Disciplined Read online

  Help! She wanted to scream, but the word would not emerge from her mouth. Help! She hadn’t allowed herself to speak it or even think that word since she was a young child. A young child begging for help, her plea falling on deaf ears.

  “Help! Someone, please help my sister.” Unsympathetic eyes and a stern voice ordered Yoyin to sit down. A dark-brown hand, strong and determined, yanked Yoyin to her seat. “Control yourself, child; it’s just an examination. Your sister is acting like a big baby.” More shrieks from the curtained-off room. Yoyin covered her ears. Strong brown hands pried her hands away from her ears.

  “You’re next.” The voice held no emotion. “Don’t disgrace our family…Behave yourself—don’t act like your sister.”

  The terrifying memory contorted Yoyin’s face. A scream pushed at the back of her throat. Fully alert now, she looked quizzically at the brown man wearing what appeared to be a lab jacket.

  Had she been involved in some type of foul play? Beaten, robbed, and…her face felt fine, so she assumed she hadn’t been mutilated. So, she must have been raped. She scowled. The two resentful eunuchs didn’t have the equipment for rape. They must have rounded up a group of ruffians.

  Had she been conscious, she might have enjoyed the heinous assault. But no…they’d beaten her senseless, depriving her of the only excitement the dull island had to offer. Damn.

  “Hello, I’m Chef,” the brown man greeted cheerily. “That’s not my name of course, but that’s what everyone calls me.”

  Suddenly, her vision came into sharp focus and she recognized the man as one of the islanders who’d stood in line waiting to welcome her when she’d arrived at her villa.

  Chef. Not a doctor? She hadn’t been gangbanged after all. Disappointment turned down her mouth. She scowled. “I don’t give a damn what you’re called.” She tried to sit up and make sense of her environment, but she was unable to move. “What’s going on?”

  “I intended to introduce myself when you arrived, but it seems madam wasn’t feeling sociable,” he said with a sardonic smile and a tinge of sarcasm that Yoyin didn’t miss.

  “Screw you!” She hissed. “Where the bloody hell am I?” She pulled at the restraints. Fury and frustration made her tremble and then hyperventilate. “Undo these restraints,” she demanded.

  She heard voices. Movement. The clatter and clank of cutlery—chopping and pounding and scraping against plates. A dishwasher whirred. What the hell? She tried to yank her head in the direction of the clamor, but her neck was held in place by a brace—a vise of sorts. She bucked upward, trying to free her wrists and ankles, but her limbs were tightly secured. “Why am I being held captive? I’m pressing charges. My mother is a very important woman with lots of clout. She’ll have the entire British embassy involved in this abduction,” Yoyin snarled.

  She was naked. And very cold. Her back, buttocks, and the soles of her feet were pressed against a smooth, chilled surface. Her legs, bent at the knees, were spread and held open by rope, exposing her splayed womanhood. She bucked and tried to close her legs but was deterred by the burn of the rope against her delicate skin. Pain that wasn’t connected to her genitalia was not enjoyable. She stopped struggling against the rope. She gave up and became still.

  Trying to make sense of her environment, her eyes darted around the room. Pans hung overhead, rows of oversized stainless steel appliances, carts, industrial ovens, built-in wine racks, and pans as well as metal cooking utensils hung overhead. Large mixing bowls, vegetables, fruit, and containers of spices were scattered on countertops. She spotted giant mounds of every type of shellfish imaginable.

  The scent of aromatic flavors did not soothe her; they assaulted her senses. She was in a large kitchen, she determined, and was being held captive by a crazed chef. Why?

  “Where is Sebastian—I mean…” she stammered. “Where are those island guys—my escorts?” she said, adding a commanding snap to her voice.

  “Michael and Greg?”

  “Yes! I suppose those two are behind this kidnapping.”

  “Kidnapping? I beg to differ, madam. This is your choosing, and your escorts are in the main dining area, mingling with your guests.”

  “You’re insane.” She yanked at the restraints again. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve been abducted, beaten, and restrained. And you have the gall to say that I’ve chosen to be in this predicament? How absurd!” Her voice rang with revulsion. “I’m naked and cold…” Yoyin trembled. “I’m lying on some sort of slab…” She paused, trying to turn her head to find out what she was shackled to.

