The Taming of Jessica (6 page)

‘May is going to look after you. I’ll be back shortly to collect you. Woe betide you if you’re not ready.’

‘Yes, Mistress Delice,’ Honey replied. ‘Of course, Mistress Delice.’ Jessica wondered if she was the only one who picked up on the lack of deference in her new friend’s tone.

While Jessica tucked into her sandwich, May took more items from her trolley. The two matching white robes, which she hung on the back of the door, seemed innocent enough, but when Jessica looked up from her meal to see May retrieving a long metal bar which had a leather cuff at each end, her stomach gave a lurch. Was that how the women were taken to auction, in shackles? She glanced at Honey, seeking reassurance, but her friend seemed oblivious to the whole process. That wasn’t so surprising, she supposed, given that Honey had been around this particular block on three previous occasions.

Honey was the first to push away her plate.

‘Mistress Delice wishes you to take a shower before you change, but be quick about it,’ May told her. Without ceremony, Honey pulled her dress off over her head and tossed it onto her bunk, walking naked into the little bathroom and giving Jessica an eyeful of her pert, round bottom in the process.

As she munched on her apple, Jessica heard the sounds of water running, and Honey singing to herself, loudly and off-key. By the time she’d finished her meal, Honey was strolling back into the room, a towel wrapped around herself, which she discarded on May’s command. Jessica couldn’t help but marvel at how this fragile-looking girl, a good ten years Honey’s junior, could issue orders which were immediately obeyed, while Mistress Delice, who seemed to radiate dominance from every pore, received nothing from Honey but thinly disguised cheek. Honey was right; she had a hell of a lot to learn about the submissive mindset.

For now, May was glaring at her with impatience. ‘Get undressed, and in the shower.’

Not comfortable about stripping where she stood, Jessica took off her dress nevertheless. It seemed disobeying any order, or not performing it to a certain standard, might earn you a punishment around her, and she’d already been on the receiving end of Mistress Delice’s wrath. The memory of those long, slender fingers invading her front and rear caused her pussy to clench, almost as if it wished it was still full, and she scurried into the bathroom before her body could fully respond to the thought.

The hot spray beat down on her as she scrubbed away the last traces of her journey – and all the torments she’d undergone – since she and Max had left the house that morning, from her skin. The scents of sweat, come, and cherry-flavoured lube were washed away, replaced by the faint citrus aroma of her favourite shower crème. When she stepped back into the bedroom, she felt human again.

Her sense of wellbeing took a jolt at the sight of Honey. She wore only the robe, loosely fastened around her shoulders, and her hands had been cuffed to a wide leather collar May had fixed round her neck. With her wrists pressed together between her breasts, the big, heavy globes were displayed in tantalizing fashion through the gap in the robe. The metal spreader bar she’d seen earlier had been used to secure Honey’s legs about 18 inches apart; Jessica knew that would force her new friend to take short, awkward steps. She prayed May didn’t have the same humiliating fate in mind for her.

She was at least spared that, though May abruptly yanked away the towel she’d fastened around herself, leaving her naked once more. Unlike Honey, she found her hands being cuffed behind her back before May fastened a collar around her neck, buckling it at her nape. The remaining robe was slipped over her shoulders. She’d have liked to apply make-up before being prepared for auction, feeling strangely vulnerable without even a coat of mascara or slick of lip gloss. The idea, she supposed, was that the men who were bidding to own her would see her as she really was, without any artificial adornment.

Mistress Delice striding into the room once more stopped her thoughts in their tracks.

‘All ready, are we?’ she asked, glancing from Jessica to Honey and back again without expecting an answer. ‘So let’s go, they’ll be waiting for us.’

Jessica followed Mistress Delice out into the corridor, wondering exactly where they were about to be taken. Honey shuffled behind her, with May bringing up the rear of their little procession. She thought she was being taken back the way she’d come from the interrogation suite, but she couldn’t be entirely sure, as there was nothing to distinguish one cream-painted corridor from another. This part of the complex reminded her of any number of blandly decorated airport hotels she’d spent time in; she almost expected to glance out of the window and spot a passenger jet coming in to land.

Taking a left turn, they came to a wider passageway, thickly carpeted and with Pre-Raphaelite artworks hanging on the wall. In any other resort, she’d have expected the selection of paintings to be reproductions; given Damon Barada’s vast wealth, she couldn’t be entirely sure she wasn’t looking at the real thing.

