Escape From Paradise

by Gwendolyn Field

  Luis dressed and left the room with a nod from Marco. I didn’t like the way the other man was staring at me now. Or the fact that he was obviously hard inside his slacks, and not afraid to rub himself in front of others.

  “Perla!” Marco called.

  She must have been nearby because she came at once, bowing her head to him and saying, “Sí, Amo.” The word surprised me. It was almost a loving, worshipful way of saying “Owner.”

  “Take señor Hernandez to the Atlantic room and see to his needs,” he said in Spanish.

  Perla, beautiful with her bronzed skin and shiny black hair, led Mr. Hernandez away with a sway of her hips. He gave me one last lascivious glance before leaving. How was Perla not afraid of him?

  When Marco came to my side I was trembling from the aftereffects of the encounter. He unlocked my handcuff and said, “It’s time to clean you up.”

  I pulled my shirt down over my breasts. Taking me by the wrist, Marco led me to the bathroom inside the room and let me go, but he made no move to leave. He gave the toilet a pointed look. I unwound toilet paper and cleaned off my stomach, then flushed it and looked at Marco again.

  “You must need to relieve yourself,” he said.

  I did, actually. Really bad. I hadn’t gone since last night and it was at least ten in the morning by now. I must have been dehydrated.

  Was he going to stand there and watch?

  “Go,” he commanded. Well, that answered my question.

  I sat reluctantly on the toilet and stared down at my hands, feeling his eyes on me. It’s not like I’d never peed in front of anyone before, but going in front of my girlfriends, or a serious boyfriend, was different than in front of this strange man who proclaimed to own me and just ordered my rape. It was just another exertion of his power over me and my loss of personal freedom. Another reason for me to hate him.

  I finished and he led me back to the bed where he cuffed me again.

  “When we dock to refuel, it will be time for your shower. I will have clothing brought to you. And food. You will not waste food again.”

  “Yes, Sir,” I said, feeling chafed and hungry. I was ready for him to leave because I desperately needed some alone time to gather my strength.

  He got up to leave, and on second thought came back to the bed and sat, lifting my shirt. I drew my legs up to my body and held my breath. No, no, no. I couldn’t handle having sex again so soon. I would lose it. But he only seemed to want to inspect my boobs for himself. Pushing my legs aside, he gathered my breasts in his hands and squeezed, then cupped their light weight. He ran his thumbs slowly around my nipples until they both puckered into tight knots. His thumbs brushed over their tips and I sucked in a breath, feeling light headed.

  With a satisfied nod he pulled my shirt back down and left me with my dark thoughts.

  I felt the boat slowing as we neared the Cuban port. My heart rate jacked up and I craned my neck to see out the window. My view was not good. When we stopped, could I chance a bloodcurdling scream for help? Would anyone outside care enough to report it? And the bigger question was, would anyone dare to go against a man like Marco Ruiz?

  Aside from the heated moment where he’d shouted at Fernando, Marco had seemed nothing but distinguished and controlled—the sort of wealthy and refined man who oozed confidence and control over his surroundings. His mustached smile was warm, but his eyes missed nothing. He was rich, and if necessary, ruthless.

  No. With a sinking feeling I acknowledged that screaming would get me nothing but a bed at the bottom of the ocean.

  As the engines cut off, sounds of bustling around and raised voices came from around the boat. My door opened and I jumped, immediately tensing. I’d have felt more comfortable if I at least had on underwear.

  A guy walked in carrying some clothes, and closed the door behind himself. He had a soft half-grin on his face, and stood relaxed in his lanky, toned body. He had brown hair down to his chin, and he dressed stylishly like Fernando. His face was beautiful—pretty even—pronounced cheekbones, full lips, and dark lashes that made his eyes look weepy and lined. But he didn’t move with the confidence and bravado that Fernando or the other men on this boat moved like. He moved with the same unhurried ease as Perla. And like her, he wore a black collar around his neck.

  “Hello, Angel.” Even his voice was pretty, a light tenor with soft Spanish tones.

  “Hi,” I said, wishing it hadn’t come out quite so timid.

