fiction by Van ©2005
art by Dea ©2005


To see the actresses I would cast in an ISLA PARAÍSO motion picture,
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There is no art for the epilogue.  It will be added if it becomes available.

Our Story Concludes

The Marquesa climbed the outside stairs to the top balcony of the South Tower, setting a rapid pace for herself.  She was dressed in tan, skintight riding pants with chamois panels in the seat and inner thighs; gleaming brown riding boots; a white silk blouse; brown riding gloves; and a Hermes scarf tied around her long, black hair, enforcing a tight ponytail.  She used her riding crop to slap the side of one boot, and her features were flushed.  In fact, there were patches of dampness staining her pants and blouse.  Aristocrats who have just enjoyed a long, hard ride on a favorite mount down a jungle trail do not sweat, of course, but they have been known to "glow", profusely.

Situated high up on the side of the tower, the balcony had a magnificent view of the small harbor beneath the castle.  The Marquesa paused at the balcony's low railing to look down.  Blinding white in the noon sun, Sirena bobbed slowly at anchor, graceful as a sleeping swan.  She turned her attention to the balcony itself, and smiled.

Off to one side, near a splashing fountain, a vine-draped pergola provided shade for the balcony's only other occupant: a very attractive woman reclined in a teak lounge chair.  She was in her late twenties or early thirties, and was dressed in a very skimpy string bikini.  Her firm, athletic body was deeply tanned, and her long, brown hair was streaked with sun-bleached highlights.  She was on her back, engrossed in a leather-bound journal—Lorelai Meriwether's journal.

The Marquesa removed her gloves, placed them on the side-table next to the reading woman, then added her riding crop.  Already on the table was an ice bucket, a frosted pitcher of some fruity concoction that smelled of rum, and two glasses—one empty, and one half-full.  The Marquesa dropped several ice cubes into the empty glass, then filled it from the pitcher.  She paused several seconds, letting the ice do its work, then took a delicate sip.

Meanwhile, the bikini-clad woman placed a marker in the journal, closed it with a thump, and tossed it atop a folded towel on the next lounge chair.

"I thought you had already read Ms. Meriwether's missive," the Marquesa stated, a sly grin on her beautiful face.
The woman smiled.  "I'm re-reading," she explained, "savoring the juicy parts."

The Marquesa laughed, then picked up a bottle of sunscreen.

The woman's smile broadened as she rolled over onto her stomach.  She reached behind her back, and untied the strings of her bikini top.

The Marquesa poured a dollop of lotion on her hands, rubbed them together, then began applying the oily fluid to the younger woman's back.

The woman rested her chin on her hands, closed her eyes, and gave a contented sigh.  "Lori's introduction to the 'whipping couch' is especially delicious; but I'll have to get Rosie to explain why she didn't use the opportunity to give her a spanking, at the very least.  She doesn't usually show that much control when it's her turn on top with me."

"Chrissy Beckler," the Marquesa scolded, "you are an evil young woman!"

Chrissy laughed, turned, lifted her head, favored the Marquesa with a saucy grin; then settled her head back on her hands.  "I've had good teachers," she mumbled.
The Marquesa did a thorough job of coating Chrissy's back and shoulders with lotion.  "What is your first impression of Lorelai's narrative?" she asked.

"I kept flashing back to my initiation into your employ," Chrissy said.  "I remember the fear—moments of sheer terror, in fact—and the excitement."

"By which you mean arousal, of course," the Marquesa purred.

Chrissy laughed.  "Of course.  Anyway... she's just as feisty and submissive as I remember, when we used to play together."

"And beautiful," the Marquesa sighed.  "Such smooth, perfect skin; such a strong, sensuous body; full, firm breasts..."  She noticed the sudden tightening of Chrissy's jaw, leaned close, and kissed her neck.  "Don't be jealous, you silly girl."

"I'm not jealous," Chrissy groused, then laughed.  "Well... a little."

"A pity she must remain in the North Tower," the Marquesa continued, "and that you must hide when she is being moved about; but we cannot let her see you, to learn the full extent of your involvement in her... situation... not yet."

"You just want to keep her for yourself," Chrissy pouted.  "Ow!"

