The Room Covered In Glass

by User470

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© Copyright 2011 - User470 - Used by permission

Storycodes: F+/m+; M+/f+; bond; bdsm; capture; rope; gag; drug; tease; torment; denial; electro; reluct/nc; XX

Part 1

They all thought he was crazy.

He enjoyed the sense of notoriety. There was an air of entitlement in being infamous, and he basked in their repulsion. When one of the males came back with a clipping calling for any information on his whereabouts, dictated by Amanda herself, well, that's when he knew they would no longer live with their mere dislike. Any of them would gladly capture him and bring him to her, in hopes that her obsession, as pure and undulated as it were, would rub off on them and they too would find themselves, not just jungle folk, but captives of the most beautiful and relentless woman in all of the lands.

It wasn't hard to avoid capture. Many of the other males would make it easy for any of the women stalking the woods to find them and take them into the fortress that overlooked the jungle's brush. They would make noise, arouse suspicion, and act dimwitted because they all craved that nonstop captivity. Many of the men had decided on a schedule of who would be captured when, and by predicting how long the women would keep their prey on the fortress, they could create a fair and balanced system where the women wouldn't become suspicious when several men ran up to them like little puppy dogs, begging for treats.

No, he knew that the best way to get the very best capture was to emphasize quality, not quantity. He looked forward to the day when he was caught, but he knew that the anticipation of finding the lone male that the women had yet to find for ten years would drive them mad. His theory was proved correct when, by the first year of his avoiding the hunters, he managed to bring into the forest about ten or twenty hunters who refused any men who crossed their paths that did not bear his face.

"It's good enough, yeah?" asked Boslick, the closest thing he had to a friend in the male camp. "You got them by the balls! You get taken now and it will make all the difference."

"No," he replied. And that's all he replied. He didn't want to spread his plans and create copycats. All he knew was that, in the anticipation and suspense, in the end his final capture would be all the more thrilling on both ends; far more than Boslick ever dreamed of.

And so he hid. Once Amanda's wishes had been made public, he left camp, and set off to the coast, near a small cave. It was a place he had been to many times. He knew the feel of the moss in the nighttime when he couldn't see. He knew the trees around him, so comforting and familiar. He stepped inside of the cave and saw a fire already burning. He looked down and there she was, his muse. She was beautiful. She looked at him with eager eyes. He looked back into those eyes and felt like he was looking into a mirror, one that would fold neatly into itself and suck you into its depths.

She never revealed where she came from. All he knew was that she loved to be roped up in the nearby vines, and so he aided her. He crossed the cave, picked up the vines by the side of the cave, and smelled them. They smelled fresh, but showed signs of wear. He looked back at her.

"My dear Ezelie," he said, his voice tinged with specks of false disappointment, "you've been playing alone, haven't you?"

"No, my lord Ryan, I have not," she said, her eyes falling to the floor. They still held that eager look. He clicked his tongue in mock anger.

"Well," he said, moving in with the vines, "we'll just have to see about that."

And he crossed behind her, picking up her fragile hands and pulling them behind her back sharply, but not enough to hurt. He motioned for her to rise, a simple command of UP! She rose quickly, her nearly naked skin glistening with the sweat. He shoved her forward, and out of the cave into the slowly darkening sky. He pulled her toward a tree. They had used this tree before; it was not rough, but smooth, almost like a plastic. He pulled her around the tree so that her body was pressed firmly against it, back to the tree, with the arms wrapped around behind it. He slowly went about his work.

He knew that Ezelie liked the tying just as much as being already bound, so he made his motions smooth and breathless as he brought the ropes tight around her. There were many coils tonight, he noted. Ezelie must have been cutting them down all day. So he went the eighth mile for her, roping her hands behind the tree first, and then the feet bound to the very bottom of the tree. Then he slung one of the wider vines, which could have been a leaf frond for its width, and tied it firmly around her mouth so she would not make a sound.

He loved tying up this girl, almost as much as he loved being tied. Sometimes she would tie him up when he asked very nicely and she was in a good mood. But this was a very strict relationship, and he was the master. He found that switching roles was refreshingly enjoyable, and it was certainly fun to have a secret female in the jungle, even if he didn't know where she came from. If she were found, he would be severely punished. He looked forward to the day, even if he cared deeply for her.

He pulled her sleek and powerful thighs together and tied those, then lopped some rope behind it and pulled it flush with the tree. Past that was the small piece of blue clothing that both genders wore, which he decided to secure by roping a small harness of vine underneath her crotch and around her hips, pressing it against her sensual parts. If she tried to move her pelvic area forward, the rope would snag and she would feel a sharp pressure on the area. He knew she liked that. Then he moved up and brushed his finger lightly on her full breasts, not looking into her eyes. The sweat dropped down her body, tracing the curves of her breasts and waist.

She purred into the bond around her mouth, and he grabbed a long extension of vine, drawing it around and around and around her waist just below her breasts, back and over her arms on the back side of the tree. Then he drew some more vines above the breasts as well, so that they were fully accented and squeezed forward. He looked up, and her eyes were closed, her head backwards as she expressed her delight silently. His hands felt the breasts and gave then a slight pressure. He drew his hands up from her breasts and into her hair, allowing his fingers to feel the strands of her mane as he drew closer to her, pressing his body deep into her bound frame.

"Good night, my dear captive," he said, and then he retreated, allowing Ezelie to enjoy the rest of her night in solstice.


