Shipwrecked (closed)

Samantha Richards (nee Ross) was the happy new bride of the perfect man. He was a few years older, extremely handsome (at least in her eyes), intelligent (a must for her), and (much to her surprise) independently wealthy. But most important, he was funny and witty and they laughed frequently.

They met in college, he was in the Master's program, she was an undergrad working her way through school with some grants and loans. She worked in the library. He needed some books for a paper and enlisted her help. The rest was history.

It wasn't until he popped the question and she said yes that he revealed just how comfortable his financial situation was.

Their destination beach wedding was perfection. White sand, turquoise water, hot sun, cool breezes. The reception was magnificent. In a ballroom high in the hotel overlooking the sunset over the bay where her Prince Charming's private yacht awaited for the start of their honeymoon.

Samantha, Sam to her friends, was in a haze of happiness. Or maybe it was the bottomless glass of champagne she held. She was too busy making sure she spoke to every guest in between doing all the traditional wedding reception things, first dance with her new husband, dancing with her father, cutting the cake... She didn't have more than a few bites of her dinner. But somehow her champagne glass was always full.

She remembered dashing out right after throwing her bouquet--her friend Julie caught it. Boarding the yacht. Fevered kisses as her husband helped her out of her gown leaving her in her white bridal corset, stockings and undies. He left her to relax on the bed while he captained the ship a suitable distance from shore before he would return to her to commsumate their sacred vows.

She had enver been in a yacht before, but it seemed a little choppy to her. Luckily, she was not one to suffer from motion sickness. Maybe a honeymoon at sea wasn't such a good idea after all.

She must have dozed, but came fully awake at the sound of an alarm. Her head was pounding--she had far too much to drink, she was sure of that now. Her balance was off and her brain still wasn't processing things properly. She ran barefoot to the deck and was surprised at how cold it felt now that the sun was down. She didn't know what time it was.

"What's going on? What's wrong?" She shouted.

The deck pitched and she was thrown down hard. A wave splashed over the side and drenched her. The next thing she knew, she was in the water swimming for her life. She couldn't see the yacht. She had no idea which was to swim and even if she did, how could she climb back on board?

She was a fighter and she wouldn't just give up and die. But eventually, she was too tired to even tread water. She accepted the cold embrace of the sea and wondered if she would meet a mermaid on the way down to the depths.


Some time later...

She slowly came to. Both her head and body aached. She could hear the surf in the distance, seagulls overhead. Rough sand against her cheek as she lay sprawled. Her lungs burned as her chest heaved, taking in fresh, sweet air through her parched lips and raw throat. Salty sea water roiled in her stomach then rushed up and out through her nose and mouth, burning the already sensitive tissues all along the way. She retched a few more times then coughed even longer. She tried to get up, but collapsed back onto the sand and passed out again.


And later still...


Sam woke up again, she could still smell the salt air. Her lips and throat were so dry. "Water, I need water." She croaked out loud trying to get her thoughts in order. She had to move, to find water but her body wasn't responding. As she struggled she realized it wasn't her body that wasn't responding. She was bound, wrists and ankles. "What?" She struggled harder and tried to focus on her surroundings as the room spun and her head pounded.

Geoffrey Duke sat quietly in the corner, his clothes still wet from dragging her limp body out of the surf as the tide rose around around it. He chuckled at the irony of the situation. Had she been rescued anywhere else he would have been honored as a hero and might have even made the nightly news. But not here, not on this island where no outsiders, much less news crews, were allowed.

As he sat he fidgeted with a pocket knife, snapping it open which a quick flick of his wrist then slowly, almost begrudgingly, clicking it shut again. He admired with smug pride the neat job he had done with her bonds. Yellow rope coiled around her legs from her ankles to just below her knees. Then it slithered up her back, pinned between her soft skin and the hard wood beam, to her wrists high above her head where it again coiled around her flesh and finally ended in a mooring hitch against the beam. The spare mooring line had proven to be quite effective at its improvised task because the soft nylon rope was snug against her skin but didn't bite, and if a mooring hitch was secure enough to keep a boat close to a dock then it was definitely enough to hold her weight up against the support beam in the middle of the room even if her legs couldn't.