The Marquesa had delivered a loud slap to Chrissy's nearly naked rump, and now was rubbing lotion on her thighs.  "You must trust my experience in such things," she said.  "We must see how Lorelai blossoms; how she adapts to her new life.  When again she meets her old friend Chrissy, will she be comfortable in the role of fellow slavegirl, or will she remain your friend only if you are another mistress?"

The Marquesa continued down Chrissy's legs, massaging her calves, then her feet.

"I—I was just like her," Chrissy said quietly, "back at the beginning.  Wasn't I?"

The Marquesa smiled, leaned forward, and kissed the toes of Chrissy's left foot.  "In what way?"

"If you ask her," Chrissy said, "even now, Lori will deny she's a sub.  She's convinced she's just biding her time until her captors make a mistake.  She's no simpering slavegirl—not Lori Meriwether!"

"Yes," the Marquesa sighed, "you were the same.  The curse of the Greeks."


"The ancient Greeks were dichotamists," the Marquesa explained, "and we are their inheritors."  She crossed and held Chrissy's ankles, then gave them a gentle twist.  Chrissy responded by flipping onto her back.

"Shades of gray," Chrissy said.

The Marquesa nodded, and began rubbing lotion on the front of Chrissy's legs and thighs.  "More precisely, complexity that defies categorization.  We are not submissive or dominant, strong or weak, clever or stupid.  We are all these things at once, and a thousand more."

"Such a wise old woman," Chrissy teased.

The Marquesa's smile turned to mock outrage.  "You'll pay for that," she warned, then lifted the loose top of Chrissy's bikini over her head, and began rubbing lotion on her abdomen and breasts.  "But to answer your question—yes, you were the same—a brave little slavegirl in complete denial.  And, like Lorelai, a dormant dominant."

"Dormant dominant," Chrissy laughed.  "Say that fast, five times."

"And why would I want to do that?" the Marquesa inquired.  "In any case, you are not to let Lorelai lay eyes on you, until I give my permission."

Chrissy stretched her arms above her head, with her wrists crossed, and her legs with her ankles crossed and feet on point.  "Yes, Mistress," she whispered, smiling up into the Marquesa's face.

The Marquesa smiled back, then leaned close and they kissed.  Chrissy continued her stretched pose throughout, as if she was bound on the rack, or to her lover's bed.  The kiss lasted several long seconds, then the Marquesa lifted her head.  "Before you began your reading, or re-reading, did you complete your assignment?"

Chrissy nodded.  "Of course, Mistress.  I'll show you."

The Marquesa stood, took a step back, and retrieved her gloves and crop, carrying both in one hand.  "Restore your top," she ordered, "because—"

"—because a Mistress should be clothed in the presence of her slavegirl," Chrissy said with a coy laugh.  "I've learned my lessons well.  Ulrika is an excellent teacher."  She tied the top's strings behind her back with nimble, practiced fingers, then turned and led the way through the nearest entrance to the tower.
The room beyond was a luxurious suite with a huge canopy bed; overstuffed chairs and sofas arranged in multiple conversation areas; a desk and computer; and in the very center of the chamber—Ulrika awaited.

The Head Mistress of the Marquesa's exclusive resort was nude, bound, gagged, and completely helpless.  She was straddling what the Marquesa's close associates referred to as a "pony"—a T-shaped steel structure, a vertical pole that rose from a socket in the floor and terminated in a curved, triangular saddle only slightly wider than the diameter of the pole.  It was fiendishly designed to cleave a damsel's sex and support her weight without damage, but with little concession to comfort.  In essence, it was a scaled down horse.  Hence the name, pony.

The height of the pole was adjustable, and at the moment, Ulrika was standing on tiptoe, her heels off the tiled floor, her legs pressed against the pole, and her sex squashed against the saddle.  White, braided rope was lashed around her ankles, calves, knees, and thighs in tight, broad, neat bands, and cinched between her legs and the pole.  Her strong, pale flesh bulged between the ropes.  The periodic knots were complex and decorative, albeit entirely functional.

More rope trapped Ulrika's wrists, forearms, and upper arms behind her back and against her torso in a "box-tie", one of the Marquesa's favorite techniques.  Hands against their opposite elbows, forearm-against-forearm, with ropes pinning her arms to her torso and hitched in an elaborate harness yoking her shoulders and cinched between her upper arms and body, Ulrika's arms and hands were lost to her.

