The castaways headed for shade. Their lifeboat had bobbed about for several hours in the previous night’s storm; the placid morning finally found them grounded on a sunny beach that ended at a densely grown forest. There was no one else in sight.

“Bring the emergency kit,” the woman said curtly and with only a slight turn of her head, not deigning to look back at the object of her command. She was extraordinarily beautiful- tall and curvaceous with jet black hair that came down to the center of her back. She was dressed more for an evening on the town than a shipwreck. A short black dress hugged her enticing frame, exposing gorgeous legs sheathed in sheer black hose.

“Yes, Mistress,” came the servile reply. The man looked more the castaway. He was naked except for a pair of khaki shorts, and obviously fatigued and sunburned from hours of rowing on the open sea. He lifted the heavy backpack that was part of the lifeboat’s gear and followed the woman up the beach toward the tree line.

Once in the shade, the woman sat on a fallen tree. The man made to sit also, but was brought up short by his Mistress’s order. “Prepare something for me to eat,” she said.

The man obeyed, procuring some dry rations from the pack. While his Mistress ate he lay on the sand, exhausted. When she had finished, she said, “I need to vent some frustration. Find something for me to instruct you with.”

“Yes, Mistress.” The man rose from his prone position and walked into the brush. In a few moments he came back with a thin switch broken off of one of the low shrubs growing beyond the beach. This he handed to his Mistress.

“Assume the position,” she ordered.

The man dropped his shorts and went prostrate on the ground facing away from his Mistress, his ass thrust high. As soon as he was exposed, she brought the switch down savagely, raising a red welt on his pale bottom. “That is for allowing me to fall into this predicament,” she said. “And so you will remember who owns you.”

She continued the beating, bringing the switch down again and again on the man’s ass. At first he suffered stoically, but after several lashes he began to flinch and whimper. This only incited his Mistress to more brutality.

“Excuse me,” interrupted a voice.

The couple had not noticed the arrival of a third castaway. She came out of the woods. Her dress was torn, her feet bare, and her long blond hair windblown, but she was very striking to behold. Her breasts and legs were perfect, her figure was intensely alluring, and her emerald green eyes glinted with fiery spirit. She stood surveying the scene upon which she had intruded with wry amusement.

“Who are you?” the woman asked.

“I am Goddess Marquesa. I was on the boat last night when the storm hit. The first lifeboat left full of passengers. You grabbed the second lifeboat before I could get aboard. I was forced to drift here with a life preserver. I washed up on the other side of the island. Who, may I ask, are you?”

“I am Madame Cri de Coeur,” the woman replied. “This is my slave,” she continued, pointing at the man still prostrate on the ground. “Please don’t be alarmed by the scene you just witnessed. I am a dominatrix, you see, and I periodically beat my slave to remind him where he stands.”

Goddess Marquesa smiled. “I perfectly understand. Please, don’t stop on my account. I can withdraw and give you privacy if…”

“That won’t be necessary,” Cri de Coeur said, “There will always be time for more beatings later.”

“I see,” noted Marquesa. “Have you seen any sign of the first lifeboat? You are the only other survivors of the storm I’ve encountered.”

“No. My slave and I are the only ones who made it to this island, other than you. Right now I think you and my slave should scout the area for food and fresh water.”

“And what will you do while we do that?” asked Goddess Marquesa.

“I will stay here and supervise,” replied the other woman with a smile.

“And who put you in charge?”

“I did,” answered Cri de Coeur, as if stating the obvious. “In a situation like ours there must be order. We need a leader, and as a natural dominant I am clearly the person to fulfill that role. When we are rescued you can thank me for preserving your life.”

Goddess Marquesa laughed. “Oh, I am very grateful for your kind offer,” she said, “but I will have to decline. If it is all the same to you, I prefer ‘every women for herself.’”

“And every slave for his Mistress,” rejoined Cri de Coeur. “That is quite alright. My slave and I will fend for ourselves, then. Good luck on your own.”

Goddess Marquesa smiled and waved, walking back into the forest in search of shelter. She found some wild fruit to eat, and a tall tree that would serve well as a place to sleep. Climbing up to the juncture of its largest boughs, she constructed a small platform using sticks and palm fronds, on which she could spend the night both elevated off the ground and sheltered from any rain that might fall from overhead.

