 1995
I spent the entire day tied to the whipping post. Mr. Leoni did not whip me terribly hard, which caused him to have to whip me several times as the marks faded too fast. I think it helped with my look. I could tell he had an erection and wanted to do more with me than simply paint me. Down here in the dungeon, bound as I was, I couldn't have stopped him. I didn't think of that in my desire to give Quinn the perfect gift. Steven will be binding me three more times for his own pictures.
Tags : femdom,read,sub,bondage
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