Chapter 18
Juniper
With a crack, the bat Tomás wields sends the ball hurtling in an arc against the purple-and-blue sky, flitting to my left.
I make a quick run, reach out, and catch the ball on the full, with one hand.
I land on the sand, saving myself with my knee and elbow plowing deep.
I almost miss it due to the sky being so dark.
Though dusted all along my leg and side with sand, I leap up then jump up and down, whooping and punching the air.
This late, there’s no one else on this small beach to see my antics.
“You tea-bagging someone?” Loxland shouts.
“Hah! Not even close!” I readjust my bikini. It’s not made for sporty games. The men are in surfer shorts and T-shirts. How did we go from me crawling into a cage, to this, playing cricket on the beach with these two men?
Though I’m sure they will have me doing more crawling anyway, when they wish to. My kinks align with theirs so far, and once again, I’m too happy.
Something will go wrong. That dark cloud won’t go away.
I fling the ball, but Mr. Loxland catches this one when Tomás swings at it, and they swap places.
Tea-bagging. It’s a gamer thing. As well as a sexual thing. Roleplaying is where I first came across it, and, oh yeah, online roleplaying is why the costume word made me go hmmm, earlier.
Tomás stomps across the loose sand toward me, walking backward as he gets nearer, watching Mr. Loxland do some practice swings.
Used to play online with Riley a lot, long ago. I wince at that memory.
World of Warcraft, for one. I was Gremlin 651.
Why is that niggling at me?
“Ready?” Tomás yells from where he’s stopped, five yards to my right, closer to where the waves wash up.
“Yes!”
Then he turns, half-crouches, and growls, “Run, little fucktoy.”
Mr. Loxland has snatched up the backpack he brought and is donning it while he breaks into a run.
“Oh shit!” I take off, heels kicking up squeaky sand. My tits are bouncing wildly with so little support, but I can do this. I’m so not surrendering without making them work for it.
I might even win?
I’ve been wary until my memory distracted me.
It was obvious they had ideas. I sprint in the opposite direction to Tomás, heading at an angle for the tree line.
If I get past the trees, I can reach the road and run along it to the little main street.
They wouldn’t dare accost me in public, would they?
A thrilling mix of fear and excitement drives my legs, though I’m panting once I reach the first pandanus palm, and Tomás is right on my heels.
“Run, run, run,” he taunts. “We’re coming!”
“Nyah, nyah!” Gasping, I dance between the trees, with stones and leaf litter and sticks crunching underfoot. A car cruises by on the road, early headlights flashing through the trunks and casting flickering lines of shadow.
“Fuck!” A stumble has him crashing about, and I look, using a tree trunk as a shield while I check where Mr. Loxland is—yards further back but closer to the road—maybe trying to stop me reaching the road?
Tomás is cursing at whatever he hit still.
Grinning, I grab the opportunity to whip out my boobs and flash him. He growls as I run off again.
I’ve let Mr Loxland gain some yards by teasing them, but it is worth it. Soon I slow to a jog, I’m not a practiced runner, but Mr. Loxland also slowed and Tomás is…
Ohmigod. He’s sprinting like he donned a jetpack.
He lunges forward in great strides, uses a handhold on a trunk to whip himself around and forward then his other hand catches my hip, tearing away the string of the bikini bottom before I get loose.
Running half naked is a problem, but I’ve no time to fix it.
I sprint again, then have to slow down, and I’m gasping when the bikini bottom drops and tangles about my ankle.
Awkwardly, I hop, kick it off, and leave it behind.
One of the men laughs, and I take off again, panting hard, sucking in air and nearing the end of what my lungs can do.
I can’t run on the road, half-naked. The first passing car will spotlight my ass. Plus my feet are in agony every few steps due to the debris torturing me. By running there, Mr. Loxland holds a faster pace than I can. He kept his shoes on at the beach. As did Tomás. I should’ve figured out why.
I slow. I limp. I squeak as a sharp stick jabs my left foot and am forced to slow even more. I’m hobbling along and can hear their footfalls over my gasping.
Dammit. I spin and see Tomás sweep in. He wraps his arms around me, traps my wrists, and wrestles me to my knees. At the last second, he stops me headbutting into the sand.
Glaring daggers, I spit, “Sand!” Before going back to heaving in air.
Having gathered my wrists in one hand, he plasters his spare hand over my mouth, and I deliberately lick his palm, drawing an intense stare.
“Sand? It’s a fucking beach.” The facial scar makes his mouth seem cruel.
My stomach twists when he uses my wrists and the hand on my mouth to pull me backward then rakes a callous gaze down my front.