The Marquesa walked a slow circle around the prisoner, making a slow, careful inspection of Ulrika's bonds.  Chrissy had used white bondage mitts to encase the Head Mistress' fingers and hands.  This particular model was stitched from very thin leather, with individual, internal channels for each finger and a broad cuff around the wrist.  They closed with laces and locking buckles, and had steel rings at the wrists and fingertips.  Chrissy had included the rings and the hasp of each buckle in the rope bondage.

The Marquesa continued her inspection.  "No corset," she noted.

"I love looking at Ulrika's abs," explained, gazing at the dimples and curves of the washboard tummy in question.

The Marquesa's inspection moved upwards.  Ulrika's head was encased in an open-faced hood of thin white leather, laced up the back.  Her long, black hair was in a tight, single braid, protruding from a small hole in the very top of the hood and draped down her back.  Finally, a "neck corset" of white leather was laced around Ulrika's throat.  It had rigid stays that prevented head movement, and covered the captive's lower face, with a small cut-out to accommodate her nose.  The prisoner's cheeks bulged against the taut leather."

The Marquesa gazed into Ulrika's blue eyes, noting the defiance (and the carefully hidden fear).  "Gag?"

"A large, medium-density foam ball," Chrissy explained, "hypoallergenic surgical tape covering the lips, and several layers of compression tape encircling the head.  The hood left a dimple in the tape after I tightened the chin-strap, so I added a thin foam pad across the mouth area and more layers of tape.  This made it difficult to make the neck corset close properly... but I managed."

The Marquesa nodded.  "Ears?"

"Noise-cancelling mini-headphone inserts, covered with a generous layer of gel-foam, the tape layers of her gag, the hood, and, of course, the upper part of the corset."  Chrissy gestured towards the computer on the desk.  "The system is broadcasting in default mode, at the moment.  She can hear us with perfect clarity."

The Marquesa pointed to the saddle.  "And below?"

Chrissy's smile turned somewhat evil.  "She received a double enema before being placed on her perch.  There's a number three plug in her anus, and a number two dildo, with catheter, in her twat.  Both are dual function."  Dual function meant the plug and dildo were both electrified and vibratory, under computer control.

"Number two is rather small, isn't it?" the Marquesa noted.

"My bad," Chrissy said.  "I should have said a number two hedgehog.  It's a new model the Swiss office sent in the last mail.  Once inserted, a couple of hundred soft spines extend, doubling the diameter.  In wave-mode, the vibrations are supposed to feel like crawling worms."

Now the Marquesa's smile was evil, and the fear in Ulrika's pale, staring eyes more evident.  "Why have you done nothing to her breasts?" she asked, then turned to face her bikini-clad protégé.  "I know you love Ulrika's breasts."

"As do we all," Chrissy purred.  "I toyed with a combination of nipple clamps and compression rings.  The rings with the tiny pinpoints lining the insides?"  The Marquesa nodded.  "But I know your plans are, shall we say, long-term.  I'd never forgive myself if I caused any global damage."  She took a step closer to the pony and its prisoner and planted a careful kiss on each of Ulrika's nipples, first the right, then the left.  "I leave the entertainment of die böbies to you."

The Marquesa laughed.  "Very generous."

Chrissy used her tongue to deliver a slow, languid lick to Ulrika's right nipple, and at the same time cupped the captive's left breast and gave it a gentle squeeze.  She then wiped her saliva from Ulrika's now erect right nipple and took a step back.  "Yes, they are, aren't they?"

The Marquesa laughed again.  "You may join us," she announced.

Chrissy gave her Grand Mistress a quizzical look, then noticed movement from the corner of one eye.  It was from the direction of the chamber's interior entryway, and behind the Marquesa's back.  Chrissy shook her head, not for the first time amazed by her employer's almost preternatural awareness of her surroundings.  She turned to face the door.
The newcomers were Rosa and Lucia.