Amanda sat in her favorite chair. It was a large one, very old, wooden, still from back in the day when trees were not synthetic, but rather carved and molded into beautiful shapes. She felt as if the chair were holding her upward, cupping her body into the ceiling and onwards into the night sky.

In her right hand was a cold beverage; a bottle of Mr. Cobweb's Fantastic Brewery. The left hand reached out to a foot away from the chair, to the space above a silver square embedded into the floor of the cold, glass floor. She grasped the air mindlessly, her consciousness floating in and out of Mr. Cobweb's drink and the frantic, sensuous hunt that she was to embark on the next morning.

"My lady," said a voice from behind her. She did not move a muscle, and her body was a statue to any onlookers.

"My lady," the voice said again. The voice was aching as if it were to become ashes as the words floated back toward her. "We have an informant."

With that she rose, her mind concentrated suddenly and irrevocably. The nightgown she wore fell back down upon her legs as she rose as silently as she had been before, placing the beverage down upon the arm rest of the wooden chair.

"Thank you," said Amanda.


Boslick went to Amanda on his own accords. He knew that turning in Ryan was for his own good, and that telling Amanda, the head of all of the lady hunters, what he knew of Ryan's movements would aid everyone on the island, including himself.

So when he came forward to the fortress, he proclaimed, "I have information about Ryan!" He knew that they could hear him, and within minutes he was already firmly tied and on the ground, his mouth gagged and unusable. He pulled against the bonds as the women moved forward, and he knew that these were no ordinary hunters. Amanda had sent only the best for Ryan's capture. They were young, but well trained, and their youth was well accented by the hunter's usual outfits: a small, tightly woven shirt that cut severely down from the neck with a color that noted rank, with an equally tight bottom pant with a thick belt cinched around their waist with any manner of technology designed to stop a man hanging off of it, bound in his tracks.

One of the girls looked down as Boslick and grinned. "I think I may take you for myself once Amanda's done with you and your... information," she said, reaching her left hand over to her right wrist to touch a small silver square that was fastened to her hand.

From that small square came a small cube of the same size and color, lifting weightlessly from the girl's hand. It grew slowly, with lines in minute patterns slowly appearing on its surface. It descended to below Boslick as he lay on the jungle floor, growing larger and longer below him. The patterns grew larger as well, and they cascaded across the silver rectangle. Slowly it lifted him up, and then it began to rise around and encase him.

"Nighty night," said the girl, looking at him with a glint in her eye as the silver slowly covered him in a large, floating hollow rectangle. The side wall began to close, and soon all there was was black. Boslick could see nothing. He struggled against the bonds futility, then pressed his feet against the rectangle he knew surrounded him. It was as firm as plastic. He knew they were transporting him, but to where? Amanda?

Minutes passed, which felt like hours, which could have been days.

And then slowly, light crept back into the black, and Boslick found himself alive again. He blinked his eyes many times to allow the light to come in, and the picture was fuzzy. As the silver rectangle set him down upon the room's floor, he could see the room clearer. It was pure gray, the color of slate and stone. The girl stood there still looking at him with ferocious longing, her hand extended as the rectangle folded and shrunk and flew back into the small silver square.

"Be good, my Portia, it will be alright," said a voice to his right. The voice was cracking, aging and old, barely whispered into the cold room. The girl turned and Boslick strained his bonds to see the one who spoke.

The voice came from a very old man, dressed in a black and white formal suit. His wrinkles fell about his face in a haphazard way, and when he spoke his lips barely moved. His hands were tucked neatly at his front as he looked at the girl, named Portia, and down at Boslick.

"Put in a good word for me with Amanda, will you, Norton?" said Portia, who looked back down at Boslick. Norton nodded and she must have saw, for she left the room almost immediately.

"Now, as for you," said Norton, walking over to Boslick quickly with an energy that betrayed his age, "we must get you in a more suitable mode for Amanda. As nice as this rope job was, it's certainly not presentable."

The man went about his work in a very workmanlike fashion, cutting ropes and reapplying them in such a way that Boslick had next to no time to even flex his unbound muscles. Norton made them tighter, Boslick noticed. Tighter and more metered, more effective. He also used a different type of rope, one that was much thicker and colored white instead of the usual black. Norton pulled Boslick in a sitting position in the end, as he had done quickly before, but now he forced Boslick to stay there and upright. Then he moved over to the wall, pressed a button and suddenly they were in another room.

Boslick's eyes boggled. He had never seen teleportation. This technology was far advanced beyond many of the other girls he had been captured by in the past. Were they not allowed to use it, or was this something entirely different altogether?

"My lady," said Norton. Boslick looked, and he saw a lady sitting in a chair, looking away from both of them. The room was large and virtually decor-less, bar the chair, several silver squares on the floor and the walls, and the three people inside.

"My lady," Norton repeated. "We have an informant."

The lady moved out of the chair with a sudden and quick movement that would have taken Boslick's breath away had he been able to breathe under Norton's efficient rope-work. Her dark brown hair barely moved from her shoulders, and the deep black silk nightgown she wore rustled only a fraction as it draped down her legs.

"Thank you," said Amanda, her voice lowering the temperature of the room by ten degrees. It was cold, sharp and brutal. A deep stab of fear lodged deep into Boslick's heart, and he wondered if he really wanted to sell Ryan out to this powerful woman. He pulled his wrists from his back, and shifted his ankles only a hair. Norton disappeared behind him into the shadows of the room, and as he looked into Amanda's eyes, he knew that it was far too late.