The small hut was open and airy with sparse accommodations. A bed sat in the corner to her right, the chair he occupied shared the corner to her left with a small night stand and behind her was a kitchen consisting of a sink, a small fridge and a wood burning stove. The only bathroom on the island was a rickety wooden outhouse 25 meters up the beach. Both structures were nestled into the tree line in such a way that passing ships would not notice them until they were so close that they risked running into a reef.

He looked at her lithe body as she began to stir with something akin to sympathy. He held no ill will against this woman. Had he met her in a bar he probably would have taken her home for the night. But here she wasn't a notch on his headboard, she was his prisoner and circumstances dictated that he treat her accordingly. The only question that remained was what to do with her.

"Water, I need water." Her voice was weak and raspy as if she had gargled shards of glass.

He flicked the knife open as she began to struggle, then slowly closed it again as her flailing became more panicked. He stood up and walked across the room keeping eye contact with her as he did. He passed within inches of her, close enough for him to smell how desperately she needed to bathe, before disappearing behind her. After opening and closing the fridge he returned and stood in front of her holding a bottle of water so cold that condensation dripped from it onto the floor.

His gaze locked with hers again as he slowly opened the bottle and took a long drink.

"Oh, did you want some of this?" He asked, his voice mocked at first, then dropped an octave and turned harsh. "The tell me why the fuck you are here on my island without my permission."

Sam thoroughly panicked when she realized she was tied hand and foot. She thrashed for a bit, but it made her head hurt too much. Did she have a concussion? She dry heaved a little before rested her head back against the rough wood she could feel behind her.

She focused on the man before her. If he was the one who rescued her, then why was she tied up? She licked her dry lips and tasted salt when she saw the water bottle.

She was still confused. "Why are you doing this? Your island?" She took a breath trying to remember what had happened. "Jack and I were on his yacht--for our honeymoon. There was a storm, I think. No. There was some problem with the boat." It was so hard to remember. Everything was a blur. "I was drunk. I went on deck to see what was wrong, and ... I couldn't find Jack." Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks. "I don't know--I was swept overboard, I think. I hit my head. I swam and I swam. I don't remember making it to shore. Did you bring me here? Did you find Jack?" She craned her neck trying to see if Jack was tied up in the room as well.

The fact that she needed water hit home again. "Please, I need water. Untie me please." She flexed her hands. :How can I possibly be such a threat to you that you tied me up?"

Geoffrey scoffed when he heard her ask about being a threat to him. His eyes perused her petite form, appraising her physique and lingering on her womanly curves. The taters of her nuptial attire barely clung to her body.

"How cute." He mocked. "You and Jack on a romantic cruise. Was the ship called the Titanic?" He chuckled at his own joke. "So you must be Rose!" But he didn't laugh anymore. Instead he grew more serious. "Well Rose, you are right. You aren't a threat to me, but I can't have you roaming free all over my island getting into who knows what kind of trouble."

He took another swig of cool refreshing water, then swirled the liquid around in the bottle as if trying to decide what to do with the remaining fluid.

He finally raised the bottle towards her. But instead of pressing it to her lips he up ended it on top of her head. "You smell terrible. I think I'm going to have to bathe you."

With that he disappeared behind her into the kitchen area. A moment later he returned with a wash cloth and a bucket full of soapy water. First he scrubbed one arm then another. The cloth plunged into the bucket then returned to wash her shoulders, neck and chest. Geoffrey continued scrubbing down both her body and her scant clothes. The more up close and personal he was with her skin the more a bulge began to develop in his wet trousers until when last of all he scrbbed her hair it pressed into her flat stomach. When he was finally finished with the soapy water he emptied what was left in the bucket out one of the windows then went back to the sink and filled it with fresh water which he dumped over her head to rinse away the soap suds covering her body and clothes.