Several days passed. Goddess Marquesa foraged for plants and fruits and fished in the surf, while Cri de Coeur and her slave ate the dry rations that had come with the lifeboat. When they crossed paths they were civil to one-another, but otherwise had little contact. Occasionally Marquesa would hear the loud thwack of a switch as Cri de Coeur vented her frustrations on her slave’s ass.

On the third night on the island, Goddess Marquesa was awoken by voices below her perch.

“Why can’t you find food as Marquesa does?” Cri de Coeur complained in exasperation. “Our rations will run out soon, and you have failed to forage anything that might be of use to me.”

“I am sorry, Mistress,” came the slave’s voice. “I am trying, but I don’t have Goddess Marquesa’s skills.”

“Do not refer to her as ‘Goddess,’” intoned Cri de Coeur irately. “We will obviously have to force Marquesa to serve us. Tomorrow you will find her and bring her to me. You will beat her if necessary, but in the end she will accept me as her leader.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Goddess Marquesa spent the next day avoiding the searching slave. This was not difficult, as he moved clumsily and noisily, and Marquesa was experienced at concealing herself from the weak-minded. As night fell the slave finally returned, dejected, to his Mistress at the beach, reporting his failure.

When Cri de Coeur had beat the slave savagely as punishment they both went to sleep, she blanketed in the shelter of the boat, he curled up in the sand below her feet. In the middle of the night Cri de Coeur was awoken by a mellifluous woman’s voice.

“You are going under, deeper and deeper. You are totally focused on the sound of my words,” the voice said. It came from the stern of the boat, where Cri de Coeur’s slave lay curled in sleep. Startled, she rose from the boat and looked in the direction of the voice. Goddess Marquesa was crouched by her slave’s head, speaking gently into his ear as he lay sleeping.

“How dare you!” shouted Cri de Coeur, waking her startled slave. “Do not try to tamper with my property!”

Goddess Marquesa sprang to her feet and ran back into the concealment of the forest. Once he had shaken himself alert the slave searched for a while in the dark, but he had no more success than usual in finding the elusive Marquesa. Returning empty-handed again, he faced the wrath of his Mistress.

“She has gone too far,” seethed Cri de Coeur. “Refusing my leadership is one thing…tampering with my slave is another. Tomorrow you will find her and kill her.”

“But, Mistress…” stammered the slave in surprise.

“She is dangerous. And she is another mouth to feed as long as she shares this island with us. You will eventually be able to figure out how to procure food, and when you do we will be better off not having to share it with her. You will kill her. I command it. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Mistress…”

The next day the slave set out on his deadly errand. Cri de Coeur set about what had become her usual routine, relaxing in the shade and snacking on the last remnants of the lifeboat’s provisions. After several hours, she began to worry. Her slave had not returned to ask whether she would like a massage or if it would amuse her to beat him. As evening began to fall her worry turned to fear, verging on panic. Where had he disappeared?

Succumbing to her mounting feelings of dread, Cri de Coeur set off into the forest in search of her slave. After twenty minutes of clawing her way through the brush, she heard a familiar sound. It was the “thwack” of a thin wooden switch making contact with soft flesh. She set off in the direction of the sound. After several minutes she emerged into a clearing, and was horrified by what she encountered.

Her slave was on his hands and knees in the center of the clearing, a look of rapture on his face. Goddess Marquesa stood over him, switch in hand, readying her next blow.

“Please, again Goddess,” pleaded the slave.

Thwack! The switch came down with thunderous force against the slave’s ass, making him grunt in pain.

“Thank you, Goddess,” he intoned through his tears. “Please, again!”

Thwack! The Goddess landed another crushing blow.

“What is going on here?” demanded Cri de Coeur.

“I am beating my slave,” replied Goddess Marquesa.

“My slave, you mean,” bridled Cri de Coeur.

“Not anymore.” Lowering the switch, the Goddess asked, “To whom do you belong, slave?”

“To You, Goddess,” declared the slave worshipfully.

“And why is that?” inquired Goddess Marquesa.

