The Island: Pt. 08 - Margaret

Time passed the way time does.

Margaret gave a long low moan of uninhibited pleasure.

She was lying face-down on one of the massage tables in the pool house luxuriating while Sergio worked on her. His warm hands and strong fingers seemed to find every knot and kink in her neck and shoulders, and her feet almost drummed on the table at the sensations as he eased the tensions from her body. She had no idea what his job was but if there was an Olympic event for massage, she would have bet every dollar she had, which was probably all of fifty bucks she thought ruefully, on him winning the gold medal.

Outside she could hear Susan and Natassia cavorting in the pool with Helen and Kady. They were playing some kind of pool volleyball and from the laughter, it sounded like there was a lot of playful cheating going on.

It was good to hear Susan laugh she thought. She still wasn't quite fully recovered but she was well on the way, and Natassia was good for her. Occasionally Margaret noted a few lingering shadows under her eyes, but they were quickly banished.

"I know those shadows all too well", she thought as she recalled Martin and all his little games.

He was an evil shit, and a sadist, one of his favourites was to give her to a business associate as a plaything. He enjoyed it all the more if she had to service two, or sometimes three, men at once. He loved to watch, but one of the things that really got him excited was when he sent her to their offices or hotel rooms and she had to return to him afterwards. She would be soiled, dishevelled with her hair in a mess. A button or two of her blouse would be undone or missing, and usually, she would have a trail of semen trickling down her thighs to her stocking tops. Oh yea, he loved that! Then he would punish her for being a "little whore".

The man enjoyed bending her over a desk, or the back of a chair. Sometimes he made her stand in the middle of the room, legs straight, ankles wide apart as she bent to grab the back of her calves. She would still have her stockings on of course, though her blouse would be undone. He seldom wanted her to wear a bra, and her long red hair would be free and cascading down over her face.

He would use the cane or his belt, on her, making her count the strokes until the tears ran down her face, but she never moved, God no. If she moved, he got angry and would beat her until he drew blood. Once she was suitably thrashed, all for her own good of course she thought bitterly, he would push his cock into her and fuck her from the rear, grunting like a pig until he came. Often, he would fuck her in the ass, but it didn't matter, either way, she knew better than to protest. No, her place was to smile and take what he gave her, groaning and moaning as if he were the best lover in the fucking world. After that first time, he had enough pictures and videos of her to make her an internet sensation if he chose.

She gave a shuddering groan as Sergio's skilful fingers distracted her from her dark memories. He worked his hands down her back and then gently touched the strap of her bikini top.

"Madam?" he queried softly.

She considered for just a moment, it was a bit naughty she thought and then almost laughed at herself. With all the horrible things Martin had made her do, getting a tiny thrill from the masseuse undoing her top was pretty funny really.

She sighed, "Yes please."

With a practised hand and a sly movement, Sergio deftly undid the clasp. She almost giggled, thinking, "He must have been a locksmith or a pickpocket in a previous life."

"Sergio, what is it you do here?" she asked on a whim.

"Oh, my duties are quite varied Madam," he replied with a chuckle, as his hands continued down her back, drawing a hiss of pleasure from her.

Lying there she could have sworn the room was getting warmer. She felt all the stress, all the tightness in her chest and all the dark memories that sometimes plagued her easing under his skilful manipulations. Her breathing slowed and deepened.

She sighed contentedly, "If he keeps this up, I won't be able to move, I'll just slide off the table and lie on the floor like a puddle."

Sergio's finger reached lower until he lightly brushed her bikini bottoms.

"Madam?"

In her almost dreamlike state, she barely hesitated.

"Oh God, yes please," she breathed.

With consummate skill, he gently slipped her bottoms over the curve of her ass and slid them down her legs.

"Oh yes, definitely a pickpocket."

Sergio returned to the task at hand. Teasingly his hands played lightly over her buttocks, and he began to massage her thighs, running his fingers along the muscles, kneading and stroking, as he worked lower. His hands moved slowly along her calves, and she gave a relaxed groan of satisfaction.

The sensations that went through her body when he started on the soles of her feet drew a hiss of pleasure from her. She released a shuddering breath as she reflexively gripped the sides of the table. She remembered reading in a magazine that the soles of the feet were an erogenous zone, but this was incredible! She felt the wetness between her thighs, and he drew a long, involuntary moan from her as he continued his ministrations.

Skilfully he worked his way back up her body, drawing gasps of pleasure from her as he did so until he reached the tops of her thighs. By now Margaret's body was literally trembling and she was biting her lower lip to hold in a scream of desire.

"Sergio?" she gasped.

"Yes, Madam?" in a voice that was so damnably calm she thought. She felt his fingers teasing the tops of her thighs.