Rosa was dressed in what amounted to a ragged bikini of brown burlap, together with a steel belt locked around her waist, a steel collar, and steel cuffs around her wrists and ankles.  She was in "Trustee-mode", with none of her hardware linked by chains, but ready and waiting, at the first indication of her mistress' displeasure, to become loose or close restraints.

Lucia, on the other hand was naked and helpless.  Actually, she was showing fewer square inches of flesh than Rosa, but as the exposed areas included her nipples and crotch, her condition would have to be classified as naked.   The helplessness came from her restraints, the very same blue-green leather Chrissy had worn at the Marquesa's arrival party: single-glove, corset, collar, shackle-cuffs with hobble chain, and harness of straps.  The blue latex body-stocking with full hood was missing, and none of the countless buckles and clips were secured with padlocks, as they had been that night... but they were the same restraints.

The gag was different.  A single wide piece of translucent medical tape covered Lucia's mouth.  The plastic strip followed every dimple and contour of her lower face, including her pouting lips, which were clearly visible through the milky material.  In the Marquesa's circle, such gags were used to humiliate, rather than to silence, and from the angry glare in Lucia's eyes, it was working.

Rosa had Lucia on a leash, but rather then the traditional collar chain, she was leading her prisoner with a single finger crooked around the connecting chain of a pair of clover-clamps squeezing her nipples.  A few paces from the Marquesa, Chrissy, and Ulrika, Rosa released the chain, came forward, and embraced Chrissy.  "Good morning, Blue Eyes," she whispered.

Chrissy returned the embrace.  "Good morning," she whispered back.  Then, her hands on Rosa's narrow waist, she continued in her normal voice.  "Aren't you supposed to be languishing down below?"

Rosa laughed.  "And who would supervise the housekeeping staff?  Lorelai watched Lucia lock me into the gentle embrace of la doncella de Badajoz, then was dragged upstairs and locked in her tower.  She believes I am languishing, and that is all that matters."

Chrissy shuddered.  "The Maiden of Badajoz.  That's the combination vertical rack and cabinet of spikes, right?  As the rack tightens, the spikes creep inwards?"  Rosa nodded.  Chrissy shuddered again.  "I hate that thing."

"First invented, and then banned by the Holy Inquisition," the Marquesa said.

Rosa nodded, then embraced and kissed the Marquesa.  "I'm not going to meet a grisly end in la doncella, later tonight, am I?" she asked with a cajoling pout.

The Marquesa laughed.  "That's entirely up to your girlfriend, the redhead."  She walked to the computer, tapped a few keys, then turned the flat-screen monitor so all could see.  On the screen was a security cam image of Loreli Meriwether, "dressed" in an identical manner to Rosa, and hard at work in her tower cell.  They watched as she tapped the keys of a desktop computer, then, clutching the chain locked to her collar, reached for a bulging binder.  She opened the binder and consulted a list, idly playing with the links of her chain as she read; then returned the binder to its place, dropped the chain, and resumed typing.

The Marquesa tapped a key, and the display split into two windows: the security cam feed of Lorelai working, and a list her tasks for the day.  Several items on the list were already preceded by red checks, signifying completion.  "At this rate," the Marquesa said, "I think you're safe.  In any case, as you very well know, we wouldn't let la doncella's spikes do more than tickle your fancy for an hour or two.  How would we motivate Lorelai tomorrow, if you were dead?"

"I am so reassured," Rosa purred, then turned to face Lucia.  "Standing... in the presence of a room full of mistresses?" she demanded, wagging a disapproving finger.

Still glaring, Lucia sighed and dropped quickly to her knees, wincing when her breasts (and their nipple clips) bobbed in response to the jarring impact.

"A room full of mistresses?" Chrissy demanded, pointing at Ulrika.  "What about Miss rope-and-pony, here?  She's hardly what you'd call mistress-like, given her current circumstances."

Rosa smiled and took a step forward.  She lifted her hands towards Ulrika, then paused, casting a questioning glance at the Marquesa.  The Marquesa nodded, Rosa's strong brown hands closed around the Head Mistress' pale breasts, and she gave them a gentle squeeze.  "There is no circumstance under which Ulrika is not my Mistress," she whispered, then let her hands slide down to grasp Ulrika's waist, leaned close, and kissed her between the breasts on the sternum, on a small patch of skin framed by multiple bands of her rope bonds.