This is not the same man that played beach cricket, minutes ago.
“What girl goes to the beach with nothing on her ass? One that wants to get tied up and fucked?”
“Grrr.” I try to shake loose, try to get off my knees, but he holds me in place.
“Cute.” He plucks at the bikini top, unties, and discards it, throwing it so far, I have no hope of finding it again. Slaps his hand back over my mouth, squashes it onto my lips, and smiles as he studies my breasts.
“Mmmff!” I’m scowling at him and naked, and how do I get back to the hotel like this?
“Got the tape, Aaron?”
“Yes.” Mr. Loxland arrives, with the backpack zipper gaping open and a roll of tape already partly unwound.
He wedges a strip of the tape across and partly into my mouth, then wraps it around and around my head—it’s soft and not sticky—while Tomás keeps my wrists locked back so my attempts to escape are futile.
Casually, Loxland feels between my legs, shoves a finger into me, and I grunt at the abruptness, then he stands. “Up.” I’m hauled to my feet. “Small problem. Some sand on her pussy.”
I do? Did that happen in the scuffle?
“Shit. What do we do? We’ll sand off our cocks.”
What about me! My extra-fiery glare is activated. “Mmmph!”
“Shush.” Tomás shakes my arm. “Just tie her to the tree, admire our little psycho fucktoy, then come back later with a bucket of water?”
“Little psycho?” Loxland looks amused.
I try to talk past the gag, managing a muffled, “Moooo!”
“Did she say moo?” Tomás actually stumbles as he snorts.
“She did. Fucking sand. Who planned this? Guess we’ll just have to do this.”
What is this? I blink up at them, feeling my lack of height, for once, then try again to wrench loose.
They hasten me along to a thicker grove of trees, then use a dim light to check for bugs—thank god—before strapping a leather cuff to each of my wrists.
They tie one hand to a tree using rope attached to the cuff, then do the same to the other on a second tree.
My ankles get the same treatment. I’m spreadeagled standing up and naked.
Every so often, they play the flashlight over me, as if to advertise what they’re doing.
The moon will be out soon. I hope the nearest houses have no curious people in them. At least the cars here are rare. A breeze picks up and rattles the leaves, and to prove me wrong, a car rumbles past, but we’re deep enough in the trees that only slivers of my body are briefly illuminated.
The night has fallen fast, but my eyes are adjusting.
“Getting chilly there?” Mr. Loxland lifts my breasts in his hands. “These are mine now.”
“Mine, too, chamos,” Tomás reminds him.
They circle me, talking, mocking my lack of clothes.
“Remind me to rope her tits next time. I keep forgetting.”
“Bring any of those bulldog clamps?”
“Fine, fine ass.” One of them slaps it and I hiss, jolted in the ropes.
“We could put a stick up her and stir it around?”
Something else smacks across my ass, and I jerk and crane my neck to see.
They’ve brought a small leather flogger with them and Tomás is using it.
The smacks increase in frequency and force until I’m yelping, if muffled and quiet.
Mr. Loxland watches, arms folded, and seems to smile when I react.
Some lighter blows land between my legs, swung up from behind.
It’s enough to scare me, to sting, enough to leisurely flood me with that unique sexual heat I’ve begun to crave. I hang my head, blinking, absorbing the sensations.
I wriggle, a little, my toes exploring the leaf litter.
When he cups my burning ass cheeks, and murmurs threats to flog me until he makes me come with the flogger alone, arousal ignites.
“You’re so fucking adorable when you whine.” He rocks into me, arms wrapped around my neck and below my breasts, with the hard ridge of his cock settling into the cleft of my ass.
I curl my hands over the rope and do more of that yearning. I wish, I wish he could fuck me. I can almost feel his cock sliding along and impaling me, forcing apart the walls of my pussy, squeezing all the way in.
As he stays there, arms locked, teasing me with words and cock, with all the things no sane woman would want, and I’m panting, half from the pain, half from this stupid need.
“Shall I fuck her ass now?”
My eyes pop wider. “Mm-snnnd!” I tongue the gag, try to spit it out, feeling the movement of his body as he laughs silently.
“Is she wet enough?” Loxland tilts his head and watches as Tomás slides his hand along my slit from behind.
“Yes. We could use condoms. That’ll make the sand on her pussy less a problem.”
I growl through the gag.
I want to murder them both as they discuss lube and what to do with what part of me.
“Plan B?” Tomás says.
“Plan B. Be back soon, little psycho.”
“We calling her that now?”
“I guess?” Their conversation fades.