The boy wasn't young, Amanda noted, but he also didn't appear very wise or knowledgeable. She knew that many of the males met on a regular basis and often lived together, so any one of the men could and should know something about Ryan. Besides, their self interests was something that they could not ignore. Norton cast his hand at a screen that was sitting, cast on the floor, in front of her chair. She read it quickly in the corner of her eye. Portia and this boy, Boslick... they would make a good pair for the night, certainly. If, of course, this boy cooperates, which he undoubtedly will. Norton left the room with a bow.

The boy struggled limply into his bonds, his sinuous muscles pressing firmly into the bite of the white ropes. But as she looked and inspected Norton's handiwork, she noticed the glint of fear in the boy's eyes. She smiled softly, subtly, only to herself. This was going to be fun.

Norton had roped the boy in sensuous ropes, which created thick bonds metered roughly six inches apart from each other down the body. His mouth was gagged and his wrists were firmly behind his back. His eyes never left hers. She let him see her smile that she kept inside of her, and she brushed forward, letting her every step move her otherwise uncovered legs leave her nightgown. He noticed. This would be cake. She paced forward faster now, and in one quick motion she pulled the gag out of his mouth. His mouth closed automatically, swallowing hard and metering the saliva once again.

"Now tell me," she said, letting her words fall from the air like doves settling upon a railing. "What do you know about the male named Ryan?"

The boy breathed through his nose and looked down at the floor. "My lady," he said. She smirked; this boy was not stupid. "He comes and goes as he pleases. We do not know where he sleeps. He leaves every day when the sun has skimmed off the tips of the trees."

"Which direction does he leave?" she asked him.

He did not answer.

She leaved forward and down onto this boy, sitting on the floor with his hands bound firmly behind his back. She reached behind him, grabbed the rope that was tucked behind his rear, and pulled slowly. The rope was bound such that this placed heavy pressure on his pelvic area. The boy cried out in pain and pleasure suddenly, his back arching as much as his arms would allow.

"He goes toward the shore and the cliffs, away from the fortress and from the males! I don't think he ever slept by us!"

She smiled again, and rose.

"Thank you, Boslick. You have done both of us a great service. As my reward to you, Portia will claim you as her own."

The boy was still distracted by the moment of pressure on his privates, and so he could barely say, "thank you mistress!"

His shoulders slumped forward into the bonds and as he realized her words, his eyes danced with the promise of the oncoming pleasure. She replaced the gag and turned around, walking back to the wooden chair. Behind him, she could hear Portia as she entered the room, removed her prize, and departed. Amanda smiled to herself, then immediately removed it. Smiling was becoming a common occurrence, and in this chase, there would be no time for such frivolities.

Part 2

Ryan awoke with a start.

Someone was in the area. Someone close.

He jumped up, knowing that it was most certainly the hunters. The males never came out this far, and they could never track him anyway. Ezelie was...


He had been sleeping in the brush about a fourth of a mile away from where Ezelie had been tied to the tree. She liked to be left alone after she had been tied, and so he always moved somewhere else. There was never any danger for her before.

He reached the tree that she was tied to after only a minutes of light jogging. His mind was racing, yet it was still foggy from just waking up a moment ago. She was gone. There was no sign of the vines that tied her, nor any footprints to reveal where the hunters had gone if they had removed her from the tree.

A sound.

Ryan reached up and grabbed a low hanging branch in the jungle brush, and using his arms and brute strength he pulled himself up to get into the tree.

He was getting his footing onto the branch when three hunters came into the area, one of them holding Ezelie, who was roughly bound, gagged, and tied in almost every way possible. Her eyes looked about the jungle with a helpless look in her eye. She was being carried along by a silver rectangle of some sort, hovering in midair and covering in ornate symbols and patterns that Ryan's still sleepy eyes could not read from the tree.

The three hunters were beautiful, young and powerful despite their slim size. They appeared the same age as Ezelie, but their movements suggested that they were even younger. They all wore the same tight woven shirt and black pants, with the thick belt that hung, among other things, rope, chain, and plastic straps. Two of them wore blue, while one of them wore green. One of the blue shirted girls was the one who was guiding Ezelie's platform.

"I found her tied up to this three, right here," said Ezelie's captor to the other two, pointing to the tree. "She was tied with vines and tree leaves. Very expert job, despite the tools and circumstances involved."

"You think it's him?" asked the green shirt.

"Absolutely," said Ezelie's captor. "I've seen most of the boys on this island and none of them could ever do this, nor want to. I think of the boys here, only three are switches, and one of them was taken to Portia last night."

"Yes," said the other blue shirt. "He had information for Amanda. The name was Boslick. Portia said that he knew Ryan by a bit more than the rest of the males, but not by much."

Ryan's breath held in his lungs for a half a minute. So they were after him. Ezelie's captivity was his fault. He may never see her again. And Boslick? What what he doing with girls this high up the food chain?

"Is Amanda in the area?" asked the green shirt.

"Yes," said Ezelie's captor, turning around. "Not sure where. She's dead certain on finding this boy, though."

"I'll take this girl back to the fortress," said the green shirt. "Amanda wouldn't want you two going back, but I don't think that I would be of much use at this point. You are all far better than me."