“Because I love You. Because I have no choice but to obey You.”

“You witch!” screamed Cri de Coeur. “You hypnotized him!”

“I did nothing of the kind,” corrected the Goddess. “You interrupted me before I could even begin my hypnotic induction. No, what you see here is a very natural response to my power and beauty.”

“But I’m just as beautiful as you,” objected Cri de Coeur in disbelief.

Goddess Marquesa smiled. “You are a tasty morsel, it’s true,” she said, appraising Cri de Coeur’s face and form, “but you are very shallow and insipid. It was only a matter of time before your boy fell under the spell of a woman with real depth and character. And here I am.”

Cri de Coeur screamed in rage. Picking up a branch from the forest floor and wielding it as a club, she turned on Goddess Marquesa. “You can’t! I won’t let you! I’ll kill you myself!”

“No you won’t,” said Goddess Marquesa, stopping the angry woman in her tracks. Cri de Coeur froze, a look of incomprehension on her face. “You see,” continued Goddess Marquesa, “though I failed to hypnotize the slave here; that was not the case with you. Before I began with him, I spent several hours programming you. He is a much deeper sleeper than you- he never awoke during the time that I penetrated your mind.”

“No…” Cri de Coeur gasped.

“Yes, my dear. You know it. Right now you can feel all the anger draining from your body. Your muscles relax…”

As Goddess Marquesa spoke, Cri de Coeur’s body obeyed. Her limbs slackened, the weapon slipped from her grasp and fell to the ground.

“…Your breathing deepens…” purred the Goddess. “Your mind becomes tranquil and calm. As you look at me, you realize you don’t feel hate…”

“Aaagh!” screamed Cri de Coeur, summoning the will to resist. Her eyes widened, her whole body trembled. “No! Get out of my head! I won’t….”

“You will,” continued Marquesa, perfectly confident. “You have no choice. Surrender. It feels so good to surrender to Goddess Marquesa…”

Cri de Coeur stiffened, exerting one last effort to retain control. Finally, her willpower collapsed. “Yes…” she breathed, her mind giving way. Her eyelids drooped, her face relaxed. The trembling in her body subsided.

“That’s it…” cooed Goddess Marquesa. “That’s right. You don’t feel hate, or anger. When you look at Marquesa you are filled with…”

“Love…” intoned Cri de Coeur, her voice drowsy and faraway. She fell to her hands and knees and crawled forward. “Please…please….,” she begged.

“Very good,” declared Goddess Marquesa. “That’s a good pet. I will reward you.” Sitting down on a fallen tree as if it were a throne, the Goddess extended her bare foot. “The sand here gets stuck between one’s toes,” she remarked to Cri de Coeur, “come suck them clean for me.”

Eagerly, the prostrate woman crawled forward and began to suck Goddess Marquesa’s toes, working her tongue vigorously into the  spaces between the digits where the grains of sand clung. Moist sounds emerged as the taste and fragrance of Marquesa’s toes made the entranced woman salivate uncontrollably.

Seeing his former Mistress thus employed made the slave whimper dejectedly. “Don’t pout,” ordered Goddess Marquesa. “You may come massage my left calf while she cleans my right foot. Then you may switch.”

The slave brightened and moved quickly to obey. As he lovingly took hold of his Goddess’s calf, a rustle came from the opposite end of the clearing. A dozen bedraggled people emerged from the forest, amazed at the scene upon which they had intruded. “You must be the passengers who cast off in the first lifeboat,” said Goddess Marquesa in a tone of greeting, unflustered by the circumstances in which they had found her. “You poor dears must have been adrift for days. Welcome to our island. I think you’ll find it tolerably pleasant here.”

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The British navy found the castaways several weeks later. They were amazed at the good health and condition in which they found so many who had been shipwrecked for so long. This they attributed to the leadership of Goddess Marquesa, whom the islanders had accepted as their Queen. She had organized them to provide food and shelter, and under her command they thrived until rescuers found them. One castaway in particular, a young woman named Cindy who had previously gone by the sobriquet “Madame Cri de Coeur,” acknowledged that they all owed their lives to the Goddess, declaring Goddess Marquesa, “The greatest human being I have ever known.”