EXTRACT FOR
Island Of Terror - Book 2 - The Collaring Of Three Bitches
(Terri Pray)

Prologue





      The woman struggled, sweat coating her naked flesh as she tried to break free from the grip of the two men who even now hauled her toward the waiting branding rack. She wasn't meant to be a slave. She wasn't a weak, pitiful woman who needed to have every minute of her life dominated. 

      Yet here she was. Being dragged, treated like a whore, a slave, a piece of meat and there was nothing she could do about it.

      She had to get away. Find a way to break free from them, but they held her too tightly. They were too strong. And she ??" she was drained. Beaten, welted and drained before she'd even been brought into the room.

      Her body bore the signs of welts. Dozens of them. Bruises formed across her backside and thighs. Her back wasn't much better.

      "Please, don't do this to me!" Tears streamed down her cheeks. "Let me go, oh god, have mercy on me. I'm not like this!

      One man laughed, another slapped her, hard and fast, across her already welted ass. "You don't have a choice, slut. He wants you branded. You submitted to him, as his bitch, so ??" it's time to mark you as such."

      A bitch. An Island Bitch. A piece of private property, at the mercy of her master.

      "No!"

      "Yes," one man growled. "You're going to do this, there's no choice. Is that clear, slut?"

      She wasn't a slut, was she?

      Naked, beaten, glistening from her master's use... yes she looked like a slut. She slumped in their grasp as she was dragged to the rack. There was no escape for her no matter how hard she fought, struggled, or pleaded. She was helpless.

      The leather bands locked her to the frame, she whimpered as they tightened each band, locking them, holding her in place. Whimpering didn't help. They weren't going to let her go.

      Her breath caught in the back of her throat. She couldn't think. She couldn't break free. Trapped and without the hope of freedom. Once she was branded there was no going back. No way out for her unless he decided to give her away.

      Just an animal. A private pet for him to use. How could I agree to this? It's insane. How can I... I can't do this, I just can't.

      She had no choice.

      "A touch of the iron and it will be over. You'll be marked for life." One of the men laughed and shook his head. "Such a sweet little slut and you'll be his, always his."

      She moaned in terror.

      "Good, very good, you need to learn how to handle this slut. Give me the iron." The man growled against her ear.

      He didn't have to do that. Growl at her like that. 

      Yes, he does, he wants to scare me. And it's working.

      Heat brushed close to her thigh. She tensed waiting for the heat to bran her. It didn't happen. She moaned. Her inner walls clenching. A need to plead and be fucked threatened to consume her.

      "Not hot enough, put it back in the fire."

      How much longer were they going to make her wait?

      Flame seared through the flesh of her left thigh. She screamed, arching violently. The bonds held her in place but only barely. Pain, searing, biting pain marked her flesh and she couldn't breathe. 

      The iron wasn't touch her and still her leg burned. Then something cool and wet was pressed over the burn, the shock almost enough to push her over the edge.

      "It's done. She's yours, my Lord."

      Done?

      Oh, God, I'm his slave...

      



Part One Jeanie

Chapter One

      

      A scream split the air. A slave struggled in the grip of a man as he dragged her to the whipping pole in the middle of the main hall. The slave was naked but for the collar she wore and she was obviously newly arrived on the Island, or she would have known better than to scream, or protest at being manhandled in such a fashion. 

      Jeanie smiled at the sound and her gaze lingering on the naked whore who even now struggled against the whipping pole. She was an attractive enough beast with full breasts, firm ripe nipples and a sweet spankable ass. The slave would make for an amusing distraction for all of those who now sat in the main hall. If nothing else she provided an entertaining image that chased away Jeanie's concerns even if only for a few brief moments. 

      Jeanie's hand itched as she watched the way the slut struggled, her soft sobs and pleas carried easily through the hall. The slave sobbed, her naked flesh exposed to the whims of those around her.

      Such smooth, unmarked skin.

      Jeanie smiled and let her gaze linger on the slave. The possibilities the woman offered. She shook her head but continued to watch the slut.

      What would it feel like to take the whip and use it on the squealing slave? She'd led the other women in a mass correction of the slaves in the great hall, but that had been purely a matter of discipline, not a moment of pleasure. Using a slave for her personal pleasure was another matter entirely, but now wasn't the time to explore that. She had too many other things on her mind right now.

      Jeanie glanced back at Veron, shook her head, and then turned her attention to the man who had bound the slave in place. Her gaze narrowed.

      She knew him, didn't she? She was certain that she knew the man who now beat the slave with a well placed whip. He hadn't turned to face her, and the robe hide his features with the way he kept the cowl up but wasn't that Silence? 

      Yes, it had to be.

      The way he moved and the way he touched the slave, they were all so very familiar to her. She shook her head and looked away from the man. 

      The thought of the man who she had kept her distance from since he had joined the Inquisition set her skin crawling, yet she was drawn to what he was doing. He was skilled there was no doubt about that. She'd seen him all but whip the flesh from a slave before. She'd witnessed what he'd put the slave through on the ship, shortly before arriving on the Island. He'd put the woman through her paces before he'd turned her over to the crew. The way that slave had been forced to sexually serve a dozen men, had played through her mind since they had arrived here.