The blue shirted girls nodded, and the green shirt grabbed the floating silver platform with Ezelie on top of it, writhing and trying to escape from her heavy bonds. She disappeared from view, and the two blue shirts separated in opposite directions.

Ryan breathed slowly.

"That was quite an interesting conversation," said a voice behind him.

He turned and caught a glimpse of a golden shirt before his reflexes kicked in and he leaped from the tree, darting to another close by, and then another, and then another.

Who was that? He looked back and saw nothing. How did she sneak up on him like that? Why didn't she capture him then?

He dropped from the tree to the jungle floor and looked around slowly. This was a familiar area, but he had no idea where the hunters were or what tools they were using.

And then he saw her.

She noticed him and looked straight into his eyes. She was wearing the same clothing as the rest of the girls, but it seemed different somehow. Was it the golden shirt that did it? The shoulder length, dark brown hair that framed her face? The slow, seductive way that she walked? Her ephemeral beauty?

"You must understand this," she said, moving forward still, passing in and out of the light that shone through the tree branches. "The anticipation. The thrill of being so close, so near to what you want and what you may have, before it may just be snatched away from you."

No, he decided. It was her eyes, and her voice. Both were like ice. They melted on your skin, but the cold still lingered. She had the power, at any time, to capture him. He knew this, and she knew this. He watched her move forward, and his hand touched the tree nearby.

And she reached him, and drew the rope from her belt slowly around his back, and it pressed sharply against his skin. She pulled him close to her, and his eyes never left hers. Her soft body pressed against his firm legs. And then he pulled away, out of the rope and back into the jungle shrub. They never lost eye contact as he did.

She moved forward, he took a step back. Forward, back, forward, back.

And then, suddenly, firm hands grasped his arms from both sides behind him. The two blue shirted girls. Of course.

She moved forward, again, just as slow, as the hands gripped him hard. He could not move. She wrapped the rope in her hand around her wrist, once, twice, moving slowly forward through the jungle brush as if she were floating.

"I respect you far more than you think, Ryan," she said, her eyes boring deep into his skull. "Your skill is magnificent. And you have made me yearn for you, far more than you could ever imagine."

She went behind him then and with the help of the two blue shirted girls pulled his arms together, and tied the wrists firmly behind the back. And that was it, he said to himself. It's over.

They forced him down into the jungle floor silently and quickly, and he fell down, his still tired body exhausted. He closed his eyes and fell into a deep sleep.


Ryan awoke again, and he could not move an inch.

He blinked quickly to get a sense of his surroundings and position. What had happened? His mind reeled for answers.

Capture. Ezelie. The gold shirted girl. The hunters.

He tried to leap up, but he was tied very firmly. He could not move a single muscle.

He was bound to a chair with no arm rests. His wrists were tied behind the chair, and the bonds around his wrists were connected so that his arms were being pulled down the back. His lower ankles were tied to the front legs of the chair. Across the borderline between his pelvis and his legs, two straps pressed him perfectly back against the back of the seat.

To make things even more complicated, there was heavy rope secured to his knees, and those were tied to the chair so that the rope pulled his legs out as far as they could go on both ends, so that his bent legs made a V shape. His pelvis was perfectly exposed in the crux of the V.

And then his mind reeled with another shock - he was fully clothed. He was dressed in what appeared to be the hunters' clothing, but designed for men instead. The pants and belt were firmly around his waist and legs (not quite as tight as the girls' pants were, and far longer, but still firm) but instead of the woven shirt, the upper part of the body was covered by a button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shirt was neatly tucked into his pants, and whoever had dressed him had decided to unbutton all but the very lowest button of the shirt. This shirt, too, would have been extremely tight, if it hadn't been unbuttoned.

He breathed deeply, struggling against the bonds. It had been years since he had been bound so professionally, and even more since he had last wore clothing. The clothes made him feel more revealing, not less, which is what he expected. And the bonds were so strong and well places, he struggled with pleasure. He was not going anywhere, and he was perfectly exposed to be taken advantage of.


The room was large and unadorned. The floor was made of glass and reflected everything, with a large silver square in the very center of the room. Apart from several light sources around the room, there was nothing to speak of, apart from his bound body in the middle.

The footsteps came quicker, until they reached the spot directly behind him.

"Do you like my design?" came the voice. He expected it, but it still drew into his heart and squeezed roughly.

She walked forward, still wearing the same hunter uniform as before. The belt held nothing but more rope, he noted. He wondered how long he had been out, though he knew better than to ask. She had not gagged him, but he knew how this would work.

"I enjoy simplicity," she said, still looking into his eyes. "Only the very least amount of rope and leash required to tie down my prey in such a vulnerable form. It's been a long time since I've deemed a prey worthy of my hands with bondage, so you should feel very proud of your accomplishments thus far."

He nodded slowly, and when he lowered his head he kept it lowered, never leaving her eyes.

"Please," she said, with a hint of a smile crawling onto her severely punctuated face. "Spare me the 'mistress' stuff. I know how your mind works, Ryan. It would go so much more smoothly if we could at least show the same level of respect to each other in this arrangement."

He raised his head.

"Very well, Amanda," he said to her then. "As much as we can in a room where you shall tie me up and do any manner of assorted things to me, we shall find mutual respect."

She laughed. The sound reverberated from the walls as she moved forward upon his chair.

