Epilogue
That evening, Richard took me for a romantic walk along the beach.
“We have the island for another ten days,” he said. “Ten days to rest and recuperate before we go back to LA.”
“How ever will we spend the time?” I joked.
“Well.” He grinned at me. “I will have a little work to do. A few calls, you know. But you can do whatever the hell you choose. You’ve earned it, Sloane.”
**
A thought occurred to me as we were turning around to return to the house. “Aren’t you worried about them?” He knew who I meant. “Saying something about us? Maybe sharing something that they filmed?”
Richard grinned again. “Not in the slightest. When they got back to LAX, they were greeted by some friends of mine. Official federal friends. Their phones were wiped. They no longer have any photographs or recordings, and they’ve been persuaded never to breathe a word of what happened here.”
Richard has official federal friends? “Really? How?”
“Really. Among other things, it was made explicitly clear that if they ever mention this island or dare to say your name, they’ll all be arrested for federal gambling violations. It was also pointed out to them that nobody gets picked in the NFL draft with two broken legs.”
I shivered. Just when I think nothing about him could possibly shock me.
**
Back in the house, he dug a gift-wrapped box out of a cabinet. “An engagement present from Arthur,” he said. "He was very impressed with your performance on the jet, and he looks forward to borrowing you again."
The word borrowing hung in the quiet room, blunt and absolute.
You don't borrow a wife. You borrow a yacht.
You borrow a toy. The memory of Arthur's older, softer flesh, his vicious slaps on my ass, and the sheer, crushing humiliation of being treated like a disposable cum-dump on his jet rushed back into my mind.
And my bruised cunt wept, a thick, syrupy drop of my own making trailing down my leg.
I looked down at the massive, radiant-cut diamond on my left hand.
"I'll be ready for him," I said. "Whenever you want. Whatever you want."
I opened the old man’s gift and my jaw dropped. A big black strap-on cock. “What the actual?”
“We’re flying home back on his plane,” my fiancé said. “He thought you might like to try this out on Madeline.”
I laughed until my sides hurt. Which didn’t take long, to be fair.
**
“Something you should know,” Richard said over a nightcap.
I sighed. “What?” I couldn’t take many more surprises.
“The terrace. The bedrooms. They were all wired. This whole house is rigged up with dozens of cameras, and they recorded every second of the last forty-eight hours. They caught almost everything you did.”
“That was done to me.”
“Tom-ay-to, tom-ah-to.”
“So you watched it all?”
“Oh, no. Not yet.”
“Oh?”
“I’ve been saving it for you.”
Jesus fucking Christ.
He pointed the remote at the massive flat-screen on the wall. It flickered to life and suddenly, I was looking at myself. I was tied to the teak table with Tyrell pounding my ass. The speakers pumped my raw, desperate screams of agony and pleasure into the quiet room.
"There you are," Richard whispered in my ear as the girl on the screen orgasmed violently. "Just look at my beautiful, ruined slut."
I stared at the screen, watching myself be destroyed. My pussy, still bruised and leaking, gave a violent throb. I sank to my knees on the hardwood floor, my eyes glued to the screen, and unzipped my fiancé’s trousers.