"You can go a little higher if you like," she said through clenched teeth.

"Of course, Madam."

"Ohhh God!" she gasped as his fingers slid between her thighs and stroked along the lips of her pussy. She felt the heat from her sex rising and her feet drummed helplessly, she knew that in a moment she would disgrace herself by orgasming all over the massage table.

"May I suggest, it may help if Madam would care to turn over?"

Sergio's hand remained between her thighs as he assisted her to roll onto her back and she bit the back of her hand as he continued to tease her sex. He lowered his mouth between her legs, and she gave a shuddering cry as his tongue licked along the length of her labia and worked on her clit. His hands slid up her body cupping her breasts, and when his skilful fingers gently began to tease her nipples her spine arched and she gave a long wail of pleasure as her orgasm surged over her.

She slumped back onto the massage table with a contented sigh. Her eyes were closed, and her body felt wrapped in a warming glow as she took a deep relaxing breath.

Opening her eyes slowly, she dreamily turned her head.

"Sergio?"

"Yes Madam?"

"Could you fuck me please?" she asked timidly.

"Of course, Madam, it would be my pleasure."

She watched as he slipped off his clothes with a fluid economy of movement.

"Sergio?"

"Yes, Madam?"

Her voice trembled, "Please be kind. I've had a bad time of it lately."

He looked into her eyes and his smile was warm and gentle. Tenderly his hand brushed the side of her cheek, "I won't do anything to hurt you, Margaret."

The passionate noises from the poolhouse caused the girls to pause their game. The noises continued for some time and the sound of Margaret's cries as she reached another orgasm was unmistakable.

Susan blushed.

"I think I need a cold shower," muttered Helen.

"I think I need a massage," said Kady with a wicked grin.

Natassia looked at the poolhouse and shook her head.

"Can nobody ever close a window around here?"

It was much later when Portia spotted Margaret making her way back to the villa. The girl had a Cheshire cat grin on her face and was just about skipping. She smiled at her cheerful demeanour.

"Oh Margaret, it looks like your massage agreed with you."

"Oh, hell yes it certainly did!" she replied with a dreamy grin on her face.

Portia smiled, "Do you have a moment, I'd like to show you something?"

"Sure thing."

"Great, can you take this for me please?" said the older woman as she passed the redhead a hefty three-pound sledgehammer before turning to walk away.

Taken aback, Margaret looked at the hammer in her hands with confusion for several moments before collecting herself and hurrying after her.

"Er, what's this for?" she asked.

"You'll see."

Portia led the redhead to a remote part of the garden. Margaret was confused to see a small linen-covered table had been placed there where a bottle of expensive champagne rested in an ice bucket. A fluted crystal champagne glass had been set next to it. Strange as that was, she felt her gaze drawn to a peculiar but strangely familiar-looking device that had been set on the ground nearby.

"Er Portia?"

"Yes, my dear".

"Why do you have a flamethrower?"

"Oh, it's to incinerate my enemies of course."

Margaret looked at the deadpan expression on the woman's face and for just a moment she wondered.

Portia giggled, "It's for gardening!"

She indicated a burly man waiting nearby. He nodded respectfully.

"This is Bernhard, he's the head gardener here. I think he uses it in case of termite mounds or something. Though I'm not really sure to be honest, my knowledge of incendiary gardening isn't what it should be".

Portia turned to the redhead and casually indicated a sizeable cardboard box set on the ground some yards away. It looked to be filled with electronic devices, video cassettes, a couple of expensive laptops and the like.

"See that? Well, one of my friends had a lovely chat with Martin a day or two ago and that's every recording, every tape, and every picture he ever took of you."

Margaret gazed at the box for a long moment. Her voice quivered, "How can I be sure?"

Portia gave her a grin that any shark would have envied.

"Oh, my friend is very persuasive. You can be sure".

She casually indicated the flamethrower and smiled, "Bernhard can help you with that thing. You enjoy yourself, just please don't burn my house down. I'll see you for dinner".

Margaret watched as the woman strolled off.

She turned to Bernhard with a ferocious look in her eyes, "How does this fucking thing work?"

Twenty minutes later she gave a blood-curdling scream as she brought the hammer down for the last time on the mangled and charred fragments. She was on her knees and panting, streaked with soot and caked with sweat from her exertions, and there was nothing even remotely recognisable left of the box and contents.

The silence was broken by a loud "pop" as Bernhard opened the champagne and poured a glass. Margaret struggled to her feet and staggered over. Taking the bottle from the ice bucket she put it to her lips and guzzled several long gulps before she lowered it with a satisfied sigh. "Thanks, Bernhard, you should drink that one."

Putting the hammer over her shoulder she walked back towards the house with a jaunty step.