  “You haven’t been beaten, madam. No harm will come to you in Ka-le’a. You’re lying on a tray. A large, silver platter,” the chef corrected. He smiled as if being shackled to a silver platter should fill Yoyin with pride.

  “Are you insane? Undo these restraints before I scream. I didn’t come to Hawaii to lie naked on a silver platter. I was invited. I received an invitation that promised…” She clamped her mouth shut, too distraught to continue. She’d been duped. How foolish of her to allow her overactive libido to lure her into this uncivilized jungle!

  “I can imagine that madam is feeling somewhat uncomfortable,” the chef said in a lilting tone. “But you’ll get used to the restraints. After a while, you’ll find that they heighten your arousal.”

  She stared at him in utter horror and then opened her mouth wide, prepared to scream for help. The chef covered her mouth with his chubby hand.

  “Ms. Ayikade,” he said, injecting patience in his tone. “My staff and I…” He gestured to the shadowy figures who chopped fruits, whisked liquids, stirred concoctions, and hovered over pots. “We’re preparing you,” he continued. “Tonight you will be served as the main course for ten distinguished and discriminating diners.”

  Yoyin’s eyes flashed angrily. She screamed, but his large hand muffled the sound.

  “Hear me out,” he said sternly, his expression grim. “I don’t want to gag you. It would be quite a waste of the very nice cherry topping I’ve prepared for your lips.” He stood back and eyed her, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “But if you insist on shouting, I’ll have to. Your open mouth will provide a wonderfully deep cavity for a soufflé.” His eyes twinkled in appreciation of his clever idea. “Tell me, madam, which do you prefer, the cherry topping or the soufflé?”

  Yoyin gawked. The chef arched a brow. “The cherry spread?”

  “I suppose,” she said reluctantly. Being at the mercy of a mad and infuriatingly pompous chef was beyond belief. Someone was going to have hell to pay. These people apparently had no idea who they were screwing with. Her mother, heiress to the Stafford tea fortune, would have top officials from London and the United States government uncovering this sex operation that preyed on wealthy heat seekers. Everyone knew the idle rich, plagued with boredom, would pay any amount for an adrenaline rush. Her lofty position in life made her a target. Life was so unfair. She gulped, trying to stem the flow of tears, but couldn’t. The bitter trail streamed down the side of her face, settling at the corners of her mouth, seeping inside and burning her tongue.

  The chef looked at her closely. “Madam, there is absolutely no reason to cry.” He retrieved a crisp white tea towel from a nearby stand and gently wiped her tears. “I promise that you will reach sexual heights that you’ve never dreamed imaginable. Your lovely body will be topped and surrounded with delicacies prepared right here in my kitchen. All you’re required to do is lie still and enjoy being the center of attention.”

  You are always the center of attention! The chef used the same attention-grabbing phrase printed on the invitation. Ha! What a laugh, she thought bitterly. She was clamped, tied, and splayed like a Thanksgiving turkey. She wanted to die from mortification, but her heart kept beating. Rapidly. Excitedly. Oh God! The depraved situation was stirring her to an uncomfortable state of arousal. She gave a tiny shudder. Perhaps, she’d go along with the chef’s rules. It would be interesting to see how her cunt
reacted to being served as a side dish.

  “Your body jewelry has been removed and placed in a vault for safekeeping.”

  Yoyin blinked at him. “You took my jewelry?” Incredulous and horrified, an uncomprehending frown formed in the space between her brows. The outrageously expensive diamond choker was the least of her worries. It was her cunt and nipple bling that concerned her most. “I want you to replace my pussy trinkets and nipple rings. Immediately!” she screamed. “I came here for unbridled decadence and debauchery. How am I supposed to arrive at higher heights of sexual pleasure without my piercings in place?”

  “Your trinkets were removed at Mr. Merrick’s request. His orders must be followed, explicitly.”

  “Mr. Merrick?”

  “Yes, Mr. Merrick is your host; he owns this magnificent island.”