  He sat on the bed next to me and I scooted away. He was unperturbed, studying me in a different way than Marco and the other men had. This guy seemed...curious.

  “I am Josef.” He smiled and I smiled and it was a little awkward. He didn’t seem threatening, but after Fernando I didn’t know if I could trust my instincts anymore.

  “You are sore?” he asked, nodding down my body.

  “Oh…um…a little.”

  His casual attitude about my post-rape condition rattled me a bit. I didn’t want to be casual about it. I didn’t want to pretend any part of this was normal or okay.

  “I bring ointment in case you need. You take shower now, sí?”

  This is not normal. It’s not okay. This is all so wrong.

  He reached across me to unlock my cuff and I got a whiff of the same cologne Fernando wore. A moment of terrified panic consumed me and I let out a scream, scrunching away from him as my heart pounded.

  “Whoa. Relax, Angel pequeño, I no hurt you.” He took off the cuff and rubbed my wrist. My eyes stung.

  “You smell like him,” I whispered. I shouldn’t have said it.

  Josef cocked his head to the side. “Who? Oh…sí. Cologne. His son choose it para me.”

  I was confused. Fernando recommended for Marco’s henchmen to wear cologne?

  “I am slave,” Josef explained. “Like you.”

  My eyes widened. I looked at my uncuffed hands, and the fact that this other slave was in charge of me. Before I could concoct any brave plans, Josef spoke again.

  “I am loyal to Master, Angel. He trust. Do not make problem for us, por favor.”

  He held out a hand and I placed mine inside it, letting him lead me to the bathroom. When we got inside he closed the door behind us and turned on the shower.

  “You need toilet?” he asked.

  I shook my head. At his prompting I climbed into the shower. He peeked in a few times, I assumed to make sure I wasn’t poisoning myself by drinking the shampoo or something. Afterward I dried and put on a white cotton pullover dress that landed just above my knees. It was a low cut V-neck, sleeveless. No underwear. I hated not wearing underwear.

  When we entered the room again Josef sat me on the bed and handcuffed me to the headboard again. Then he surprised me by sitting behind me and brushing my wet hair. It felt nice. I shivered and almost fell asleep. With a jolt I wondered if I had any business feeling this comfortable with a man who was loyal to Marco. Then I wondered.

  “Josef…are you gay?”

  I didn’t turn, but I thought I heard a smile in his voice when he said, “I pleasure men y women.”

  “Oh.”

  When he was done he said, “Time for lunch.”

  Someone had brought in a tray while I showered. Josef lifted the lid and revealed a sandwich. At that moment Marco opened the door. Josef slid to his knees on the floor and dropped his head in reverence.

  I stared up at Marco.

  “Angel?” he said.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Do you see how Josef kneels and lowers his head and eyes when I approach?”

  Uh-oh. I didn’t like where this was going.

  “Yes, Sir,” I whispered.

  In a calm voice he said, “I would like you to begin practicing that same behavior. You will no longer meet my eyes unless you are instructed. You will also not speak to me until I initiate conversation with you. If you break these rules you will be punished. Do you understand?”

  Nervously, I dropped my head and said, “Yes, Sir.”r />
  “Bien. Josef, you may feed her.”

  “Gracias, Amo,” he said.

  I raised my head when I felt Josef touch my chin. I opened my mouth, hungry despite the churning anxiety and discomfort of having Marco watching. Being fed took some getting used to, but my hunger overcame my pride. I ate every bite.

  Marco made Josef brush my teeth on the bed, having me spit in a paper cup, which I thought was ridiculous. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t be allowed to walk to the bathroom and brush my own teeth. Josef left and Marco took his place at my side on the bed.

  I kept my eyes down, my heartbeat ratcheting up. Would this be when he’d want to have sex with me?

  “You are a natural submissive, Angel. That is in your favor. I think we can make this work and we will both benefit.”

  Anger burned like acid inside me. Being called a submissive felt like being called weak, and I hated the truth in that. I hated that I felt so weak. And how the hell did he figure I’d benefit from being his slave? I let my anger simmer, too afraid to lash out and face any of his mysterious aforementioned punishments.