The change in décor indicated they’d reached a part of the building frequented by the male guests. Like the lobby she’d visited briefly when she and Max first arrived, this corridor had an air of quiet luxury.

Mistress Delice pushed open one half of a set of double doors and peered into the room beyond. ‘Looks like we’re the last to arrive. Simone and Adele are already waiting for us. Follow me.’

The two chained women did as they were told, stepping into what, to Jessica’s eyes, resembled nothing more than the backstage area of a theatre. Heavy curtains shielded this part of the room from what lay beyond, but from behind them she could hear raised male voices, and booming laughter. An expectant audience, waiting for the show to begin.

She recognised one of the women who already stood stage left as the blonde who’d been on the plane with her, but the tall redhead by her side was a stranger. Both, however, wore the same white robes and shackles that marked them out as auction lots.

‘So, the last of our slaves has arrived.’ Jessica recognised Damon Barada’s voice, but she didn’t turn her head in his direction. She suspected that wasn’t how she was expected to behave, if the bowed heads and downcast eyes of the other women were any indication.

‘Ladies,’ he continued, ‘I’m sure most of you know how this works, but for the benefit of our newcomer, Jessica, I’ll explain. I am the auctioneer tonight, and you will follow my instructions at all times. Any man in the room is allowed to bid for you, except for your own husband, and once the bids have been concluded, you will become the property of the winning bidder until the end of your stay here. Is that clear?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Jessica didn’t know where the honorific had come from, only that it seemed the appropriate form of address, even for a man who’d treated her as an equal on their previous meeting. Here, in this fantasy fiefdom, there was no equality; Damon Barada was her superior, and expected to be acknowledged as such.

‘Good, then let the fun begin.’ He clapped his hands, and the curtains were parted. Jessica found herself looking out on to a large room with half a dozen tables towards the back, all bearing the remnants of a recently finished meal, with half-empty wine bottles and coffee cups in evidence. Beyond those tables stood a fully stocked bar, overseen by a barman with dark, slicked-back hair, wearing a harlequin-patterned waistcoat and black bow tie. But these were minor details her eyes chose to focus on, so as not to look at the expectant group of figures who waited close to the stage. Max she recognised, along with the men who’d been their travelling companions from Antigua. The others were strangers to her. But they were all clearly here for one purpose – to bid on the lots in this outlandish auction.

‘Gentlemen.’ Damon addressed his audience in avuncular tones. ‘I do hope you enjoyed your meal, and that you’re ready for this evening’s entertainment. Tonight, I am pleased to offer four slaves, each of whom is in need of training. Those of you who’ve been here before may well recognise the first lot – a serial offender whose misdeeds are too numerous to mention …’

As he went into his spiel, Mistress Delice began to guide Honey to the front of the stage. As she was manoeuvred away from the rest of the group, Honey turned and gave Jessica a quick wink, as if to let her know everything would be all right. Her action earned her a sharp slap to the face from the dominatrix, Honey’s shuddering response carrying more pleasure than pain.

‘See how difficult the bitch is to control,’ Damon said. ‘Who out there thinks he’s master enough to bring this one to heel?’

Hands were raised, and three or four voices rang out – Jessica found it hard to distinguish between them, though she was certain Max wasn’t among those bidding to own her friend. Her heart thudded in her chest as she tried to shut out the thought that she might be the next up on the block.

‘Who wants to get a better look at the slut’s tits, and her luscious, round arse?’ Damon asked. With a flourish, he pulled the robe from Honey’s shoulders, baring her entirely, and drawing whoops and cheers from the watching men as he slipped a hand down between Honey’s legs, then pulled it away to reveal how his fingers glistened with the woman’s juices. ‘See how wet she is. She loves this treatment!’ he crowed.

To Jessica’s mind, there could hardly be anything more shameful than being treated like goods for sale in front of a baying crowd, but Damon was right. When he ordered Honey to turn round so her back was to the audience and bend from the waist, which she did, rather awkwardly given her shackled state, the men’s reaction showed they were looking at a willingly displayed and very wet pussy. If Jessica was forced to do the same, how would she react? Her cheeks flamed as she realised that, mortifying as the exposure would be, those men – Max included – would be able to see the indecently dewy state of her own plumped-up and gently pulsing sex.