Chrissy and the Marquesa exchanged a warm smile, Lucia rolled her eyes in disgust, and Ulrika stared straight ahead.

"If you're waiting for Head Mistress to acknowledge your undying servitude..." Chrissy suggested.

Rosa laughed, and kissed Ulrika's right breast.  "I neither expect nor require such a display," she answered.  "She will punish you for your impertinence, and Lucia and myself for bearing witness to her shame."

"Even though I act under the Marquesa's orders?" Chrissy asked.

"Even so," Rosa agreed.

Chrissy turned to the Marquesa in mock dismay.  "Oh, say it isn't so, Your Grace!"  She batted her eyes for added effect.

The Marquesa gave an evil laugh and motioned to Rosa.  "Seize her!" she ordered.

Rosa stepped behind Chrissy, grabbed her wrists, and held them together at the small of her back.  Chrissy struggled to escape with theatrical, but purposely ineffective, zeal.

"Oh!" Chrissy whined as she was forced to her knees.  "Woe is me!"

The Marquesa stepped forward and lifted Chrissy's chin with her right hand.  "I promise you that Ulrika's revenge shall be horrible and extended.  I know this because she has commissioned a new torture device, expressly for this purpose."

"So much for—Hey Chrissy, want to help me play with Ulrika?" Chrissy groused.  "Exactly how long have you been planning this?"

"Nearly as long as our preparations to 'recruit' poor, innocent Lorelai," the Marquesa said.  "Surely you've heard rumors about how I indulge myself when I visit the castle, how not even the mighty Ulrika is safe?"

"Slavegirl gossip," Chrissy scoffed.

Rosa leaned down and whispered in Chrissy's right ear.  "I told you it would be so."

"Yes, you knew there would be a price for your indulgence," the Marquesa confirmed.  "Do not pretend otherwise."

Chrissy sighed, and affected a brave pout.  "Busted."
"Ulrika's revenge shall be in the uncertain future," the Marquesa continued, then smiled.  "And besides, we have not even given her the full measure of her cause for revenge.  Live in the moment, silly slavegirl."

Chrissy laughed.  "Hey, I'm not the one who brought it up."

"That is true," the Marquesa conceded, then lifted her gaze to Rosa.  "I believe you have quite a few arrangements to make, before you are returned to the embrace of la doncella, and then your evening with your Lorelai."

Rosa nodded.  "There are several menus to approve, including the parties in the village and resort for this weekend."  She nodded towards Chrissy.  "Do you want me to bind her for you?"

The Marquesa smiled, and shook her head.

Chrissy, her wrists still being held by Rosa, turned her head and kissed her "captor's" cheek.  "In your dreams, Shorty," she whispered.

Rosa laughed.  "In my sweetest dreams," she agreed, released Chrissy's wrists, stood, and bowed to the Marquesa.  "Your Grace," she said, took two steps back, then spun on her heel and left the room, pausing only to wink at Lucia.

Lucia sighed, then turned her head and looked from the Marquesa to Chrissy.

"You have done an excellent job with Ulrika," the Marquesa told Chrissy.  "You may play with Lucia until tomorrow morning.  Be sure you are both out of sight when Lorelai is taken from her tower to rescue her Rosa, and I expect you to dress for dinner."  Both turned to smile at Lucia.  "Lucia as well, but you may choose her costume."

Lucia put up a brave front, but they could see the worry in her eyes.

"As you command, Your Grace," Chrissy said, then climbed to her feet and kissed the Marquesa's right cheek.  "Tell me," she whispered, "the Rosa-Lori romance... Totally unexpected, no?"

The Marquesa laughed.  "Life is full of such surprises."

"Do you think it'll last?" Chrissy asked.

The Marquesa nodded.

"I hope she's happy," Chrissy said quietly.  "That's all I ever wanted—for Lori—for her to be happy."

The Marquesa smiled.  "I know that.  We all know that.  Now, go play with your prize."

Chrissy hooked a finger through Lucia's nipple-clamp chain, and gave it a playful tug.  "Come, Comandante," she said with a gloating smile.  "I finished stitching the handle on my new mini-flogger last night and can't wait to take it for a test drive."