"See, Ryan, this is is how it shall work. Every day you will find yourself in a new design. We shall continue trying new designs every day until we find one where you will wholly and fully submit to me. I know that this will be long, and I will have to think long and hard about what I can do to make such a clever man as yourself submit to my whims, but don't worry. We'll find our play soon enough."

"What happens when I submit?" he asked.

"The arrangement ends," she said, turning ever so slightly and breaking eye contact. "You shall be released into the jungle. I shall go back to watching over the hunters. Normality."

"What happens," Ryan said, choosing his words carefully, "if I don't submit?"

She turned then, slowly, back into his eyes, coming closer to him. His heart beat faster.

Amanda drew her legs over his, and pressed her weight down upon his spread-apart legs, so that they created to V's that were locked together with each other. She drew her hands behind his neck and pressed her body against his.

He flipped his head up to the ceiling. His pleasure was immeasurable, and his eyes closed. He felt her draw her hands down to his chest, and then the belt below. She slowly and carefully pressed the sides of the belt and it snapped open, and she unbuttoned the pants below it. She unzipped the zipper.

His penis shot out like a flagpole, fully erect and ready for action. She caressed it softly, moving her body up and down his bound body, and slowly, she moved forward, opening her own pants as she had done to his. And two became one.

Time flew by at the speed of minutes, days, years, months. She moved up and down his body, slowly, surely, in a powerful sense. And his body shuddered and moved in delight, bound and locked in its vulnerable and penetrated state. And then one became two, and she retreated, her pants once again closed. She closed in on his face.

"Don't worry, my friend," she said, looking into his face. "You will submit soon enough."

She turned and looked away for only a moment.

"While I find simplicity in my design, I am not under that opinion when it comes to bonds," she said slowly and seductively. "More rope, the better. So please hold still."

"I'll try," said Ryan, and she came at him.

She bound his chest first, making an X and tracing it with the rope across his chest several times and then using the remaining rope to fasten his chest down to the chair so that his upper body had nowhere to go. Then she fastened his pants again and tied many strands of rope across his pelvic area, making sure that it was extremely tight. The pressure drove him mad.

"I know that you're not going to be going anywhere," she said. "But still, you may have visitors who don't know any better. We wouldn't want them getting the wrong idea. Like, say, perhaps, that you are to be intimate with anyone but me."

And then she drew in, kissed him on the lips, and then used a length of rope to gag his mouth. And with that, she left.


She admired his defiance and confidence, even in the face of sexual slavery. Most of the boys out in the jungle would have wet their pants several times over by now. His stoic poker face was one for the ages, she thought.

She watched him from the window that he did not know existed. She watched as he tested each of his bonds with methodical pressure from his muscles. When he was truly satisfied, he struggled and breathed deeply, the pressure on his pelvic area pulsating pleasure throughout his body. She could see it in the way that he moved, in the way that he breathed. He was loving this.

When she became satisfied that he was immobile and eventually bored, she sent in the girls, one at a time, to play with him. She didn't know if he enjoyed pain, so they kept it light; mostly tickling, playful rope tugging and tying, and straddling the boy as she had done. Amanda finally sent in the trio of girls who had gone hunting for Ryan with her, and they had untied the torso and drew apart his unbuttoned shirt, caressing it and licking it softly. None of the girls penetrated the rope barrier around his privates, however. They knew she was watching.

He enjoyed this very much, though he kept his distance from the other girls. He never made eye contact. Despite the sexual tension and perverse withholding, he seemed very much unattached to any of the girls that assaulted him for hours. Attracted, certainly, but not attached. This boy was very smart. He had avoided capture for years, but he also knew what he was doing once he was in their grasp.

And what was that girl that he had with him? She knew nothing of a female prey. It was very strictly handled: males are prey, females are hunters. That's how it worked. So where had she come from? Had he kept her and hid her from the hunters, and for how long?

She left him alone for a while, but she always watched him, curious and fascinated.

"My lady," came the voice of Norton behind her. She spun away from the one-way window, hiding the shock he had given her.

"Yes, Norton?" she asked.

"You must tell us your plans for tomorrow," said Norton, his aging frame shivering in the room's cold air. "We must know what to do with the boy."

"Oh, yes," she said. "Do not worry. Once he falls asleep, give him the standard dose of sleepers. I will take it from there."

"As you wish, my lady," said Norton, and he disappeared.


Boslick awoke with a start. His bound body was inches away from Portia's sleeping body. As he blinked, the fuzzy frame of Norton slowly descended into view. Norton pressed his first finger against his slowly curling mouth silently, indicating that for whatever noise Boslick could make, it was unwise.

"My dear boy," said Norton, in a whisper that couldn't wake a fly. "I hear that you would not object to being a hunter for a change, hmm?"

Boslick thought about it. Indeed, the idea appealed to him. Switching roles sounded like a refreshing change, and certainly just as rewarding.

Boslick nodded.

Norton drew in closer.

"I have a proposition for you," he said, again in that whisper. "It will take some time, but surely, you will find it very appealing."

And Norton told him many things.


Ryan awoke slowly, and comfortably.

He could not move. Well, that's a surprise, he thought sarcastically. But he was very comfortable today.

He was lying down, back pressed against a cushioned bench of some sort. His wrists were tied below the bottom of this bench, and his torso was secured firmly with several bands of rope wrapped around the bench and his arms. His ankles were secured to the legs of the bench. With a few simple ties and the bench, he was rendered completely immobile. Again, he found respect for his captor and their professional bondage.