Damon banged his hand down on the wooden lectern he stood by. ‘Sold, to Rafael Dos Santos for 200 dollars! Come up and claim your slave, Rafael.’

A huge bear of a man with wildly curly hair and a goatee beard lumbered up to the stage, and handed over a number of banknotes of a design Jessica didn’t recognise. Honey’s leg cuffs were unfastened, but those securing her wrists to her collar remained in place as her new owner led her away.

Jessica’s fears that she might be the next on the block evaporated as Damon called for Simone, and the redhead was led forward. Much as with Honey, the bidding for this slave was swift and intense, her price rising as Damon outlined just how hard Simone needed to be whipped to keep her in line.

When Simone had been claimed by her new owner – a bespectacled, studious-looking black man who’d been part of the group travelling to the island from Antigua – Damon called for Adele to step up to the block. Jessica was unable to pay any attention as he outlined the blonde’s virtues as a potential slave, before stripping and displaying her just as he’d done with the other two. All she could do was stand and wonder who among the men might choose to bid for her, Jessica, once they’d heard she had no experience as a slave and was here because Max had decided she needed to be tamed.

‘Move, slut,’ Mistress Delice growled in her ear, and she was being pushed forward into the spotlight, too ashamed to raise her face to meet the audience’s gaze as Damon Barada set the opening bid for her services at 50 dollars.

Chapter Six

Until the last of the women came on stage, Jason had been watching the auction with a detached eye. Even after everything he’d been told about Isla Barada – all the stories of dominant men using willing women as their slaves, stories that had his cock rigid in his underwear whenever he thought about them – he’d found it hard to believe that was what he would encounter when he arrived. It hadn’t taken him long to discover every word was true, and more. So the thought of an auction, where all the women who’d been brought here this week by their masters were to be sold off to the highest bidder, should have had him salivating with anticipation.

However, when they’d brought the first of the slaves to the auction block, half-naked and shackled, he had remained curiously unmoved. Honey, the half-Thai girl, might have had a luscious, full-breasted body and kept her eyes suitably downcast as Damon Barada, revelling in his role as auctioneer, demonstrated all her finer points. But the vibes she gave off told Jason – and, he assumed, all the other would-be bidders – that she wasn’t in the least ashamed at having the thin white robe that was the only garment she wore stripped right off her, so her bare tits and shaved pussy could be fondled and discussed in the crudest of terms. Everything about her screamed brat, and he’d never seen the appeal in a girl who deliberately acted up in order to earn herself a spanking.

As the price for Honey continued to rise – bids being made in the currency Barada jokingly called “Damon dollars”, the bills he’d had designed especially for use in the resort – Jason stood back and watched the covetous expressions on the faces of the three self-made millionaires fighting to buy her. He could almost smell the testosterone, coming off them in waves, as each attempted to outbid the others. Not for the first time since he’d arrived, he felt out of his depth among the company in which he’d found himself.

No doubt Harry Lieberman had thought he’d been doing the right thing by treating Jason to this trip. And it was far from the first present he’d been bought by a celebrity client grateful for the amount of weight his training regime had helped them shed, or the way he’d helped them to bulk up their body in preparation for a role in a demanding action film. Usually, though, he received a nice watch or a crate of champagne to say thank you, nothing as unorthodox as Lieberman’s gift.

But then, he considered, nothing about the newspaper magnate was orthodox. They’d learnt a lot about each other in the two months it had taken Lieberman to shed 25 pounds and fit once more in the suit he’d worn for his marriage to his third wife. However, it was only towards the end of their time together that Harry had confessed he’d taken Jason on as his personal trainer having been given his details from a friend who was a regular at Club Martinet. Until then, Jason hadn’t even considered the possibility that his client might be a fellow scene player. Having established their mutual interest in BDSM, he’d expected Lieberman to conform to the cliché of the high-powered businessman who craved nothing more than to give up all responsibility and be thrashed for his misdeeds by a skilled dominatrix. Instead, he turned out to be as dominant as Jason, never happier than when he had some sweet, submissive beauty grovelling at his feet, though he confined his play to private parties where he didn’t run the risk of being recognised by members of the public. ‘I might own a couple of scandal sheets,’ he’d commented dryly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I want to be exposed in any of them.’