Lucia winced at the pull on her nipples, then rolled her eyes, snorted in disgust, and climbed to her feet.  But as Chrissy led her away, she turned and winked at La Marquesa.  She knew her turn would come.
The Marquesa smiled at Chrissy and Lucia's bikini-clad and naked buttocks until they had left the room, then turned to face Ulrika.  "One of them shall share my bed tonight, with the other helpless, bound and gagged, on the thick rug before the fireplace."  She reached out and cupped Ulrika's right breast.  "From there, she will have an unobstructed view of the bed."

"Your view shall be unobstructed as well," the Marquesa continued.  "When I am finished preparing you, I shall turn your stand to face the foot of the bed."  She gave the breast a gentle squeeze, then toyed with the already erect nipple.  "First, I shall wrap you from head to toe with multiple layers of tight gauze," she explained, detailing events to come for her helpless victim.  "Next, I have a new kind of tape I have never used before.  It is a sticky lattice of fiberglass cords.  It too will be applied in multiple layers.  After being painted with a harmless chemical paste, it is supposed to become as rigid as a plaster cast."

The Marquesa shifted her attention to Ulrika's left breast.  "I will leave two tiny openings for your nostrils, and two small openings for those pretty blue eyes..."  She nodded towards the bed.  " you can watch... tonight."  She lifted her free hand and began a gentle massage of both breasts.

Ulrika's only response was an increase in her rate of breathing, a flaring of her nostrils above the edge of the neck-corset, and a barely discernible squirming of her tightly bound torso.  A quiet moan escaped her gag.

The Marquesa took a step back, and her hands went to the buttons of her blouse.  She tugged them open, one by one.  "I'll run one of your 'entertainment' programs when I retire," she purred.  She was referring to the electrified elements of Ulrika's saddle.  "Yes, I'll let the computer play with you, while I play with Chrissy or Lucia."  She shrugged out of the blouse.

Ulrika's eyes were on the exquisite, deeply tanned body of her Mistress, and the lacy bra containing her full breasts—then the Marquesa turned and walked away, out the helpless prisoner's highly restricted line of sight.

"I haven't decided on which program to run, or the parameters," the Marquesa continued, pitching her voice so Ulrika could still hear.  "The mix of pleasure and pain, the intensities, modulation, timing—I haven't decided."  Ulrika could hear cloth rustling and boots clattering—then the Marquesa stepped back into view—totally, gloriously nude.

The tall, tan, beautiful aristocrat smiled at her totally helpless employee, slavegirl, and lover.  "So many decisions," she mused.  "Which bikini to wear for my swim; what to have for lunch; whether to place electrified clips on your nipples before I encase them; what mix of pain and pleasure to program into your saddle; which slavegirl to bind and let languish, and which to take to bed, Chrissy or Lucia?  So many decisions."

The Marquesa stepped away... several seconds passed... then she returned, clothed in a white bikini nearly as skimpy as the one Chrissy had been wearing.  She stepped close to her prisoner, smiled, and kissed Ulrika's nipples, first the left, then the right—then her eyes, again, first the left, then right.  "I'll return soon," she whispered, "no more than two hours.  Then we'll begin your encasement.  In the meanwhile, keep an eye on Lorelai for me.  Make sure she works diligently."

Ulrika watched her Mistress turn and leave by the balcony door, then shifted her gaze to the computer monitor.  The display was still split between Lorelai and her list of tasks.  As Ulrika watched, a new check mark appeared beside one of the items on the list.  Lorelai stood, stretched (making sure her collar chain didn't fall on the keyboard), then sat back down, sighed, and resumed typing.

Ulrika lifted her gaze to the turquoise-blue sky visible through the balcony door and windows.  Now and then, a gull would pass, sometimes hovering, briefly, on a gust of warm, tropical air.  Her toes and feet were getting very tired, and she contemplated letting the saddle take her full weight—but mostly, she thought about the device she was having built for Chrissy—but someday, eventually, the time would come when the Marquesa would declare Lorelai's initiation/probation to be complete.

The helpless amazon began contemplating a new device, something  appropriate for a wide-eyed, big-breasted damsel with red-brown curls—something ultimately harmless—but really nasty.