"I honestly don't know what I'm going to do with you." He commented as he grabbed a mop to soak up the puddle of water at her feet. "Food here is rationed for one person. It's a good thing your beloved Jack didn't wash up too because then we'd really have problems." His voice was so casual that he might have been discussing the weather forecast.

"So the question remains. What am I going to do with you?" Geoffrey asked.

"My name's not Rose, it's Samantha Ross--I mean Richards. And you still haven't told me your name." She glared at him. How could he be so cruel to tease her with the water? "If you don't know what to do with me then why didn't you just let me die on the beach?"

She sputtered when he doused her with the last of the water from his bottle. "You bastard!" Her throat was too dry to muster a yell, it came out more like a growl.

Having him wash her actually felt good. Getting all the sand and salt off her body made her feel human again. While he made no effort to hide his arousal as he worked, he didn't make any sexual grabs at her. That was a plus. But he just dumped the rinse water on her head with no warning making her sputter again. "Why do you have to be such a prick? And what do you mean you don't know what to do with me--call someone and have them come pick me up. Hell, Jack's company can probably send a helicopter for me. And I still need some water." She glared at him again.

She was not going to let this man intimidate her whatever his game was.

Geoffrey considered giving her his name but decided against it for now. He was surprised at her resiliency. Most people would have resorted to begging by now but this woman stood firmly on her own two feet despite her bound condition. She was clearly much more independent than he had originally gauged her to be. He was going to enjoy breaking her, but he was also growing impatient. He had a delivery to make tonight and had already wasted too much time bathing her.

"Well little Miss Richards, or Ross, or whatever it is. I don't think you grasp what's going on here." He spoke slowly as if explaining a complex problem to a child. "First off, I don't like strangers running around my island, and one flying a helicopter over it is out of the question. My operations here have been far too successful. I would prefer they not get discovered just as all my hard work is coming to fruition. Secondly" ...

His voice trailed off and he was silent for a moment. His arm swung so rapidly that Samantha wouldn't have been able to avoid the back of his hand even if she weren't tied up. The blow landed squarely on her right cheek.

"You need an attitude adjustment." He finished, shaking the stinging sensation out of his hand. "Not once have you thanked me for saving your worthless life. And don't forget that I gave you water just like you asked, so don't get all uppity just because you weren't smart enough to specify drinking water."

Geoffrey glanced out one of the open windows, then at his watch.

"Damn, I'm late." He muttered under his breath.

He disappeared into the kitchen again and returned a moment later with a bowl of water which he placed on the floor next to the bed.

"We will have to finish this conversation some other time. I've got a shipment to make tonight," he said. "Im taking the only boat so don't bother trying to escape." Moving back to Samantha he reached up and untied the knot that had kept her anchored to the beam, but not the ones around her hands and feet. With the gentlest of pushes he easily toppled her over sideways. Then, chuckling, he grabbed a back pack that had been sitting next to the door and left.

"You fucking bastard!" Sam screamed at him as he left.

Her anger served her well. Instead of breaking down in tears, she awkwardly crawled to the water bowl and drank from it like a dog at first. Then she awkwardly lifted it up to finish it. She was still thirsty but she spent some time trying to get her hands and feet untied.

She knew a little about knots--not from sailing with Jack, but from theatre tech in highschool and college. Curtain rigging is similar to boat rigging.

She would have smacked herself in the head if her hands weren't tied. She pushed herself up onto her feet and hopped around the hut to the kitchen. She needed a knife to cut the rope. She found one in the third drawer she looked in. She laughed and made herself stop when she felt herself tipping over into hysteria.

She plopped herself down on the floor and began working on cutting the rope around her wrists. She had to work carefully to keep from cutting herself. Once she got her hands free, her feet would be easy. And now she had a weapon.

She hadn't seen a short wave radio, or any other way to communicate with the outside world. This guy had to have some way to communicate with his buyers or whatever they were. She suspected he was a drug dealer. Maybe there was another hut where he stored things and had a short wave or a SAT phone.

