Island Of Submission


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by John Savage

Take three lovely young ladies with a passion for being tied up, mix in a Count and Countess with obscene amounts of money and absolute power to rule their own island, and what do you get? You get one of the best John Savage novels, filled with naked bodies, extremely tight ropes and cruel whips.

Three young women all respond to a posting on the Internet offering them a chance to take part in a psychological experiment into human submissive nature. But what they do not realise is that the “psychologists” already own a stable of slavegirls and they are looking to add some new ones, unique ones in that they come voluntarily and are natural born submissives. The tests these poor girls have to endure become increasingly harsh and painful, but by the time they realize their mistake, it is too late to escape from the island and from a lifetime of restraints and pain.

Published: 10 / 2010        No. words: 60,100EX1t

“Just look at the pain in her eyes.  Isn’t it lovely?”

The Count de Monet diverted his attention from the book he was reading to look up at what his wife wished to show him.

“Yes, dear,” he agreed.  “There is a lot of pain in her eyes, and she does look lovely.”

“I thought you’d agreed.  But just wait until I get her back into the dungeon,” purred the Countess, tugging at the leash attached to the unfortunate object of their attention, a young woman who was both naked and quite helpless.  “I was just walking her around for exercise and thought I would bring her out here to show you.”

“That’s nice, dear.”  Although capable of enjoying the sight of the suffering young woman himself, the Count knew that this was his wife’s plaything and he would be unwelcome were he to try to interfere in any way with her games.

The girl who was the object of the Countess’ attention was perhaps nineteen, and a fine specimen of healthy young female.  The firm muscle tone and shapely legs told of an active lifestyle.  The full and firm breasts, slender waist, and luxurious pubic patch of reddish blonde curls told of a mature sexual nature.  And the extremely tight ropes that held the girl’s arms bound behind her back, the ball gag buckled very tightly into her mouth by a strap, and the strange pair of high heels shoes, all told of the Countess de Monet’s love of inflicting pain and suffering upon tender, young girl flesh.

The shoes were the main source of discomfort for the young woman, although the manner in which her arms were bound certainly was causing her discomfort too.  The poor girl’s hands had been pulled up behind her back and bound together at the wrists, but only after they had been crossed at the level of her shoulder blades.  Additional rope passed up and around her neck, and to judge from the strained expression on her face, was fairly tight.  At least the neck rope held her hands high on her back, even though the arms would have liked to come down.

As uncomfortable as her arms certainly were, it was nowhere as bad as the special shoes which Countess herself had designed and made her wear.  They were a reasonably normal pair of black patented leather high heels, the heels being of the type called stiletto, very slender and of almost four inches in height.  The back of the shoe came up into an ankle strap that was tightly buckled around the slender ankle.  The shoes were pretty and changed the shape of the young girl’s legs most pleasantly, but it was what was not visible that made them so special.  The Countess had driven three small nails into each heel, and then filed the heads off until there were three very sharp points sticking up.  When the young woman tried to rest her weight on her heel, those points embedded themselves into her flesh to cause considerable pain.  Forced to walk with her heels lifted placed a great deal of strain upon the toes and arch of the feet.  Which was just what the Countess desired.

The young woman was being led around the extensive grounds and house by the leash in the Countess’ hand, which was attached to a slender leather collar around her neck, on the inside of which was a series of metal spikes, each only half an inch long but quite effective at making the naked young woman walk as directed when the Countess tugged upon the leash.

The exercise had already lasted twenty minutes and the young woman was almost at the point where she would be unable to maintain what amounted to a ballerina’s “pointe” position, except that she had no toe shoes to help.  Several times her heels had lowered, and were you to look inside the shoes you would find numerous small puncture marks.

“Come along, dearie,” said the Countess sweetly.  “Perhaps we could do some jogging on the grass.”

Count Ryan de Monet smiled, never doubting for a second that his wife was capable of such cruelty.  As they walked away, he lowered the book to enjoy the sight of the latest in a long string of “playthings” he and his wife had enjoyed, as she walked away.  This one was fairly new and he had not yet had the chance to abuse her.  His wife called it “ravishment” but it was simple sexual abuse.  He would sate his lust upon her tied down and quite helpless body without her permission or even so much as a “by your leave.”  The Countess, he knew, was already playing sexual games with the girl.  She had not come to his bedroom the prior night, and he knew it was because she had “entertained” the new girl in her own bedroom.  He wondered if this one was a natural lesbian, or if his wife had used force to get what she wanted.

It made little difference, since the Countess liked to use force even on those who cooperated.

He watched the wiggle in that nice, firm bottom and observed the way the ropes cut into the wrists.  His wife must have really jerked on the ropes to get her hands that high on the back.  Some of the more slender ones could almost reach up to their necks behind them, but this one was fairly solidly built, and having her arms forced upward like that just had to hurt something wonderfully.

He sighed and went back to his book.  Maybe later, when his wife had finished playing with this new slavegirl, he might sneak down into the basement room they called the dungeon and do a little playing with the new toy himself.  If, that was, she had not secured the girl into some position that made male playing impossible.  Many times he had visited the dungeon late at night with lecherous sexual intent only to find that the target of his affections had been chained into some position not lending itself to sexual intercourse.  One of her favorites was to bind the girls tightly with rope then lock them into a small cage made of steel bars.  The cage was only a couple inches larger in any direction than most girls, and positively a cruelly tight fit for the larger girls.  But it served the purpose of keeping him from “dipping his wick” into their young, tight pussies.  The Countess always took the key to the padlock on the cage with her.

At least, he told himself, this one looked hardy and able to stand up to the Countess’s rough treatment.  The Count considered himself to be a world-class sadist, capable of refined yet intense torture of female bodies until they screamed insanely for mercy.  But his wife, on the other hand…  Well, let it simply be said that her techniques were cruder and the girls under her loving care screamed louder and longer.


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