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Island Bound

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Island Bound by Everett Bedford

Everett Bedford, author of Properly Whipped and Alaya’s Assignment, writes another tantalizing tale of erotic mystery.

On the voyeuristic island of Nuan, where sex is D/s and exotic, we find James Martin Halstead, bookkeeper and trainer of the best submissives on the planet. He is worried about his finest submissive, Laura, who has turned 30 and will have to submit herself to a special ceremony for Nuanese women; The Beheading.

Crieger, a local crime boss and leader of a cult that uses women in hedonistic ceremonies, has come to Halstead seeking a submissive to use in an upcoming dark ritual that will involve a sacrifice. James gives him a free sample in the form of his newest trainee, Saree, who fellates Crieger, turning him into a stumbling, weak-kneed mess. Halstead, however, has done his research on Crieger and his cult and refuses to work with him.

The Beheading ceremony, held in front of the masses of Nuan, goes on without a hitch. Halstead takes Laura’s virginity in a sensual public scene. However, instead of giving Laura off to the crowd, he runs with her and promises that she can be his now and forever.

Unfortunately for Laura and James, they fall right into the hands of Crieger and his attempted coup. Back at the Respite estate, Halstead succumbs to the wiles of one other submissive, Anya, who drugs him into unconsciousness and covers him with a carpet. Crieger’s cronies find Laura in her rooms and take her with them without telling her where they’re going.

Can Laura stay true to her one and only master? Will Halstead find out the real reason behind the coup? Is Anya part of Crieger’s group or does she have some other hidden secret?

Lustful scenes of oral and anal sex, performed by wonderfully trained submissive women, set the scene for this wild story of intrigue.

Included: oral sex, anal sex, bondage, knives, sexual ceremonies, hallelujah holes, sex clubs, survival sex.


He cupped the back of her head in his hand, then gripped her hair. Squeezing, he twisted until her face registered discomfort. At that instant he forced her to her knees. Pressing his crotch forward, he bumped her face with the front of his trousers.
She raised her hands instinctively, to unzip his fly, open his boxers, and unleash his cock. Even as she reached for the zipper his cock, trapped inside the cloth, hardened and grew.
He jostled her head. “Teeth only,” he snarled.
She dropped her hands.
He pressed her face against his trouser front, feeling his hard cock on the contours of her beauty. He kept a grip on the hair at the nape of her neck as much for balance as control.
She strained forward, biting. She finally caught the zipper’s tab between her left canine teeth, their points in the tab’s square hold. She tugged the zipper down part of an inch before the tab slipped free. She bit again, caught it, and eased the zipper down a little at a time.
All this felt like teasing to his cock, of course.
When the zipper was all the way down, she nuzzled, using her nose, to part the fly. It reminded her of a vagina, which caused a brief smile.
She smelled him now. Her body responded to the pheromones. Her spine tingled, her nipples stiffened, and her chest blushed. Her clit got hard. Soon her pussy would slicken, releasing her own musk and pheromones, which would swell him bigger.
Her tongue probed past his boxers’ hidden slit, its warm wetness touching the shaft of his cock. She quivered again, he felt it, and goose flesh erupted all over both.
Her tongue slid up to tease just under the chin of his glans. It was as if their quivering synchronized to generate sexual energy.
Straining up onto her knees, arching her back, she got her lips over the head of his cock. She sucked hard, taking it in and licking its length as she pulled his cock free of the boxers and trousers.
It thrust at her and she let it pop out of her mouth so she could lick its length again, this time flicking her tongue. As she did this she let her tongue keep going, sliding it along his seminal canal and between his testicles, finding that beaded scar on his scrotum where he had been circumcised.
She surprised him then, stopping short of his perineum and instead pursing her lips, making a suction cup of sorts. She sucked hard again, this time sealing her lips to the skin of his scrotum and easing her mouth open wider until his left testicle slipped past her teeth. She leaned back, tugging gently, and brought both balls out of his trousers to join his cock in open air.
She now began in earnest using her lips and tongue to tease and please him, backing off when she sensed him clenching, attacking with enthusiasm when he needed another surge of shuddering ecstasy.
His grip on her hair relaxed long before he realized. His knees trembled so much he hand to lean back against the wall to brace himself. When finally he admitted defeat in a triumphant orgasm, pumping semen into her mouth so forcefully some of it spurted out the sides to splatter on her cheeks and breasts, he yelled aloud and slid down to sit on the floor, legs spread, the woman bowed before him, her face still clamped to him.
“Fuck,” he panted.
She regurgitated his cock, swiped goo from her lips, and smiled, glancing up not at the face of the man she had just served, but into the eyes of the other man, who watched from behind the big oak desk.
“Good girl.”
This man, older, sat with hands folded on the green blotter, his suit expensive, his expression composed, and is posture commanding. To his compliment he added, “Thank you, Saree.” He then tilted his head, indicating she could leave now.
To the recipient of the blow job, the man said, “Get up and put yourself back together. You can use the wash room over there, if you wish.” He gestured to a door on one side of the room.
The man scrambled to his feet and nodded, stuffing his drooping cock back into his pants as he stumbled on rubbery legs toward the walnut panel in the wall that had silently opened to reveal a large marble-tiled room with black onyx sink, black porcelain toilet, and a blackened chrome bidet.
As he waited for the client to reappear, Martin Halstead took a Waterman fountain pen from inside his jacket and a slip of vellum paper from a drawer. He jotted down a few notes and frowned, then did some calculating on a computer set to his right. He made more notes, then smiled.
The client, Jason Crieger, stepped out of the guest wash room. “Thank you, Mister Halstead.”

Artist Credit

© Oleksii Zabusik

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