  My skin crawled as Marco patted my knee. Rubbed it. Pushed my skirt up and ran his hand the length of my outer thigh to my bottom. And just as he’d done with my breasts, he watched his hands on me, eyed my limbs and skin with interest and care, like the upholstery of a fine new car.

  “You will like your new home, Angel. Many have called it Paradise.”

  I gave a small nod.

  The boat began to move and I realized with a grasping, frightened feeling we were leaving the Cuban port already. I swallowed hard.

  “I have sent Fernando away, Angel. You will never have to see him again. He has put us both in quite a predicament, yes? But we will make the best of this arrangement.” He thought for a moment, seeming pleased. “Perhaps it was meant to be.”

  Meant to be? Oh, so now he was feeling glad about his new acquisition? Now that he knew I wouldn’t fight? I didn’t want to be his object! I didn’t belong to him, and this was not fucking meant to be! How dare he?

  Hot anger churned inside my clenched abdomen, running down my arms and legs, making my feet and hands tingle. I clamped my jaw down hard, grinding my teeth together. With a last pat on my knee Marco left me again. And this time I was too filled with rage to cry.

  Throughout the next few days I overheard conversations about pushing the yacht—raising the knots to its maximum speed to get us at our destination faster. I knew this was because of me. Marco seemed extremely tense about what he’d find waiting for him at his villa in Spain, which brought me immense hope.

  During the quick stop in Cuba someone had purchased hair dye for me. Perla colored my dirty blonde hair a chestnut brown, and she’d given me a spray tan to make me even darker. I looked like a strange, exotic version of myself.

  My stomach had begun to hurt as we entered the Mediterranean, and it had nothing to do with nerves. I hadn’t gone to the bathroom during our entire four days on the boat. When I was younger I suffered constipation whenever we traveled from home. I’d forgotten the discomfort of it—the hardness in my abdomen and stiffness in my lower back.

  But how was I supposed to relieve myself with someone always watching? It would be the ultimate shame and embarrassment. I could only hope I wouldn’t need a constant babysitter when we got to this so-called paradise, and I could have a little privacy in the bathroom. Surely I’d earned that. I’d been quiet and cooperative the entire four days. Nobody came to hurt me or rape me again. My days were monotonous, and though my fears had slightly waned for the moment, I knew things were bound to get bad again when we arrived and I was expected to “please Marco’s patrons.”

  My stomach turned violently each time I thought about it.

  As we arrived at our destination, my curtains were closed and I was told to wait in the room with Josef. There was talk of unknown boats nearby, which made my heart bang with exhilaration. Maybe my parents had hired someone to track Marco, or the FBI was on his tail. If they saw me get off the boat I’d be rescued!

  I must have had a look of hope on my face because Josef slowly shook his head, strands of brown hair brushing against the line of his chin.

  “Master will no allow you to be seen, Angel. He have hidden entry for…ah…discretion. Y, nobody in Spain dare to attack. Master give very much to important men. Money y service.”

  My jaw went slack and the elation I’d felt seeped out of me. How had Josef known what I’d been thinking and the exact horrible thing to say to deflate me?

  He smoothed his long fingers over the top of my hair, which Perla had fashioned into an elaborate bun.

  “I don’t like this brown,” he said, looking at my hair. “You be blonde soon.”

  I didn’t care about my hair. “I’m scared,” I whispered.

  “Sí,” he said softly.

  We waited there in the room until nightfall. Everything was so quiet.

  “How many of us are there?” I whispered.

  “Slaves? Three female y myself. Five now, with you.”

  I shuddered. I could not include myself in those numbers. It was only a matter of time before the U.S. found a way to bust me out. They would trace my disappearance to Marco.

  They had to.

  When it was pitch black outside, Marco came for us. He blindfolded me and they each held one of my arms, which were cuffed in front of me. My ears and nose became sensitive. The boat smelled like new leather as we walked through it, and for a quick moment I felt warm night air on my skin and the smell of salt sea in my nose. Then it was quiet and echoey, like a tunnel. Damp. We took steps down and I smelled damp earth. Underground. Complete silence.