As long as she kept her on mind on things like this she didn't dwell on the distinct possibility that Jack was dead. She'd deal with that once she was off this island and away from the drug dealer.

Geoffrey heard her curse him as he left the cabin but didn't slow his stride at all as he turned and walked around the back of the cabin. Through the open windows he heard the sounds of her body scraping across the floor as she dragged herself toward the water. He had placed the water on the floor on purpose and the mental image of her drinking like a dog was exciting enough for him to pause at the last window. Gazing inside he saw the pleasant curve of her ass as she knelt over the bowl slurping the liquid. His pants grew tight again as he watched and he wished he could return to alleviate the pressure, but he had work to do.

Turning to his left he followed the tree line past the out house. The dense foliage emitted a muggy, oppressive air that butted up against the fresh sea breeze blowing in from the east. As he rounded the curvature of the island he lost site of the hut but after another ten meters a break opened in the flora. A narrow trail wound inward over the soil that quickly turned rocky once it left the sandy beach.

Geoffrey hurried along the trail as the world around him grew dark. He had to rely on his memory because at the height of noon the canopy of tropical trees only permitted a soft green glow of light to reach the jungle floor. Now that the sun was setting no light reached the delicate trail that wound over root and stone. Fortunately the trail was only a few hundred meters long and he had traveled it hundreds of times.

As he neared the center of the island the branches overhead thinned out until he stood in a clearing that overlooked a lagoon. The trail lead right down to the water were a boat waited next to a dock. A large barn like structure made of heavy wood planks dominated the small clearing. Aside from the hut and the outhouse the barn was the only other building on the island.

Geoffrey worked quickly, first pulling the tarp off the boat then carrying it to the barn. Pulling a key from his pocket he unlocked the solid steel padlock and carried the tarp inside. It took him three trips to haul his shipment out to the boat. After he ratchet strapped his cargo down, he then returned to the barn one last time to retrieve a waterproof case that was designed to float. Inside was survival gear in case of emergency, a sat phone (the only communication device on the island) and a hand gun with a single clip of ammunition.

Placing the case on the seat next to him he guided the boat through a cave and out into the open water. Once he was sure he had cleared the reefs he glanced back at the hut. Now that the sun had set it was difficult to tell, especially from this far out, but it didn't look like there was any movement along the shore. He knew it was possible for her to escape, but what was the worst she could do?

Sam finally cut through the ropes and had her hands and feet free. She rummaged through all the drawers looking for better weapons, a SAT phone, anything that would help her. She found some of his clothes in a small chest. She stripped out of the shreds of wedding-night lingerie and pulled on a pair of his shorts and a tee shirt. She used a piece of the rope as a belt to keep the shorts on better. They tended to slip down and settle at her hips.

She drank more water and ate some tuna straight from the can that she found in the kitchen. It was getting dark, but she found a flashlight and decided to explore outside. Maybe she could find another building or at least hide from him. She wondered when he was going to get back. With luck he wouldn't return until morning and she'd be far away from him.

If he was a drug dealer, why wasn't he interested in returning her for a reward? That would be easy money. It just didn't make sense. It was clear he didn't want her here.

She went outside and found the outhouse. She didn't need to use it since she was still recuperating from dehydration. She walked the beach a little but didn't see anything that would help her. She went to the treeline and started walking along it. Should she just head into the trees and hope for the best? If he was growing marijuana back in there, he probably had it booby-trapped. She remembered the trip she and Jack took to Hawaii. They were told more than once that if they went hiking that they must stay on the trails because the booby traps were deadly.

Her heart was beating faster. She had a lump in her stomach. She couldn't afford a panic attack right now. She felt like her brain was buzzing around, thoughts coming one after the other of what she should do or not do. She stopped and took some deep breaths. She needed to focus. She needed a plan.

Then her flashlight showed a break in the trees and what looked like a trail. She decided to take it. If she heard him coming back to the hut, she would duck into the trees and hide.