      But that wasn't all, Silence had a reputation and of course, there were the stories of what he did to them in private. Stories that where spoken of in dark corners, or in private, where he wouldn't hear them. 

      Silence was dangerous. 

      She shivered at the rumors she'd heard, and the results she'd witnessed first hand. Stories of pins, sliced flesh and of breasts pressed so cruelly that the slave would be bruised for days, even weeks after his use of them. There had been welts that were filled with blood from the caning he had inflicted on the slaves. His sexual use of them so cruel, so brutal, that they could barely walk.

      She shuddered and still she couldn't draw her gaze away from him. 

      The man made her sick in more ways than one.

      Was it more than just fear, or disgust that left her shivering? Or was there a part of her that wanted to share what the women endured?

      The whip slashed through the air, slicing a welt open on the back of the screaming slave, marking her afresh. The trapped collared woman sobbed, writhing, twisting in the chains that held her to the post. There was no escape for her, and yet she still struggled against her fate. She fought against the bonds, knowing it was futile, knowing they would hold her, and yet she still fought. 

      Slaves were foolish creatures indeed. Didn't she realize that if she stopped fighting then perhaps she would be able to enjoy some of what was happening to her? Perhaps the slave didn't know that pain could be enjoyable, that if a woman gave into it, surrendered to it, she could reach a moment of such sheer bliss that there was nothing that could compare to it?

      The whip snapped against the slave's firm curves and a trickle of blood seeped down from the fresh welt, baring witness to the way it had opened up. Jeanie flinched at the sight of the blood, and squirmed in her seat as she pressed her thighs together.

      Delicious.

      A low hiss of disproval mingled with a cheer from those who enjoyed such sport. Which one was she? Right now she couldn't be certain, there was a part of her that wanted to rip the whip from his hand and use it on him to drive him away from the slave, perhaps gaining his attention for herself. Then there was the other part of her who wanted to take the whip and pick up where he was forced to leave off.

      God, I'm a mess, I don't even know what I want anymore.

      The slave howled as another welt opened up across her ass, her body slick with sweat and flecks of blood. In pain and terror she kicked, struggling, trying to find a way to break free no matter how pointless it obviously was.

      Heat rippled through her inner walls as Jeanie closed her eyes and listened to the whip as it slashed against the back of the sobbing slave. What would it be like to surrender to Silence, if only for a short time? Would submitting to Veron, as his Bitch, enable her to explore such things? She tried to think through what little information she had about this new situation, but she couldn't remember what he'd said about other partners.

      Who would I take as a partner? Who could I trust to please me, and yet give me what I needed? 

      Silence was dangerous but he would give her the pain she wanted, needed, and craved. But could he be trusted to stop before he destroyed her utterly?

      She shuddered at the thought.

      What would Silence do to her if he was given the chance? Perhaps she'd be whipped as well? Or something more intense? She shivered at the thought of the whip being used across her back, her breasts, and her buttocks, used until she sobbed and pleaded the way the slave now did. 

      She sucked on her full lower lip at the thought.

      He wouldn't be gentle. Not a man like Silence. There wasn't a gentle bone in his body. She didn't want gentle either. If she did, she wouldn't have joined the Inquisition. Nor would she have agreed to come to the Island. Real sex should hurt, in some small way, unless she was in charge. Even then she often pushed the slaves to pleasure her until the point where she hurt. The point where her cunt and clit burned, over sensitive and left her sobbing in what the slaves thought was the joy of her release.

      She needed the pain.

      She needed the humiliation.

      Her gaze played over Silence as she watched him use the whip on the slave. Each stroke of braided leather against unprotected flesh only added to the sensual fire she now endured. She bit back a low moan, trying to hide what she felt. She wasn't going to let them know what she felt. Not right now at least.

      Not whilst she still had the choice to keep such things private.

      I'm not a Bitch, not yet at least. There's no point in thinking about this until I know the answers and until I know what would be allowed.

      Even then, was it worth spending time thinking about such things? 	No, obviously not and she had other more important things to focus on. The changes on the Island, arriving here in the first place, her new potential position in life and...

      "Cease your struggles, whore!" Silence growled and the sound brought Jeanie's full attention back to the beaten slave. "It won't do you any good to fight me. You know that, and yet you waste your energy trying ??" foolish whore."

      "Bind her for use!" A man called out from the side of the great hall. "I want to fuck her raw. Come on, get her ready. I haven't got all day."

      "Not yet." Silence replied. "She's not heated enough to be used. Not yet at least. Once she's good and welted it will be a different matter. She'll kick for you then. Kick long and hard. You'd want her like that, wouldn't you? It wouldn't do me any good to toss a limp fish to you. Well then, let me get on with my work."

      A cheer rang out from the men in the hall. Well, it showed that Silence had the pulse of the people. He knew how to manipulate them. Which made him potentially dangerous and someone that Veron needed to watch closely. If Veron wasn't careful then he'd find his position taken by Silence. 

      Was that possible?