That’s when he’d first brought up the subject of Isla Barada. ‘You’d love it there, Jason,’ he’d said.

‘I’m sure I would. If I could afford it,’ Jason had replied, only half-joking.

Now here he was, courtesy of Harry Lieberman’s generosity. He must remember to thank the man when he got back to London; after all, it wasn’t Harry’s fault that none of the slaves on display tonight appealed to Jason’s personal tastes.

After bratty Honey had come Simone, tall even in her bare feet, her russet hair long enough to cover her breasts when her scant covering was stripped from her. From the graphic description of Simone’s various misdemeanours and the severity of the punishment she would require for each of them, Jason rapidly established that Simone was a pain slut. Again, most of the other masters in the crowd would no doubt view that as a virtue, but Jason enjoyed the psychological aspect of domination as much as, if not more than, the physical. He liked to break a woman with his words, as well as his whip, and he couldn’t see Simone responding to that kind of treatment.

As for Adele, the third slave to step up to the block, she was just too young for him. Barely into her 20s, she was the archetypal trophy wife. With her collagen-augmented pout and improbably big, round breasts, she reminded him of Chelsee King, the reality TV star whose fitness DVD he’d worked on earlier in the year. If it had been the whiny, self-absorbed Chelsee they’d placed up on the stage, inviting someone to claim her so they could spank some sense into her pampered arse, Jason would have been first in the queue. The thought of ordering her lookalike to do whatever took his fancy, whether that was licking his boots clean or sucking his cock, held a certain appeal, but if he was honest with himself, what he really wanted was the chance to indulge his fantasies of dominating a gorgeous MILF.

Almost as if someone had read his mind, Damon Barada announced, ‘Gentlemen, may I present the final lot of the night – Max Sheringham’s slut of a wife, Jessica,’ and a blonde in her early 40s, wearing the same thin robe as all the other slaves, had been half-dragged on to the stage.

She wasn’t feigning her reluctance to be auctioned, or her shame at being bared for her audience as the robe was pulled off her to reveal her mature body. Unlike the other wives on display tonight, Jessica was a novice, being paraded and sold for the first time; he recognised that instinctively, and something deep inside him responded to the knowledge. His cock stirred, hardening at the sight of Jessica, cruelly exposed and unable to shield her breasts or her pussy with her hands bound behind her back. She could barely look at the crowd from behind her hair, and he could only begin to imagine the thoughts that might be running through her mind. He wanted her, wanted to bend her to his will and teach her what it meant to submit, and he would do whatever it took to make that happen.

Or so he thought. When Damon Barada asked who was prepared to start the bidding at 50 dollars, he spoke up confidently enough.

‘Sixty!’ came the response from the other side of the room. The German accent gave his rival bidder away, and hardened Jason’s resolve to win this auction.

He’d overheard Sebastian Voller on his first evening here, complaining loudly about Barada’s insistence that dominants should supply their sub with a safeword – the only hard and fast rule on this fantasy island, apart from the stipulation that all men wear a condom when fucking a woman who wasn’t their own long-term bed partner. ‘I don’t believe in safewords,’ Voller had muttered, the manner in which he almost spat out the word reinforcing his contempt for the concept. ‘A slave may say they have a limit, but they can all be pushed further than any of them thinks they are prepared to go.’

Jason hadn’t responded; he’d met men like Voller before. Men who seemed in perpetual danger of crossing the line from dominance into full-blown sadism. An experienced submissive like Honey or Simone would probably be able to handle his excessive demands, but this man could very easily destroy Jessica Sheringham without meaning to. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

He raised his voice, making sure Barada heard him. ‘Seventy dollars!’

The bids rose, Jason and Sebastian battling for Jessica between them. None of the other three women had been sold for more than 200 dollars – money which went to Damon’s personal charity, the Barada Foundation, which helped those who had been victims of natural disasters – but almost before Jason realised it, Jessica’s price was hovering close to the 500 dollar mark, pretty much the limit of what he could afford. He’d have to drop out, but that would let Voller win.

‘Do I hear 500?’ Barada enquired, looking in Jason’s direction.

Jason was about to shake his head, conceding the auction and resigning himself to five days of relying on the resort’s house girls for his pleasure, until he heard a voice in his ear. ‘Say yes.’

Glancing to his side, he found himself looking into Max Sheringham’s intense dark gaze. ‘But I can’t –’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll stand you the money. Just keep bidding. There’s no way I’m letting that bastard get his hands on my wife.’