"Hello," he replied.

Something passed over his head. Into his mouth. A gag.

"Nothing personal, my dear," she said. "We're just running a test today."

She slowly slid her fingers down the front of his torso until she reached the belt. She unhooked it slowly, then undid his pants. His manliness stood straight up into the air on the bench. She laughed.

"Just hold still, my dear," she said softly, then passed beyond his frame of vision. Then she came back, with a floating sort of black object that he couldn't see fully.

The black thing hovered closer to him, and then stopped. Ryan just looked up at the ceiling, wondering what was happening. Then he felt it. A surge of pain. It blasted through his entire body, forcing him to arch every muscle he could possibly move. He shut his eyes and bit into the gag as hard as he could.

And then it stopped.

He opened his eyes and looked at Amanda's face. She was not looking at him, but rather at his deflated manliness with a look of dissatisfaction that was etched on her beautiful features.

"Not into torture, are we?" she asked. "Pity. I have so much expertise in that field."

She removed the gag from his mouth.

"You could have just asked," he said.

"That's not much of a submission, you know," she said, a smirk appearing on her mouth.

He sighed and looked back up at the ceiling again.

"Have I bored you?" she asked. "See, you're erect again."

"Yeah," he said.

Part 3

Ryan woke yet again, but this time, something was different.

No ropes. No chain. No bonds. Nothing. He was in the very same room as ever, but he was without bonds entirely. He blinked the light from his eyes and then noticed the old man standing next to him, looking at his waking face with a glazed, vaguely stern look.

"She will wake in approximately a half hour," said the old man. "I will lock the door behind me."

And with that, he left. A click in the door a second after showed that he was a man of his word. Ryan turned and saw something he didn't expect.

A large bed with flowery sheets and gorgeous woodwork had been moved into the room while he had been out. A puffy comforter lay on top, and on top of that was Amanda, her hands tucked into the pillow, fast asleep. Probably drugged the same way he had been for the last week or so, Ryan mused. She was still dressed in her usual hunter's garb - the same woven shirt that rippled with every breath she took, the same belt and tight fitted pants that pressed against her thigh muscles.

On the floor, there were coils of fresh white rope and a pair of scissors. This was the same stuff he had been tied with every day.

Ryan smiled softly, then bent down to the rope.


Amanda woke with her hands tied behind her and something in her view.

"I thought so," she said, blinking.

She moved her body slightly while her mind started working again. Her hands were tied behind her back, her ankles were tied together, and here was a web of ropes down her midsection. It made a row of six inch diamonds that went down, starting from just below her breasts, pushing them forward beneath the woven shirt, and ending roughly above the belt line.

Her eyes adjusted, and she saw Ryan, lying in bed, his eyes on her. He was smiling.

"I submit to you, mistress," he said, and then rolled into her body.

He unbuckled his belt slowly, and then hers, and pressed himself against her body gently. He was not a rough lover. She did not move as he pressed in and gave her what he had. He drew his palm over her soft face, and she turned and kissed it as it passed.

Then he untied her, rolled away and it was silent. And they laid in bed until they fell asleep.


Norton pressed against Boslick's' face quickly, giving him a small vial.

"Portia is asleep. Put this against her nose quickly and silently. Do not wake her. Then proceed to the next room and do the same."

Boslick appeared to not comprehend, but he turned and moved into the room as instructed. Norton watched him go and then passed quickly from his view. He withdrew into another room that no one but him ever used. In it was the girl that Ryan had from the jungle, still tied and forgotten by most of the hunters already.

She looked up at his body, blinking, her eyes not used to the sudden light from the outside hallway. Norton quickly moved to the wall and passed his hand over it, the black cube extending from it. He passed his hand over it and then down to the tied girl on the floor, and the black cube morphed into a platform that she slowly rose on top of. When it was at a suitable height, he drew his hand forward and it moved, and he walked to the end of the room and opened a door.

The hallway he entered looked exactly like the one that he had just walked out of a moment ago, except that it was the mirror image. Everything was reversed; otherwise nothing was changed. Norton and the girl on the platform walked down the hallway until they reached a large door, and he passed through it. The door led into a very large deck that extended out into the jungle. There was a small railing, because the deck was elevated over the trees that grew next to the building. There were two people on the deck besides Norton and his captive.

"Good evening, Norton," said one of them. He was a large, muscular man, wearing the same gold hunter's shirt and uniform that Amanda wore. He spoke in a deep accent that betrayed his original home.

"Evening, John," said Norton.

"Excuse the mess," said John, looking down at the female captive on the floor. Norton looked down as well. She was tied quite roughly, and almost every opening of skin in the rope-work was covered in welts and bruises.

"That's fine," said Norton. "I brought back a captive from your side that managed to make it over. I'm not sure how she made it, but she belongs here."

John moved over to the girl on the platform slowly, his hulking body crashing to the floor with every step. He eyed the girl.

"I remember her," he said.

The girl gave out a moan into her gag and flinched away from the sight of John as he approached.

"Apparently she remembers you as well," said Norton.

"Ah, bollocks," said John. "See, this is why I made the deal, Norton. These girls, they are dead inside now. We've whipped them so hard they can't even stand on their own. Not that they were much to start with. Sluts, the lot of 'em, begging to be captured. Now they have no spunk. None of them want to escape. None of them even try to break free."

Norton nodded.