  “Stay here with her tonight,” Marco told Josef in Spanish. “We will get you out tomorrow when the perimeter has been checked.”

  “Sí, Amo.”

  A puffy thwunk sounded beside us on the floor and I felt a rush of air on my legs. Then the door shut and clicked locked. Josef removed my blindfold.

  We were in a tiny room without windows or vents. I wasn’t claustrophobic, but this room messed with my head, seeming to close in on us. It was lit by a single lightbulb in the ceiling, next to a small black dome which I supposed was a video camera. In the corner was a gray bucket. Was this some sort of holding cell or prison? My breathing hitched, and Josef took me by the shoulders.

  “Relax, Angel. We no stay here long. You rest.”

  A pile of blankets was at our feet. Josef bent and arranged them into a pallet. He pulled me down to lay on my side, and he spooned behind me.

  “Close you eyes,” he said, pulling the bun from my hair and running his fingers through the strands.

  My stomach cramped and I curled myself tight.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “My stomach hurts.”

  I didn’t have the urge to go, which made it even worse, like my bowels had hardened. This was not good.

  “You need the toilet? The bucket es there.”

  “I…can’t,” I whispered.

  “You can’t? Why?”

  I didn’t respond.

  “Ah…you afraid to shit in front of me?” He sounded amused. I cringed, horrified. Boys were so open about their bodily functions. I did not want to talk about crapping with anyone, much less do it in front of them.

  “It’s gross,” I said. The smells, the sounds, all of it. Yuck.

  He laughed. “Angel, you must get past this. We slaves have no secrets. No…what you say? Ah, privacy. We eat, we drink, we fuck, we shit where all can see.”

  Emotion wracked my body and my chin began to quiver. How could he talk so nonchalantly and callously about things so serious? I couldn’t accept those words as my fate. As tears slid down my face, Josef shushed me.

  “You no cry in front of Master, little Angel. He does not like.”

  Well, the Master wasn’t there, so I let the tears fall, and the sobs heave in my chest, and I cried myself to sleep with Josef curled behind
me.

  Despite our location, I must have gotten a decent amount of sleep because I felt rested when I woke. I straightened, on my side, stretching, then relaxed. Josef muttered sleepily behind me and his arm came around my waist, hand splaying across my stomach. His face nuzzled into the crook of my neck and shoulder, and he pressed the rock hard length of himself against my ass.

  “Josef!” I whisper-hissed.

  He rubbed against me, gripping my thigh. I pushed back with my shoulder and elbow, making him snort and come awake.

  “Ah, fuck,” he groaned, grabbing himself through his pants and rolling to his back. His forehead creased and he shut his eyes. I had to admit, yesterday he’d seemed kind of young and boyish to me, but this morning, with that hard-on and the serious look on his face, he was an attractive guy.

  I rolled back over, feeling bad for some reason. With my back to him I said, “You can, you know, take care of yourself if you need to. I won’t care.” I’d never seen a guy do that, or been in the same room with someone masturbating, so the thought made my heart beat faster with nervousness.

  “I cannot,” he said. “No without permission.”

  “You need permission to masturbate?” I rolled toward him and he nodded. What was the point of a rule like that?

  His breathing had become steadier, and his pants had gone down. I felt my cheeks heat when he caught me staring at his crotch.

  “Don’t look, little Angel,” he teased. “You bring him to life again.”

  I bit my lip and looked away, trying not to smile from my embarrassment. It was beyond strange to have the urge to smile or to think sexy, joking thoughts at a time like this. I felt guilty. Josef was so nice, and he felt safe to me, but I couldn’t get in the habit of letting my guard down.

  “Where are you from?” I asked.

  His eyes shot up to the camera then back to me.

  “I come from a fishing village in Honduras. My parents, they die when I am thirteen, y Master save me from bad men who buy me at orphanage.”

  Bile rose in my throat. In my book, Marco was a “bad man,” but Josef obviously cared for him. I’d hate to know how “bad” the other men must have been for Josef to see Marco as a savior.