Jason didn’t argue, curious as he was to learn what had caused Sheringham’s obvious dislike of the German. Instead, he piped up, ‘Five hundred dollars.’

Voller, who’d no doubt been expecting Jason to walk away long before now, swallowed down his surprise and kept on bidding. Only when the price reached 860 dollars did he finally spit, ‘I’m out. The bitch isn’t worth half that – but you’ll find that out soon enough.’ With that, he stalked over to the bar, casting sour glances at Jason over his shoulder as he went.

‘Congratulations, Mr Raynes,’ Barada said as Jason approached the stage, clutching the fistful of Damon dollars Max had slipped him to pay Jessica’s auction price. ‘You have yourself a slave.’

‘Thank you.’ He handed over the money, silently thanking Max Sheringham for his generosity. A leash was clipped into the D-ring at the front of Jessica’s collar, the other end being pressed into Jason’s hand. Mistress Delice handed him the keys to Jessica’s wrist cuffs, which he slipped into his trouser pocket.

Awkwardness overtook him. The fantasy of buying a slave, of commanding her to do whatever he wished, of leading her around naked and compliant, was one thing; the reality something else altogether. He’d played out scenes in Club Martinet where he’d been firmly in charge, but always with someone he’d made some kind of connection to beforehand. This, he had to remind himself, was a complete stranger. They’d never as much as said hello to each other before this moment. More than that, she appeared to have almost no experience of acting as a submissive, if Damon’s description of her was to be believed. For all Max’s insistence that he keep bidding till he won the auction, he couldn’t help wondering if he’d done the right thing.

Aware of Damon’s amused gaze on him, he tugged at the leash. ‘Come with me,’ he ordered Jessica, the words coming out more gruffly than he’d intended.

She didn’t disobey, didn’t dig in her heels and ask where he thought he was taking her, as bratty Honey might have. He led her over to the bar, making sure to stand well away from Voller, who was nursing a glass of what appeared to be whiskey and muttering to another of the failed bidders about the auction being a joke.

Retrieving the keys to Jessica’s cuffs from his pocket, he freed her hands. Her obvious relief was short lived when he caught hold of her wrists, and expertly fastened them together again, in front of her body this time.

He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and found a couple of dollar bills. ‘I want you to get me a beer.’ He waited for her to take the money from his fingers. When she didn’t, he fixed her with a stern glare. ‘Right away, Jessica.’

‘But, master –’ The word sounded so sweet on her lips that his cock gave an involuntary lurch. ‘My hands are bound.’

Inexperienced as she was, he had no intention of giving her any leeway. She was going to struggle with the task, but that only added to his sense of anticipation. ‘Which means you’ll have to be extra careful not to spill a drop, doesn’t it? Now, get me that beer.’

Any further objection seemed to die in her throat as he gestured at her to get a move on. Clutching his money awkwardly, she managed to attract the attention of the barman and place her order. Jason couldn’t help but notice that the guy’s eyes were firmly glued to Jessica’s bare breasts as he poured the beer. He couldn’t blame him; his own thoughts were of taking her pebbled nipples between his lips and sucking till her mouth opened in a soft O of need.

The barman put the beer glass down on the counter and plucked the money from Jessica’s fingers. On tiptoes, she reached up to grasp the glass in both hands and brought it back to Jason. Even though she took tiny, careful steps, her whole concentration fixed on trying not to spill the drink, the man who’d been talking to Voller took a pace back, not realising she was behind him, and nudged into her. A little of the liquid slopped over the rim, splashing the exposed skin of her rounded belly. He began to apologise to her, but quickly stopped when he caught sight of Jason and the realisation of what Jessica had been asked to do appeared to dawn on him. His expression turned to one that clearly indicated what a lucky bastard he thought Jason was.

The look of contrition on her face as Jessica handed the glass to him had Jason aching to bend her over the bar counter and slide his cock into her cunt.

‘I’m so sorry, master. I tried, I really did, but –’

Jason shook his head. ‘I gave you a simple task, and you didn’t manage it. You know what that means, don’t you?’

Before he could begin to outline what Jessica’s failure might mean for her in terms of punishment, a roar went up somewhere behind them. He turned to see that the next part of the evening’s entertainment was about to begin.