"See, we need fresh blood," said John. "You got all them gals over on the other side who've never been caught. Maybe some of 'em don't even like it. Well, that's something we'd all like for a change."

"I want payment up front," said Norton.

"Absolutely," said John, reaching into his back pocket. "Is there even a way off of this island?"

"There are means," said Norton. "But after we're done talking, I'm out."

"How long have you been here?" asked John, handing him papers.

"Too long," said Norton, looking out into the jungle, putting his hands on the rails. "I'm too old for this. I've been helping one side of men chase women and the other side of women chasing men and all in all, I can't do it any more. Not since he died and left it to you and Amanda."

"Well, now my half is yours," said John. "And I'll have enough money to spare, once I get that Amanda in my hands."

"The entire estate should be under for about four hours. I had a helper, his name is Boslick. You should let him have a little bit of fun, then dispose of him in whatever fashion you deem necessary."

"Very well," said John.


Ryan awoke with a start.

Air. Outside. Wind.

He rose up into a sitting position, his mind very much awake, looking around suddenly.

He was out in the jungle, alone. There was nothing around him. Footsteps were in the dirt around his body, and they were large footsteps.

He looked at the footsteps for a while before getting up and walking away from the clearing, searching for a vantage point to scan the surrounding area.


Amanda woke.

"Wait," she said, the word falling out of her mouth as her mind blinked itself to life.

Chains. Chains. Ryan? No, he untied her, and they fell asleep, and then-

She was able to look then, so she looked down at her body. She was wrapped in medium sized chains, pulled securely and tightly against her body. Her shirt was ripped down the center, exposing her breasts, which pressed and extended against the chains. There was some sort of adhesive strip over her mouth, so she could not make any noise.

She was in the same room, propped up against the smooth wall. The chains were looped tightly but haphazardly down her entire body. She struggled against them for a bit, and they would not give. She rested and then struggled some more, pulling and pressing and pushing as much as she could.

Time elapsed. No one came. After struggling for what seemed like hours, she finally slumped and gave in to the bonds, hopeless.

"Well done, my dear," said an accented, deep voice.

Her head snapped up, looking around.

"No, I'm not in that room. But I have been watching you. You certainly lasted far longer than the rest of your girls."

The door opened, and a hulk of a man passed through, his body shuddering with every step.

"I hope you like those chains, my dear," he said. "Because you'll be in them a long time."

He smiled, and clapped his hands together.

"Let us begin."

She struggled one last time into the chains, and beads of sweat rolled down her arms and legs. The clothes hung as tight as a second skin. The man grabbed a chain and pulled her to her feet, and she was suddenly moved upwards. He used two hands to move her, still bound, to a chair. He placed her on the chair with a shove and grabbed more chain, looping it around the places he had not chained before, in addition to the chair itself. Then she was bound to the chair, and he hovered over her.

"My name is John," he said. "I'm a hunter from the male side of the island. I hope that my stay won't bother you too much."

He chuckled to himself.

"Yes, two sides, I was shocked too when I found out. Norton, by the way, sends his greetings. He knows you and I will have a wonderful time together."

And with that, John the male hunter extended his hand and propelled the black cube from the wall to his hand, and grinned at his prey.


Bits of information passed through the male camp over a period of a week. Screams and cries heard from the fortress. Odd shadows. One time one man claimed he saw Boslick in hunter garb, wandering on the balcony of the fort walls.

No hunters had appeared since Ryan woke in the forest. Only rumors and murmurings. Ryan knew something was going on. But what? He decided to find out.

"You can't break in," the jungle men told him. "It's impossible."

He ignored them and set out on his own. He figured, well, considering most men have never even been near the wall out of fear, how would they know?

So he went to the fortress and looked at the wall carefully. Its cold exterior showed no signs of weakness.

Up high. A vent!

Ryan went over to a nearby tree and climbed up it, carefully placing his feet on the tree's branches. Then he used the tallest branch and clung to it, making his way across the open air to the vent. Once he was able to reach it, he grabbed the vent cover and pried at it with his fingernails. It slid off without much jolting, and he dropped it into a brush so that it wouldn't make too loud of a noise. The vent opening was big enough for him, he noted, but it would be hard to turn around. This was a one way trip.

He breathed deeply and grabbed the sides of the vent carefully, and then with his feet on the branch he pushed himself into the vent. It was dark, but he could see light at some points far off. So he traveled, careful to not make too much noise. He went down slowly, unable to see much but the light up ahead.

The first source of light revealed a room. He looked into it through the grates on the paneling, and he could make out a naked female tied roughly to an upright post. He craned his neck to see her face. He recognized the victim as a hunter that roamed the jungle occasionally. why was she tied up like that? And naked, too?

A door opened in the room, and a man passed through. Big, far bigger than the rest of the men in the jungle.

"My love," he said to her. "It's time for your punishment for back talking to me earlier today."

She shifted more than once, madly into her bonds, but she did not say anything. Perhaps she couldn't. Ryan couldn't make out what was on her mouth.

The man picked up what appeared to be a black coil, and he wrapped it around his victim just below the belly button, under and across the privates. He tied it off and grabbed the other end, which had some sort of knob on it. He pressed the knob, and the coil suddenly turned bright yellow. The female writhed in pain against the post, turning this way and that into her bonds.

The man snorted and turned it off. The girl's head fell down.

"What, done already?" he asked. "No, I don't think you may have gotten the message quite yet."

