Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fiction, Caution, Violent,
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1 - A slave girl is stranded on a deserted island, after the summer. With little hope she searches for a way to survive the impending hard and long winter until she might be rescued in the spring, but what she finds turns out to be far more disturbing than the prospect of death by nature’s freezing hands...
When I woke up, I was alone upon the island.
I was alone, and I knew it was my own fault. I had overslept, I had missed the early dawn deadline when all had to assemble at the beach, to get into the boats.
Had I been there, they would have been obliged to take me. Staying behind on the island during the winter meant certain death, or certain enough death, and no one, whatever their status, could be sent to their deaths without a cause and without the proper proceedings.
But, as I had not shown up in time, they would not have hesitated to load into the boat in place of me a few bags of much more profitable objects — no slave girl in the Queendom is worth her weight in semi-precious stones, rare fossils or exotic spices, those riches that the island yielded, and that made the yearly trips across the sea worth all the efforts and the dangers.
I was alone, and I was without any possessions. I had the clothes that I wore — a slave girl's summer dress, designed to be worn open in front, though it did have a few ribbons which could be tied to keep it closed, and a short leather jacket without pockets to protect against the chilly evening breeze, but not against the winter cold. This was all — as a slave I did not have shoes, my feet were bare.
Walking barefoot had been the worst thing about being a slave, at first. Worse than the whippings, the hard work, and the rapes. This has been a long time ago, though. The whippings had become less as I had learned to obey. The hard work I did not mind. And the rapes — well, a slave girl also has to learn that she cannot be raped, she can only be used. Over time, my feet got used to walking on rough surfaces, though ragged rocks under my soles still hurt them, and my body got used to being used. Fortunately it did — that was what it was good for, after all. Also this got less, as there came younger ones, with larger breasts.
The huts in which the expedition had spent the summer were still standing, but they were light buildings made of wood, erected anew each spring, not meant and not able to survive the autumn storms and the winter snow. And, they were empty — there was some makeshift furniture in them, like the huts themselves only built to last one season, but except for some half-eaten leftovers from breakfast, which I ate as I found them, there was no food left behind, no clothing, no cloths, no tools, no household stuff, nothing of any value, or of any possible value to me. Of course not.
Well, I knew there was a cave in a low hill near the settlement where some heavy iron tools were kept, wrapped in oil cloths to protect them against rusting — tree saws, sledgehammers, crowbars, even an anvil — but, not only had I no right to them, and might even endanger next year's expedition if I lost or damaged any, but also I would hardly be able to use them, least of all to any conceivable good purpose.
No, I was alone, and I had nothing.
Except a dress, a jacket, and a whole island to myself.
Mine for half a year — a slave girl's own island! And for a month or two of that half year, until the autumn storms would ravage the island and then the Arctic cold and snow set in, I might even survive. Water was not scarce here, and the vegetation would provide enough food.
So, what was there to do but to enjoy those two months and to make the best of them?
And, never to give up hope. What did I know? If I kept on searching, I might find some way to leave the island? A seaworthy boat, hidden somewhere, on which I might try, even with chances ever so slim, to reach the continent? To face punishment and pain, of course, but to survive?
No, I knew there wouldn't be such a boat left behind.
But then, a new idea came to me: I had, of course, never been to the forbidden part of the island: the mountain range in the West, and whatever may lie behind it.
Forbidden ... by whom? to whom? and why? These were not questions for a slave girl to concern herself with, my duties had been here in the settlement, I had never given that part of the island any thoughts. But now, as the day went by and the sun followed its path which, as it did each day, would finally make it sink behind the mountain, this forbidden area began to exert a strange and growing attraction upon me.
What was my choice? To stay here, in the place that I knew, to live from the fruits and nuts that the trees still bore, and to know that I'd die when the weather changed?
Or, to explore the unknown, which offered few promises except a probably even earlier death, but where my end was not so predictable, where I might see things I had never seen before, and never would have dreamed to see?
The whole island was now mine, after all!
This first day of my exile I rested, enjoying the hours of leisure after the many exhausting months of work and use. During the night I slept dreamlessly and undisturbed.
And when the sun rose on the second day, I had made up my mind.