  “Not for long,” she murmured to herself. Yoyin thought the island was owned by a corporation; she had no idea that Merrick was an individual. A barbarous individual at that! Well, let Mr. Merrick have his sadistic fun while it lasted. After her mother’s legal team got through with him, his sex operation would be shut down and this luxurious island would become the property of Yoyin Ayikade!

  “Mr. Merrick is very wise and he wants you to master the discipline of deriving sexual pleasure without the additional stimuli of glittery implements.”

  Stunned speechless, Yoyin closed her eyes, shutting out the sight of the pompous brown man who held her captive. Was it possible to have him stripped of his chef status, and demoted to a short order cook or a dishwasher? Her mother’s legal team would have to look into that matter as well.

  Breaking into her musings, the chef clapped. “Louis!” He looked down at Yoyin. “My assistant chef will prepare you.”

  A man approached. Yoyin’s lashes fluttered in curiosity. He was Caucasian, medium height and build—fairly attractive, with earnest eyes. Louis held a bowl with what looked like the handle of a large paintbrush sticking out. He gave her a warm smile. “Good evening, madam.”

  His voice was as soothing as a caress. His eyes, sparkling with kindness, had a calming effect that she wouldn’t allow herself to accept. She closed her eyes, declining his compassionate smile.

  “Use generous amounts of olive oil,” the chef instructed.

  “Yes, Chef.” Slathering Yoyin with olive oil, Louis began applying slow brush strokes starting at her shoulder, gliding down her arm, and ending at her fingertips.

  She inhaled sharply, unwittingly enjoying the sensation as he coated her other arm, then her chest. As he stroked one breast and then the other with the oily bristles, her nipples plumped up, impudently demanding to be pinched or sucked. But Louis went about his task, smearing oil over her slender hips and tummy, causing her to shudder with every stroke of the tingly bristles.

  Louis returned the brush to the oil-filled bowl and glanced at the chef. “Fine job,” the chef complimented. Louis smiled in appreciation.

  “What about my cunt?” Yoyin snapped.

  “Ah, madam is finally coming around? Are you beginning to enjoy yourself?” the chef asked.

  “Not particularly.” Yoyin rolled her eyes. “My cunt is freezing cold.”

  “Madam,” Louis interjected. “I’m going to apply a very high-quality olive oil. It is flavored with sun-dried pineapple and coconut. Those seasonings intermingled with your natural flavor will provide a superb treat for your guests, I assure you.” Louis eyed her gaping vagina, swiped a finger against her moist opening and then touched her creamy essence to his tongue. “Mmm. Yes, the combined flavors will be absolutely scrumptious.”

  Yoyin let out an involuntary whimper, her bared mons thrusting upward in yearning. Louis whisked off to get the flavored oil. The chef, using a discerning eye, removed the excess oil, running plastic-covered hands over her body, giving Yoyin tiny shivers. He paid particular attention to her nipples, running his finger around the perimeters, until they became taut. He dabbed her flushed pearls with something pleasantly cool that instantly began to tighten around her nipples, sending a quiet thrill to her core.

  The chef lowered his voice and confided, “I’ve just covered your areolas with a very rich Swiss chocolate.” His whispery words tickled her ear and stirred her.

  “Lie very still now and allow it to harden. We don’t want it to slide off before your guests get their chocolate fix.”

  Having dinner guests licking and tasting delicacies from her restrained body wasn’t a bad idea. Actually, it was brilliant. So deliciously decadent! Maybe she’d stay awhile. Perhaps, that Merrick chap knew his stuff after all.

  Louis returned and the pleasant scent of coconut wafted up to her nostrils. Working with a smaller brush, he applied precise stokes as he covered her clean-shaven pubis with the coconut-flavored oil. The oil-slick brush glided over her shamelessly spread-open pussy, teasing her clit with the soft bristles. The chef hovered nearby, occasionally smoothing out dribbles of oil that pooled inside her open vagina. She fought to remain calm, but her breathing sharpened, her cunt ached with need.

  “You must learn to trust Mr. Merrick. He’s a wise man,” the chef said as he deposited thick sauce in her open palms. He stood back and appraised her and then resumed running his skilled hands over her well-defined curves, smoothing out the oil coating on her small round hips and slim tapering thighs. “You must use all your inner strength and lie still while your guests dine. No talking, no wriggling about. I assure you, madam, you will experience the most thrilling sensations. Now, do I have your promise?” The chef leaned in closer, waiting for her response.