And he turned the knob. Ryan couldn't watch any more, so he looked away and passed down the ventilation shaft.

The second room he passed betrayed a similar sight, though this time it was just the captive. She was in the corner, on the floor, inert. Her body was covered in bright red lines and bruises. Some of them looked like they might be scars.

Ryan passed to the next room. This one had a man tied to the wall in a spread eagle fashion. Ryan looked, and then recognized him - it was Boslick. How did he end up on that wall? Was Boslick working with these men, and did they betray him?

Ryan went on and saw more of the same. Each time, a female bound and gagged in some fashion, usually beaten and ruthlessly tortured by these large male hunters. Where did they come from?

Finally, Ryan reached the room he recognized - the room that Amanda kept him in for weeks. Its shiny, glass like walls and floor were hard to mistake. In the center of the room was a chair, and in that chair was a slumped figure. Ryan had only one guess, because he hadn't seen her elsewhere in the fortress.

He decided to act. He pushed the cover of the vent forward, and it popped off silently. Then he tipped it and brought it into the vent, and he set it down. Then he pulled himself out of the vent, head first, and used his arms to stop from falling. He gripped the sides of the vent carefully, and his instincts from his time in the jungle served him well. He dropped to the floor on his feet without a sound.

He approached the figure in the chair, and his guess was confirmed. Amanda. She was chained horribly to the chair. Her clothes were tattered and ripped in most places. She was covered in horrible lines and bruises all over her body, and in some places he saw caked blood.

She looked up at his face, her eyes filled with uncertainty. Then they opened wide.

Ryan heard footsteps, so he put his finger to his mouth, and then dropped his head to her ear.

"I will help you. But I won't set you free yet. Just wait."

He moved away, and Amanda blinked at him. Then she started jerking her head. He watched for a second before realizing that she was motioning to something. On the table, there was a vial. Recognition went into his brain. That very vial had been used on him before, each time by that old man that wandered around the fortress. A sleeping agent. He grabbed the vial and moved into the corner of the room, so that whoever opened the door, they would not be able to see him.

And, just as he slipped out of the way, the door opened. A different but equally large man passed through, striding through the room as well as he could with his meaty hands and feet.

"My dear Amanda," he said, clapping his hands together as he came into her view. His back was still to Ryan's corner. "Please just tell me what you've done with the funds. We can stop this silly little game, and all of your hunters will be safe again. Just give me what I want."

Ryan crept forward as Amanda locked onto his eyes.

"When this island was created, both of us, as the head hunters, received a fortune. I spent mine. In fact, I spent mine by giving it to Norton in return for you and your half of the island."

So that's what this is all about, thought Ryan. He moved forward even more, making sure not to make a sound.

"Just tell me where it is, or if you spent it already. I won't get angry."

Ryan was a few feet from the man. Amanda shook her head.

"Pity," said the man, turning to the table behind him. Ryan unplugged the vial and held it out to the man, and the man turned and looked at him for only a brief moment before his eyes rolled up to the ceiling and his body shuddered to the floor. The sound reverberated throughout the large glass-like room

Ryan wasted no time. He crossed over to Amanda and untied her, fumbling with the chains as his hands shook with the tension. She rose when he untied her from the chair, and then he dropped the chains from her body. Then he removed the adhesive from her mouth.

She looked deep into his eyes.

"I submit to you, master," she said. And he kissed her, deeply.


There was still work to be done, but Ryan quickly moved to find as many female hunters as he could free. Using his memory of the rooms around the fortress and its contents, he untied the female hunters and told them to sneak over to Amanda's glass room.

Eventually he had found six female hunters: tired and beaten, some of them naked, but angry and vicious. So they all took vials that Amanda took from a cabinet, and they fanned out in the fortress.

Amanda looked down at her captor, the largest man, with an odd expression on her face. Ryan couldn't understand it.

She noticed him watching her, and she smiled at him.

"I have plans for this man," she said. "Expect no mercy. He gave none to me."


John woke with a start. The last thing he remembered was a man with a vial- He was tied up. With chain. To a post. He could not move at all. A hood was around his head, and there was adhesive on his mouth.

"Hello, John," said a voice. Amanda? He had never heard her speak in the torture. Only screams.

He tried to talk. He could not. Just murmurs.

"In fact, hello to all of the male hunters. You are all in the same room, all tied to posts. You are now nothing."

John pulled against the chains as much as he could, but it was firm. They were big, thick heavy chains, and they were wrapped as tight as could be. They bit firmly into his skin.

"You should be thankful we are not as ruthless as you. However, considering the circumstances...well, you will find that your privates have been roped and coiled. You will also find that the knob controlling this torture device you used on us is now in the hands of your former female victims on the male side of the island."

John's stomach plummeted.

"We have allowed them to do whatever they please with you after we leave the room. They have many different tools of torture at their disposal. Rest assured, I and the rest of the female hunters will be taking in our fair share as well later on. And unlike us females, there will never be anyone on this island who will save you."

And a door opened and closed, and then the pain crept in from his privates, and John writhed in pain against the post, his mind a bottomless hole of agony and defeat.


Ryan laid in bed, testing the latest ropes about his body. Not too many, and yet, Amanda managed to keep him practically immobile.

She came over to the bed slowly, laid down next to him, and extended an arm over his abdomen.

"Here's to a new island of hunters," she said.

"Here's to", he said, and they kissed.