  “Yes,” she murmured, panting and overly stimulated by the provocative image of her pussy on a platter and being served as a side dish.

  “In addition,” the chef added, “you must exercise discipline and remain silent throughout the meal.”

  “Why?”

  “Mr. Merrick’s orders,” he said simply.

  “That’s ridiculous. I refuse to be silent.” Her emerald eyes glinted in anger.

  “You’ll have to hold your tongue and control your sexual urges—” Thoughtfully, the chef stroked his chin. “You’ll forfeit your first night of carnal pleasure if you don’t comply.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “I’m serious,” he said sternly. “However, after your guests’ appetites have been satisfied, so shall your sexual desires…beyond your wildest fantasies.” There was a twinkle in the chef’s eyes as he dabbed a finger in various locations, taste-testing how the sauces intermingled with her bodily flavors. “You taste wonderful,” he chimed, sucking his finger. “Your guests will be pleased.”

  Yoyin sucked her teeth. “Why didn’t this Mr. Merrick inform me of all these silly rules before I left Philadelphia? Had I known that there would be so many conditions—” She gasped suddenly, experiencing an onslaught of tiny tremors as Louis’s brush strokes and the chef’s roving hands, threatened to drive her over the edge before her guests were served.

  “Do you agree to all the conditions?” the chef asked. “I must know before you’re taken to the dining room and presented.”

  It was a tantalizing proposition. If she exercised discipline by remaining silent and controlling her insatiable libido, she’d be rewarded with hard-ramming, torturously good sex after the meal. “Okay,” she said, the word carried on a sigh of displeasure.

  “Do you agree?” the chef inquired.

  Annoyed, she glared at the chef. “I gave you my bloody okay, what more do want? Must I spell it out?”

  Moments later, the chef’s staff held a huge mirror above her before she was taken into the dining area. The fabulous food art truly enhanced her beauty. She quelled the urge to beam with pride; the overbearing chef did not deserve her praise or approval.

  CHAPTER 6

  A convivial atmosphere filled the elaborately decorated dining room. Ten distinguished guests—six men and four women—sat at a formal table, sipping champagne, tropical island drinks, and other libations. They were
an attractive, elegantly attired, and affluent bunch. They laughed gaily, conversed in crisp, self-assured tones, running the gamut from gossipy, “who’s getting divorced from whom” talk to more serious discussions of international politics and global warming.

  But a hush fell over the room when the chef entered and cleared his throat. “This evening’s menu features several new additions to my regular fare.” He took in a large burst of air and exhaled and then proceeded in delivering a libretto, replete with sweeping hand gestures and extravagant posturing. “Tonight! I present with great pride, a feast fit for noblemen. I give you libido-lifting food—a medley of fresh seafood, fruits, vegetables, and culinary herbs and spices—a unique fusion of island cuisine and international flavors combined with…” he paused dramatically, “…the essence of woman. Tonight, I invite you to indulge your discriminating tastebuds, enhance your sex drive as you dine on delectable finger foods, savory sauces, and baguettes as well as the sumptuous natural seasonings of your delectable hostess, Yoyin Ayikade!”

  The chef gave an extravagant wave of his hand. Michael and Greg, their bronzed chests bare, flaunting rippling muscles and wearing loin cloth, entered the room carrying Yoyin on an enormous silver platter.

  It was a theatrical entrance, generating a lively buzz, gasps, and murmurs of approval followed by a thunderous applause.

  “Magnificent! Outstanding! Beautiful!” some chorused as the chiseled men lowered the tray to the center of a long banquet table.

  Yoyin, in naked splendor, was an exotic and delectable sight, with seaweed spiraling down her legs and up her arms. With her arms outstretched like a graceful ballerina, Yoyin was delicately posed with one palm cupping aioli dip and the other holding Asian sesame-ginger dip. Her lithe body, positioned provocatively with legs spread apart, presented the fleshy gates of her womanhood. Her mons was slathered with a creamy passion fruit spread.